By the time Cheng Anya arrived at Central Plaza, she immediately spotted Ye Chen's silver Rolls-Royce. It was nearly 11 p.m., all the department stores had closed, and the plaza was nearly deserted.
Ye Chen was sitting on the hood of the car in a posture that screamed arrogance—aloof yet languid, a cigar between his fingers. A faint swirl of smoke surrounded him, shrouding his figure in a hazy allure.
A thug…
Cheng Anya muttered silently, eyeing him from afar. That pose was the textbook image of a thug—an arrogant, dangerous kind. The kind who wouldn't blink while taking a life.
What the hell was he doing here, at this hour, still playing at being a gangster?
"President Ye, what would you like at this hour?" she asked with a polite smile.
Ye Chen turned his head slightly. His striking features were a dangerous blend of charm and menace, a perfect fusion of devilry and elegance—like a spell cast without warning.
His eyes swept over her, losing the daytime chill and taking on a shimmering, seductive glint under the night sky, like Adam's forbidden temptation, coaxing Eve toward sin.
Just one look, and it was enough to make someone fall.
The summer night was sultry, and even the breeze carried a touch of heat.
Cheng Anya's heart pounded wildly, and her cheeks flushed. In this particular atmosphere, emotions usually suppressed by pride and reason began to stir restlessly.
This devil really knows how to tempt people, she thought.
Ye Chen stood, flicked away the cigar, and crushed it beneath his shoe. He opened the car door, tilted his head, and ordered, "Get in."
Cheng Anya wanted to sass back, Where are we going?—but the look on his face made her hesitate for a second. In the end, she got in obediently.
This man was unpredictable. Best not to provoke him.
Ye Chen followed her in and cast her a sidelong glance. Cheng Anya sat prim and proper, forcing her trademark smile into place.
Suddenly, Ye Chen leaned in.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her body tensing.
Without a word, Ye Chen reached over and fastened her seatbelt.
The masculine scent of his cologne enveloped her, subtly mingled with the familiar aroma of Estée Lauder's Pleasures—a fragrance she instantly recognized.
As Ye Chen's personal secretary, Cheng Anya had memorized every detail about the women he was involved with.
Their preferences, habits, and favorite brands—she knew them all.
Pleasures was Yun Ruoxi's signature scent—fresh, refined, with a unique charm.
Cheng Anya's brows twitched slightly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she turned her face away. That trademark smile now looked a little stiff.