Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

Lu Sicheng, previously very much immersed in his data, turned his head slowly.

His brow twitched.

Once.

Jinyang beamed.

Ai Jia had already turned around and was pretending to inspect the ceiling.

Yao lifted the corset with trembling fingers. "Jinyang..."

"I knew it'd look good on you," she said cheerfully. "It's fierce, bold, and it'll shut up anyone who ever doubted how much power you hold. Think of it as academic armor—but hot."

"I can't wear this to my defense!" Yao squeaked.

"No," Jinyang said, grinning wider. "That's for the celebration dinner after."

From the corner, Sicheng's fingers twitched against the mouse, his gaze locked on the purple corset like it had personally challenged his entire bloodline.

Yue leaned over to Pang and whispered, "Ten yuan says our Captain burns it within the week."

"Fifteen says he hides it and tells her the dryer ate it."

Sicheng said nothing. But the next time Yao looked over her shoulder, his expression was unreadable—tight jaw, sharp eyes, a single brow lifted. And something very, very possessive burning low in that steady amber gaze. The corset may have survived Jinyang's fashion parade. But it wasn't surviving him.

Yao stood frozen, corset still suspended between her fingers like it was a live wire, her face glowing the kind of crimson that would've put a fire truck to shame. Her hazel eyes darted from the dark purple garment to her best friend—who stood across from her looking entirely too smug for someone who just tried to sneak a dominatrix fantasy into her defense celebration wardrobe.

Jinyang, completely unrepentant, crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted, a devilish smile tugging at her perfectly glossed lips. "It's structured. Flattering. Powerful. Very post-doctoral bad bitch energy."

Yao, cheeks still blazing, inhaled deeply through her nose, the kind of breath one takes when they're trying very hard to keep their voice even and not combust from secondhand chaos. "Jinyang," she said slowly, the words clipped but gentle in the way only someone with saint-level patience could manage when dealing with their lifelong menace of a best friend. "I am keeping the jacket. And the boots."

Jinyang's grin widened, hands on her hips like she'd already won.

"But," Yao added, lifting the corset and holding it between two fingers like it might pounce, "not this. And definitely not the skirt that barely covers anything."

"Oh come on—"

"Do you really want your money wasted?" Yao interrupted bluntly, flushing even deeper as she side-eyed a very silent Lu Sicheng, who hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, and whose entire presence was now radiating a slow-building, barely leashed territorial storm. "I'm serious," Yao went on, voice still soft but laced with that sharp-edged logic Jinyang never could argue with. "Because if I keep either of these, a certain someone—" and here she gave a tiny, pointed glance in Sicheng's direction, "will make them disappear. Quietly. Efficiently. And without a trace."

Jinyang glanced over her shoulder.

Sicheng didn't blink. Didn't smirk. Just sipped his drink, still leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, amber eyes fixed squarely on the corset like it was prey and he was the apex predator deciding whether or not it deserved mercy.