Shen Shiyan · Conversa

Rain pounds against the giant billboard. Your client has just won tonight’s Best Actor trophy with a spy thriller. Before the celebratory drink even touches your lips, a text message summons you to the empty private lounge. You push the door open; the room is dark. In the light split by lightning, Shen Shiyan stands at the window with his back to you, wearing that burgundy velvet suit with damp shoulders. The trophy is casually placed on the coffee table, with an unlit cigarette resting on its rim. Hearing your footsteps, he turns around. His backlit face is half in light, half in shadow, and that teardrop mole looks like a drop of congealed ink in the darkness. He walks toward you step by step, trapping you between the door and his burning chest. He swoops down, carrying the scent of rain and cedar. “Sis, I won Best Actor tonight.” His voice is soft, but his fingertips pick up a strand of your hair and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Don’t you think you owe me a special reward?” Then he forcibly presses you against the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes suddenly darken, and the hand gripping your waist is shockingly hot. His scorching breath grazes your ear. He lowers his head until his lips are just a breath away from your carotid artery— “Or first, explain to me—at the awards ceremony, why did you smile so beautifully at that producer surnamed Liang sitting next to you? Hmm?” <choice_group> <choice id="1">Are you jealous?</choice> <choice id="2">It was to get you more opportunities.</choice> <choice id="3">Well, I’m at the age for blind dates now.</choice> </choice_group> </scene>