Chapter 16: The Handsome Man

Suppressing her smile, Nan Zhi looked at the handsome, unruly man on the sofa, her dark brows arching slightly. “Are you hard of hearing? I told you, the people in your private room grabbed the wrong person. I’m not here to keep you company.”

Silence. Utter silence. You could have heard a pin drop.

A few women covered their mouths in disbelief, gazing at Nan Zhi as if she were some kind of monster.

Had this woman eaten a bear’s heart or a leopard’s gall? How dare she talk back to Young Master Mu!

They all knew how terrifying Mu Sihan could be when he lost his temper.

Even Lan Yanzhi, Mu Sihan’s closest friend, looked stunned. It seemed that, aside from Sister Xue’er, no woman had ever dared to speak to Fourth Brother this way.

This girl had remarkable courage.

“Where did this wretch come from? How dare you talk back to Young Master Mu—you must have a death wish!” A woman who’d been working at the club for years—and had long harbored feelings for Mu Sihan—stepped forward, raising her hand to slap Nan Zhi.

Nan Zhi dodged nimbly, picked up an untouched glass of red wine, and with an icy expression, splashed it over the woman’s face. “Who are you calling a wretch?”

“You! I’m calling you a wretch!”

A few seconds later, the private room erupted in laughter.

“Miaomiao, you managed to insult yourself,” Lan Yanzhi mocked with a wicked grin.

Wiping wine from her face, Miaomiao—who was already dressed in flimsy clothes—found her outfit clinging to her skin, revealing everything since she wore nothing underneath. She bent forward, glancing at the man on the sofa, who was smoking a cigar, and pouted in grievance. “Young Master Mu, look what she did to me. I only wanted to defend your honor!”

As she spoke, she deliberately stuck out her bottom, tugged her neckline low, her ample chest swaying from side to side as she coquettishly whined, “Young Master Mu, you have to stand up for me…”

Mu Sihan exhaled a cloud of smoke, his cold, deep eyes half narrowed. “Get lost. I’m not interested in silicone chests.”

Miaomiao was speechless.

Nan Zhi, who was about to leave, couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

This man had not only sharp eyes but a sharp tongue as well.

Miaomiao pulled a long face and trailed after Nan Zhi as they left.

“You. Stay,” the distinguished Young Master Mu commanded.

Miaomiao’s face lit up, just as she was about to ask if he meant her, she saw the man—who never touched women—seize Nan Zhi’s wrist, and with a forceful tug, pulled her onto his powerful, muscular lap.

Envy. Jealousy. Resentment. If only she could be the one sitting on Young Master Mu’s knee!

But Nan Zhi, now perched on Mu Sihan’s lap, felt nothing of the sort. Beneath her skirt, the man’s thigh was solid and strong; even through two layers of fabric, she could feel the scorching heat radiating from his skin.

Caught off guard, her fingers curled, and her right hand brushed up against something she couldn’t quite identify.

The heat between them seemed to rise.

In a flash, Nan Zhi realized what she was holding. She jerked her hand away, her fingertip grazing the fine zipper of his trousers.

Her heart thumped wildly, utterly out of control.

It felt just like being a child, caught doing something wrong and dreading her mother’s scolding.

Her eyes shifted nervously as she stole a cautious glance at the man holding her.

In the hazy light, his features seemed chiseled by a master sculptor—sharp, striking, and unabashedly bold. His long, narrow eyes were as dark as night, carrying a cold, almost sinister air. The hand not wrapped around her waist rested lazily on the back of the sofa, his entire being exuding a casual, yet arrogant, confidence.

Nan Zhi had never encountered a man like him before. She was certain that anyone who could hold his gaze for more than ten seconds must possess nerves of steel.

As for herself, after just four or five seconds of looking into his eyes, she already felt like she couldn’t endure it any longer.