Transmigration; Married to My Ex-Fiancé's Uncle-Chapter 149; Night out (o)

"Mmm," she mused. "Messy."

She slid off his lap without warning and immediately claimed another model’s instead, this one broader, quieter, with the build of someone who’d played contact sports. She lounged sideways across him, head resting comfortably on his shoulder, legs draped over his thighs like she was testing furniture durability.

"Don’t be shy," she murmured, lifting his chin with two fingers. "Your face is very cooperative."

She traced his jawline slowly, inspecting him like artwork in a gallery she was considering purchasing.

Blade had stopped pretending to drink. Razor had stopped pretending to be emotionally stable. Both were watching with expressions somewhere between awe and horror.

At one point, Shuyin had her legs draped over one model’s knees while she reclined fully across the length of the couch, sipping wine as another gently brushed her hair back at her silent permission, his fingers careful and reverent.

She laughed, bright, loose, unrestrained. The sound filled the space like wind chimes.

"This is what freedom tastes like," she declared to no one and everyone.

She leaned forward suddenly, nose inches from another model’s face, invading his space with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no.

"You," she said. "Smile for me."

He did.

She poked his cheek. "Fake. Try again."

This time it was real, reaching his eyes.

She rewarded him by briefly resting her forehead against his, just long enough for his breath to hitch and his pupils to dilate, then pulled back like nothing had happened.

Power played like breathing to her now. Effortless. Natural.

At one point she lay fully across two of them, head in one’s lap, legs over the other’s, lazily swirling wine in her glass while one absentmindedly brushed his thumb along her knuckles like he’d forgotten the world existed.

She let him.

Because she could.

"Shuyin," Blade said weakly, "you’re going to emotionally scar these men."

Shuyin laughed softly, eyes half-lidded with contentment and alcohol. "Good. They’ll remember me forever."

Razor muttered, "This is not flirting. This is psychological warfare."

Shuyin lifted her glass in agreement.

"To money," she toasted.

"To beauty."

"To bad decisions."

They drank.

And somewhere in the club, security quietly agreed:

Whatever she was, human, mermaid, force of nature, she was not to be stopped.

11:55 PM – THE KING ARRIVES

Shuyin was in the middle of convincing one of the models to demonstrate his "best smolder" for the camera when she felt it.

A shift in the air.

A change in pressure, subtle but undeniable, like a storm front rolling in over calm waters. The kind of change that made animals go quiet and still.

Her instincts, her mermaid instincts, honed in dangerous waters where predators stalked in silence, spiked.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

She turned, jade eyes scanning the crowd with sharp precision, searching for the source.

And there he was.

Lu Yuze.

Her contracted husband.

Standing at the edge of the dance floor like a living monument, his gaze fixed entirely on her with the kind of focus that suggested nothing else in the room existed. Every other man in the space suddenly seemed small, insignificant, like stage props next to the main actor.

He was impeccably dressed, every line of his black suit crisp and perfect, tailored to emphasize the lean strength of his frame. Hair styled like a carefully composed portrait. Posture relaxed but radiating authority that needed no announcement. Calm. Composed. Dangerous in the way a sheathed blade was dangerous, all that potential violence held in perfect stillness.

Shuyin’s grin widened, not nervous, not caught off guard, but genuinely delighted.

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Blade, watching from the side, whispered, wide-eyed, "Is... is that...?"

"Yes," Shuyin murmured, her gaze locked on him, refusing to look away first. "My dear husband. Contracted, but apparently... still very interested in where his wife spends her evenings."

He began walking toward her, slow, deliberate, each step measured. The crowd parted instinctively, unaware they were doing it, leaving a path cleared by sheer presence alone. Women whispered behind their hands. Men straightened unconsciously. Even the DJ seemed to hesitate, the music taking on a deeper, heavier pulse.

Shuyin didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Her grin only widened, wicked and unrepentant, a direct challenge.

When he was close enough to speak without shouting, close enough that she could see the dangerous calm in his eyes, she tilted her head, voice playful.

"Enjoying the show, husband?"

His expression remained unreadable, carved from stone, but a dark flicker of possessiveness sharpened his gaze, brief but unmistakable.

"Enjoying your little performance?" His voice was controlled, almost conversational, but something sharp lurked beneath the surface.

"Immensely." Shuyin gestured to the models behind her, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable under his flat, assessing stare. "Would you like to join? I was about to buy another round. Maybe you could arm wrestle Tank. That would be... entertaining."

"Go home, Shuyin."

Mild. Conversational. But beneath the words, authority dripped like steel, cold, absolute, non-negotiable.

Shuyin laughed, bright and unrestrained, the sound cutting through the tension. "Go home? But I’ve only just started having fun!"

"Shuyin....."

"Ohhh?" She stepped closer, voice dropping to mock his tone, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Have I forgotten that I’m a married woman?"

"Yes," he said simply, the single word carrying weight.

"Married?" She waved a hand flippantly, dismissively. "Just a contract marriage. Doesn’t restrict my life, you know. You do your thing, I do mine. Modern. Progressive."

She turned back toward the models with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips, the movement calculated to provoke.

Then, as if struck by a sudden mischievous impulse, Shuyin bent slightly forward, hands braced on the edge of the table in front of her. The movement was languid, unhurried, pure provocation wrapped in silk and perfume. The hem of her dress slid just enough to suggest danger without revealing it, fabric clinging to curves that had been designed by evolution to drive men mad.

The models collectively forgot how to breathe.

But Shuyin wasn’t dancing for them.

She cast a deliberate glance over her shoulder, straight at Lu Yuze.

Her jade eyes glittered with challenge, with defiance, with the absolute certainty that she was untouchable.

You don’t own me. Stop me if you dare.

The music swelled, bass rolling through her body. She let it guide her movements in slow, teasing arcs, every shift of her posture a silent taunt, a declaration of independence.

A few sharp inhales sounded around them.

Blade swore softly under her breath. Tank muttered, "Oh, she’s going to die." Razor didn’t blink, barely breathing. "No. He is."

Shuyin straightened at last with a satisfied little smile, spun lightly on her heels.....

...and that was when Lu Yuze moved.

She turned back to the models, reaching out with her free hand, but before she could take a step, his hand closed around her wrist.

Not roughly. Not painfully. But undeniably possessive, his grip firm enough that she felt the heat of his skin through hers.

"Hello, gentlemen!" she called out cheerfully, ignoring his grip entirely, reaching for a nearby model with her other hand. She hooked his shirt collar and pulled him closer, all practiced flirtation and control.

Then Lu Yuze moved.

In a heartbeat, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into his chest with enough force to steal her breath. The man she’d reached for stumbled back, wisely conceding that the situation was well beyond him.

Before she could react, before she could turn her wit or strength into control, Lu Yuze spun her.

The motion was sudden and forceful, the world tipping on its axis.

Lights streaked across her vision like comets.

Music warped and distorted, bass dropping into her chest.

And then his mouth crashed onto hers.

Not gentle.

Not exploratory.

Not asking for permission or forgiveness.

It was a kiss that took, that claimed, that demanded without apology or hesitation.

The first point of contact sent shockwaves through her entire system. His lips were firm, insistent, hot against hers with an intensity that spoke of restraint finally shattered. There was nothing tentative about it, nothing careful. This was hunger unleashed, control abandoned, and patience exhausted.

Heat bloomed instantly where their mouths met, spreading outward like wildfire through dry grass. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers, stealing oxygen, replacing it with something headier, more intoxicating than any alcohol she’d consumed tonight.