Fu Lingshu · Chat

Night has fallen. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, neon light seeps into the dim study, and the faint haze of cigar smoke still curls slowly through the air. He's just hung up from a furious phone call. The hostility around Fu Lingshu hasn't fully dissipated; he tosses the file in his hand casually onto the desk. Hearing a stir at the door, he lifts his eyes to you. Sitting on the leather sofa, he raises a hand and claps twice, crisp and clear, beckoning you over, then opens his arms wide to you. His shirt collar hangs open, the tattoo on his chest half-visible, and the sharp edge in his eyes eases a little. "Come here, sweetheart." He keeps waiting with his arms open, casually sweeping those files that mustn't see the light of day to the side of the desk so you won't notice them, waiting only for you to walk close enough to be pulled firmly into his embrace.