The grand banquet hall was adorned with bright yellow ribbons as elegantly dressed guests milled about the spacious venue. Lu Qingyan sat alone at the side, silently nursing her twelfth drink of the evening while watching Yan Mochen discuss business with others across the room. Her head was beginning to swim.

She stared at the two small pills in her palm, hesitating.

Just as she furrowed her brows in contemplation, someone suddenly clapped her on the shoulder. The pills slipped from her grasp and plopped into her glass. Her heart lurched—but before she could react, the glass was swiftly snatched away and set aside.

She looked up to see an unfamiliar face and couldn’t help but frown.

*Newcomer?*

"Why sit here all by yourself?" The man smirked, his attempt at charm oozing nothing but sleaze. Lu Qingyan suppressed a scoff. *This idiot must have never heard of Yan Mochen—or that I’m his woman.*

She stayed silent, only wanting to retrieve her drink and dispose of it. But the man, unfazed, plopped down beside her, his hand creeping onto her shoulder like a tentacle. "How about you spend tonight with me, huh?"

His fingers wriggled suggestively.

"Not interested," she said coolly, standing up and shooting him a disdainful glare before turning to leave.

But the man clung like sticky candy, grabbing her wrist. She whirled around, glaring daggers, yet he only pressed closer, groping her while slurring, "I like 'em feisty!"

His rough touch made her skin crawl. Disgusted, she struggled. "Let go! I said let go!"

She shoved against him, but he only tightened his grip, snarling, "You got no idea who you're messing with, do ya? Stay still, or I won’t be so nice. I ain’t a patient man, got it?"

In a flash, she stomped hard on his foot. He yelped in pain, loosening his hold—but as she tried to flee, he yanked her back, raising his hand to strike.

She squeezed her eyes shut—only to feel a sudden rush of wind. The grip on her vanished. When she opened her eyes, the man was sprawled on the floor, clutching his jaw and groaning in pain.

Lu Qingyan turned her head in confusion, only to find Yan Mochen standing beside her. His chiseled profile was as sharp as a blade, with piercing hawk-like eyes set deep beneath prominent brows. His high-bridged nose and thin lips curved into a faint smile—one so icy it seemed utterly devoid of warmth.

The drunken man staggered to his feet, spewing curses as he prepared to confront Yan Mochen. But Yan Mochen ignored him entirely, merely gesturing for security to drag the man out unceremoniously.

Lu Qingyan studied Yan Mochen’s face, struck by the contrast—his expression remained cold as ever, yet something about him now felt unexpectedly reassuring.

"You alright?" he asked.

She shook her head, about to respond when his next words sent a chill straight through her.

"The gala’s wrapping up soon. I’m heading to the hospital to see Xiaonuan. Get yourself home."