The night air rushed in and the pheromones thinned and Guiying pulled himself out of Liuxian’s arms and back into his own seat, directing his attention out the window.

Liuxian said nothing. He turned to his own window.

The car moved through the city in a quiet that was not entirely comfortable but was not hostile either.

Guiying reached for his phone.

He had collected a significant number of contacts tonight. He scrolled through them slowly. Shen Mingzhu, who had already sent a voice message that was apparently a continuation of a point she had been making when they were separated.

Lin Rouyi, a single professional greeting. Cao Jingwen, a link to one of the foundation’s reports with no accompanying message, which felt entirely in character.

And Bai Feng.

Guiying looked at the contact for a moment.

Bai Feng was now the kind of person he could now, on an ordinary Tuesday, message on WeChat and suggest drinks.

It felt genuinely surreal.

He thought about the other Omegas, all of them accomplished and sharp and entirely their own people.

He thought about Bai Feng at the podium, precise and unhurried and entirely without apology.

He thought about the conversation on the balcony before Shen Zihao had arrived and ruined it, the ease of it, the quality of being in a room with people who were interested in ideas.

It had been a good evening.

He was not going to let Shen Zihao’s presence be the thing he carried home from it.

He yawned.

The headache had arrived at some point during the balcony incident and had settled in behind his eyes with the patient permanence of something that intended to stay.

His feet ached from the Louboutins in the way that feet ached when they had done something unprecedented for several hours.

He was tired in the deep, bone level way like someone who had been performing a version of themselves all evening and was only now allowing themselves to stop.

He looked at the back of the seat in front of him.

He looked at Liuxian’s thigh beside him.

He thought about it for approximately three seconds, decided he was too tired to care about the implications, and laid his head down.

Liuxian’s thigh was, objectively, a better pillow than the seat in front of him. Guiying closed his eyes and felt the car moving beneath him and thought about nothing in particular.

He was almost asleep when he heard it.

"What am I going to do with you?"

The voice was low and quiet and carried something in it that was not anger anymore.

Guiying opened his eyes.

Liuxian was looking down at him, and then he was bending down, and the kiss that followed was nothing like the quick, morning ones or the negotiated ones or the ones that Guiying had authorized in advance.

It was slow and deliberate and warm and thorough, the kind of kiss that had a point of view about things.

Liuxian’s hand found his throat.

Not roughly.

His thumb rested at the pulse point and his fingers curved around the side of his neck with the particular possessive gentleness of someone who had decided that this was where his hand belonged and was not in a hurry to move it.

His other hand moved, finding the hem of the white satin shirt, his palm warm against Guiying’s waist, then his ribs, then further, unhurried and entirely deliberate.

Guiying’s brain came back online approximately four seconds too late.

Liuxian pulled back just enough to speak, his hand still at his throat, his thumb still at the pulse point.

"Do not test me," he said quietly. "If you do not want me to have my way with you savagely on that bed tonight."

Guiying stared up at him.

From the front seat, Zhang Wei cleared his throat and became even more interested in the road than he had been before, which was saying something.

Guiying sat up slowly.

He straightened the white satin shirt. He smoothed the trousers.

He picked up his phone from where it had fallen. Then he looked out the window.

"Zhang Wei," he said, with complete composure.

"Yes, Master Xue?"

"Drive faster."

Zhang Wei drove faster.

Liuxian said nothing, and looked out his own window, and the corner of his mouth did something that he did not allow to become a smile.

The car pulled through the mansion gates and stopped at the entrance.

Guiying was out of the door before Zhang Wei had fully come to a stop, the Louboutins clicking against the driveway with a speed that suggested purpose.

Wang Chengli opened the front door.

"Welcome home, Young Master. Master Xue." He looked at both of them with the composed expression of someone who had learned a long time ago not to read too much into atmospheres. "Shall I have the kitchen prepare something?"

"Yes," Guiying said, before Liuxian could speak. "Beef tendon noodles. Red bean soup. And a cucumber salad."

Wang Chengli nodded. "Of course. Twenty minutes."

Guiying headed for the stairs without looking at Liuxian.

Upstairs he closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed.

It had been a long evening.

He exhaled slowly and reached down, slipping the Louboutins off one at a time.

He set them carefully on the floor beside the bed and looked at his feet.

Blisters.

Two on the back of his left heel and one along the side of his right foot. He pressed gently at the largest one and winced.

He was examining the second one when the door opened.

Liuxian walked in, jacket gone, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, carrying two glasses of water.

He stopped when he saw Guiying sitting on the edge of the bed with his foot in his hand.

Guiying looked at the top of his head.

Liu Liuxian, CEO of Liu Corporation, one of the most powerful men in the country, was crouching on the floor of a bedroom examining his wife’s blisters.

"This is your fault," Guiying said. "You made me wear heels. Now my feet hurt."