So, Lord Knight had flown all the way from Beijing to the East City—crossing half the globe—just to eat a bowl of noodles she made?
Diana Bell was momentarily stunned.
When she'd mentioned that earlier, she was just trying to show off her rapport with William in front of Atticus Archer and his wife to save face. It was a throwaway comment. Had he actually taken it seriously? Whether he meant it or was just being polite, if he said he wanted her noodles, she would make them.
Standing face-to-face with William, Diana felt a wave of awkwardness. After all, she barely knew her new husband. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned to lead him upstairs. "I'll take you to my place."
William followed close behind.
The old residential building had no elevator, and most of the motion-sensor lights had long since burned out. Diana had climbed these six flights of stairs countless times; she could do it with her eyes closed. But today, perhaps because her mind was in a whirl, her foot slipped on the very first step. Her body lurched violently to the side.
She let out a sharp gasp, instinctively reaching for the rusted handrail.
In the next heartbeat, a pair of warm, calloused hands caught her firmly by the waist. With a powerful lift, he hoisted her a few inches off the ground and set her down securely on the inner side of the step.
The grip on her waist was strong and commanding. Even through the thin fabric of her professional suit, his searing body heat seemed to burn right through to her bones. She could feel the pressure of his long fingers—elegant as fine jade, yet possessed of an undeniable, masculine strength.
Diana's heart gave a violent thud, like it had been hit by a stray current of electricity.
She scrambled to stand straight, blurting out a frantic excuse: "Maybe... maybe some kid spilled water on the stairs. I didn't see it."
William looked down at the steps, which were bone-dry and covered in a thin layer of dust. His voice remained cool and perfectly deadpan. "Mm. The stairs are indeed slippery."
Diana's cheeks burned. Noticing his hands were still clamped tightly around her waist, she whispered a reminder, "I... I need to keep going."
With him holding her like that, she couldn't exactly move her legs.
Only then did William slowly retract his hands, sliding them into his trouser pockets. His fingertips brushed together instinctively, as if savoring the memory of her startlingly slim, soft waist.
Diana felt a lingering weakness where he had touched her. She gripped the handrail and hurried upward.
She was wearing a fitted pencil skirt today, with her crisp white shirt tucked neatly into the waistband. As she climbed, the sway of her narrow waist and the curve of her hips created a striking silhouette, looking particularly provocative under the flickering, dim lights of the stairwell.
William was known in the business world for his absolute restraint—cold, noble, and never crossing a line. But now, as he ascended behind her, his gaze drifted up and collided with that rhythmic, swaying view.
The tight curves were hauntingly graceful. Every movement felt like a silent provocation.
His mind flashed back to that small, round mole he had discovered. He had tasted it that night.
A sudden heat flared in his lower abdomen. Even the draft blowing in through a broken window failed to cool the intensity in his eyes.
"Mr. Knight..." Diana suddenly turned around, intending to ask if he wanted some water.
William's long, straight lashes flickered in the shadows. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the peeling paint of the wall.
"What is it?" His voice sounded raspy, thickened by a suppressed heaviness.
Sensing the suffocating tension in the air, Diana racked her brain for a topic. "How long... do you plan on staying this time?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It sounded like she was trying to kick him out.
She quickly tried to mend it: "I'm making tomato beef noodles tonight. If you like them, I can make them for you every day while you're in the country, as long as I'm home."
William paused for a fraction of a second. His answer was unexpectedly blunt. "Fine."
Diana: "..."
She had only meant to be polite. She hadn't expected a man as busy as Lord Knight to accept so readily. Now she had essentially signed herself up as his private chef for the foreseeable future.
She usually considered herself quite sharp in professional settings, but right now, she felt like a short-circuited robot. She turned back around awkwardly.
The lights in this old building were the manual toggle type. To be a good host, Diana reached out to press the grimy switch on every floor.
Behind her, the sound of his leather shoes hitting the concrete was steady and rhythmic, echoing like a heavy heartbeat. Due to the narrowness of the hallway, his tall frame almost completely eclipsed her. Under the yellow glow of the bulbs, their shadows merged on the wall, looking for all the world like an intimate embrace.
Diana felt a burning gaze tracking her every move, making her skin prickle.
Am I just being sensitive? she wondered.
The six flights of stairs felt like a marathon. Every second of silence allowed the air to ferment with a strange, thick ambiguity.
By the time they reached her door, Diana was sporting a thin layer of sweat, her hair clinging to her temples. Her white shirt, dampened by the climb, had become slightly translucent, clinging to her back. William didn't mean to be intrusive, but as he reached out to take the keys she handed him, his eyes inevitably caught a glimpse of a soft, pale pink—the color of her bra.
His breath hitched for a second before he stooped to look away.
Diana opened the door and moved to grab slippers. William's gaze immediately landed on a pair of blue men's slippers sitting prominently on the rack.
"Mr. Knight, for you."
William stared at the slippers, which were clearly broken-in. His brow furrowed. "I don't wear things used by other men."
"Oh?" Diana blinked, assuming the billionaire heir was just disgusted by the age of the shoes. "Then... should I get you some shoe covers?"
"No," he said, his tone turning cold.
Diana suddenly remembered the new shoes she'd bought for her brother during a sale a few days ago. She dug through the back of the cabinet, ripped off the packaging, and set them at his feet.
This should be fine, right?
William glanced at the brightly colored men's slippers. His voice took on a strangely bitter edge. "Is it really appropriate for me to wear shoes you bought for another man?"
Diana answered casually while changing her own shoes, "It's fine, just wear them. I'll just buy him another pair later."
William's face darkened instantly, his expression turning stormy. "You certainly are generous with him."
"Of course," Diana said, completely missing the jealousy in his tone. "He's the closest man in the world to me. Naturally, I want to treat him well."
William's jaw tightened so hard it ached.
He didn't even look at the new slippers. Instead, he reached into a box, yanked out two blue plastic shoe covers, and snapped them over his custom-made leather shoes with aggressive movements.
Diana figured he just had a moody personality or perhaps a terminal case of germaphobia, so she didn't dwell on it.
"Mr. Knight, please make yourself at home. I'm a bit sweaty and uncomfortable, so I'm going to take a quick shower and change."
She pointed toward the sofa and vanished into the bedroom. A crisp click followed—she hadn't just closed the door; she'd locked it from the inside.
Left alone in the living room, William's eyes became as sharp as blades, scanning the small, lived-in space.
The wallpaper was peeling, and the furniture was ancient. Most absurdly, one leg of an old chair was broken, propped up by a thick stack of practice exams. Despite the age, the room smelled faintly of jasmine, and everything was meticulously organized.
However, William found he couldn't stay seated for long.
In this cramped space, he found too many traces of an "invader."
A man's athletic jacket hanging in the entryway. A limited-edition superhero figurine on the TV stand. A rotary shaver charging on the bathroom sink. And then—
The balcony.
A pair of men's boxers was swaying in the night breeze. The blue fabric was hanging right next to Diana's pink lace underwear, the two garments brushing against each other as the wind blew.
William felt a suffocating pressure in his chest. His Windsor knot felt like a noose.
Who was the man living here? A boyfriend? A roommate?
Whatever the case, it fanned the flames of a nameless fury in his heart. He found himself thinking that he would rather squeeze into this dilapidated little apartment himself than let another man occupy it.
William's jawline remained rigid. He reached up to his collar, yanking the tie loose with a sharp tug.
Suddenly, the door next to Diana's bedroom creaked open.
Noah Bell emerged, looking half-asleep with messy hair. He was wearing nothing but a pair of oversized boxer shorts, his bare chest on full display as he stepped casually into the room.