He pulled her hand, shifting significantly closer to her, ostensibly attentive while trying to cop a feel.
The old man was strong; she couldn't easily pull away.
"Ouch, all red! You alright, miss?" Mr. Wei's face, creased with wrinkles, feigned deep concern. His accent hinted at the South, perhaps Fujian or Taiwan. He looked up at her slowly, his gaze sweeping over her entire body. "Gotta be careful now. Wouldn't want to ruin such delicate skin. Scars ain't pretty."
Angwei's eyes drifted lazily between Daian's hand and the man. His expression was casual, but his gaze held no warmth.
Only when she tilted her head to look at him did a flicker cross his brow, yet he showed no sign of intervening.
Normally, Daian would have slapped him by now. But today, she wanted to test the hook she'd cast at Wat Pho. How deep had it sunk?
After a moment, Angwei leaned back languidly, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he addressed the man. "Mr. Wei, you must be tired. Let's call it a night of business talk. I've arranged another private room downstairs for you. Experience some Bangkok hospitality. Relax a little. How's that?"
The man laughed heartily at the suggestion, his face lighting up as if granted permission. "Young Master Angwei's arrangements? I wouldn't dare refuse!"
As he spoke, he hauled Daian roughly into his arms. She resisted, pushing against Mr. Wei. "Sir, I'm a server. I don't accompany guests. I'm sorry."
Mr. Wei seemed to find this amusing, thinking the girl was playing hard to get. He chuckled lewdly, tightening his grip, and glanced at Angwei. "Oh? Really? Young Master, servers at the Sandalwood Palace don't entertain guests? That's news to me."
He pinched Daian's thigh. Her patience was fraying, but she had to endure. It felt like a game with no opponent.
Angwei reached for his teacup, took a calm sip, his eyes briefly touching the reddened skin on her thigh before coolly looking away. He spoke slowly, "It's true. The Sandalwood Palace's servers don't pour drinks. It's the rule. Mr. Wei, the best hostesses downstairs are waiting for you. Guaranteed satisfaction. Please, make your way down."
"But what if I want her ? Can you make that happen today, Young Master?" Mr. Wei held Daian tight, a cigarette dangling from his lips, his words slurred. "Such a beauty just serving drinks? Can't imagine you doing business like that."
Angwei gave a light laugh but didn't answer. He looked down, brushing non-existent dust from his knee, then called out lazily, "Come in."
Two imposing bodyguards immediately opened the door. Nuozhi and another stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. "Yes, Young Master?"
"Take Mr. Wei to the spa suite on the third floor. See to it that he's received the Sandalwood Palace's finest wine and most beautiful hostess princesses. If he's not completely satisfied, you're both fired."
"Understood."
"This server stays. She'll pour my tea while I rest here. No disturbances."
Angwei's command was pointed. Mr. Wei caught the underlying message and released Daian. An offered exit must be taken.
In business, refusing to face was the gravest offense.
"Mr. Wei, this way," Nuozhi gestured.
Mr. Wei might have clout, but this was the Chan family's turf. Even the heavens themselves would yield to the local power here. Only a fool wouldn't know that.
The man stood up, beaming. "Since Young Master Angwei has everything so well arranged, I wouldn't want to be ungrateful. Even if the servers here are this stunning, the hostesses and wine must be exceptional! I look forward to it. Enjoy your tea."
He laughed again and followed the bodyguards out, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Filthy old goat, Daian cursed inwardly towards the door. She turned back and met those lazy, fathomless eyes. The sharp angles of his face, visible through the lingering smoke haze, seemed slightly less severe as he studied her intently.
Truth be told, the first time Daian saw Angwei at Wat Pho, she'd thought he had an unfairly handsome face. But the ruthless cunning she knew lay beneath that surface sent chills down her spine.
"Thank you, Young Master Angwei," Daian murmured, dipping her head slightly. "If you have instructions, please tell me."
She kept her eyes down, afraid he might detect something.
His intervention puzzled her; perhaps a rare flicker of decency?
Under the table, she rubbed the reddened skin at the base of her thumb. It stung.
"Sit closer."
His tone was always a command, brooking no argument.
Daian understood. She shifted towards the center of the sofa, maintaining a cautious distance.
"Name?" he asked.
"Daian."
His eyes, inherently roguish and deep-set, fixed on her. With a slight nod towards her hand, he asked, "How's the hand? Will it scar?"
He hadn't seen the burn, only recalled Mr. Wei's words. His own lack of gentlemanly concern suddenly irritated him.
Daian covered the spot. "It's fine. I'll ice it later."
Angwei's expression remained impassive. He stubbed out his cigarette. The haze that had hung between them dissipated, bringing his features into sharper focus. Oddly, up close, his face seemed unexpectedly softer, less menacing than usual.
He picked up the cup of cold tea in front of him and took a sip.
"Did the forehead scar?" Angwei raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the transparent bandage visible in her hairline. He asked casually, almost idly.
Daian froze for a second, then understood. She touched the spot. "The doctor said it might. Too soon to tell."
"Stitches?" His brow furrowed slightly.
Daian nodded.
Stitches on a woman's face weren't ideal. Could easily lead to disfigurement. Angwei rotated his teacup, his gaze now openly fixed on her.
Outside, dusk had fallen. Inside, the lamps cast a dim, yellowish glow. Daian avoided his intense stare, looking down instead at the purple bruise forming on her thigh. Her oval face was pale and smooth as jade. Her clear eyes occasionally met his gaze – was it timidity, or something else?
Women usually looked at him with endless flattery and eagerness to please, something he detested, perhaps linked to his fastidiousness. Yet, at some point, he'd started finding a certain... amusement in toying with them.
"Young Master Angwei, if there's nothing else, I should go." Daian gave a small nod and reached for the serving tray. Her hand brushed against his as he set down his cup. She recoiled as if shocked, grabbed the tray, and stood to flee.
"Running?" His low voice stopped her. It wasn't a request. "The tea's cold. Brew a fresh pot."
Daian paused, then turned back. She sat again on the cushion and began preparing the tea.
They were close now, enveloped in the heavy scent of tobacco clinging to him.
His throat felt dry. He leisurely lit another cigarette, clearly in no hurry to leave.
Angwei's brow was high, his eye sockets deep. When he looked at someone, a predatory confidence, a certainty that he always got what he wanted, danced in the corners of his long, intense eyes. It was frightening.
This was the first time she'd been this close to him. With every breath, a current of apprehension flowed between them.