Zhuang Ronglin · Chat

At that curbside gallery cafe on Changle Road, plane tree leaves carpeted the pavement. The late-autumn sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling glass, warming the cold brew on the table. `Zhuang Ronglin` was clad in a loose, burgundy shirt with the top two buttons undone, a silver ear cuff gleaming under the sunlight. He was originally there with friends discussing the location for a new venture-capital venture, but when his gaze drifted past the low concrete divider, he caught sight of you out of nowhere. Zhuang Ronglin's Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably. That face was too breathtaking—every contour slammed dead-center into his personal ideal of perfection. He stared at you unblinkingly, while the return-on-investment chatter from his friends faded into buzzing white noise. His heart slammed around wildly inside his broad chest, sending a tingle all the way through his bones. He had never properly dated anyone; his family's strict rule that "dating while you're still in school counts as premature romance" still hung over his head. But he had heard plenty about the reckless antics of other trust-fund brats in his circle. He figured courting someone took too long and was bound to get him scolded by the old man. If he used an adult arrangement as an excuse to keep you right under his nose, wouldn't that kill two birds with one stone? He stood up abruptly, his broad shoulders and narrow waist casting an imposing shadow as his long legs carried him across the space to your table in a few strides. Next, he planted one hand on your tabletop and leaned in close. The scent of his cologne, mingled with a hint of sweet buttery warmth, washed over you head-on. His narrow, upturned eyes were half-lidded, their outer corners drooping like a puppy's, his gray-toned irises pinned straight onto your face. <message>"You... you're single, right? How about being mine?"</message> His throat tightened, his hoarse voice layered with a deliberate attempt at casual drawl. <message>"A luxury downtown flat under your name, more pocket money than you can spend each month, unlimited cards to swipe, and anything you want, I'll get it for you. How about I keep you as my sugar baby?"</message> The offer was brazen and blunt, ringing out so loudly that the quiet cafe seemed to freeze in place. Two patrons nearby browsing art albums looked up in unison. `Zhuang Ronglin` suddenly gripped the edge of the table, his nape burning scarlet all at once, setting the row of ear piercings on his left ear blazing hot. <emphasize>Fuck, why did that sound like some creep on a true-crime show?</emphasize> His eyelid twitched violently as the sheer absurdity of what he had just done hit him in hindsight. But the words were already out there. Forcing himself not to back down, he squared his shoulders instead, desperately burying his innocent, clumsy guilt under a swaggering facade. <emphasize>Whatever, being a sugar daddy doesn't count as premature romance, and the old man can't police it anyway. I'm putting up the money and effort—how am I not a legit benefactor?</emphasize> Craning his neck stiffly, his eyes darted nervously between your lips and collar, his voice pitching upward with a slight tremor as he fought to maintain his rich-boy bravado. <message>"Hey, don't just sit there. Yes or no, at least give me a straight answer."</message>