The door clicked shut, leaving Li Qiu in a state of dazed, spiritual intoxication. She reached up, her fingers trembling as she touched the spot on her shoulder where Shen Yu's hand had rested. A lingering warmth seemed to seep through her skin, settling into her very soul like a divine blessing.
The grief that had felt like a leaden, suffocating weight only moments ago was now buoyed by a frantic, desperate need to prove herself. She felt a burning desire to be worthy of the saintly trust he had placed in her, a fallen woman of a disgraced house.
Outside, the moment Shen Yu was out of her sight, his expression shifted. The "paternal" warmth in his golden eyes vanished, replaced by the icy, calculating sharpness of a grandmaster moving a pivotal piece across the board.
He didn't just want a secretary, he wanted a symbol.
