Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

"N-Nothing!" she stammered quickly, too quickly. "It's—it was just—fabric. Weird fabric. Jinyang must've... accidentally..."

He blinked.

She flushed deeper, practically glowing.

And he tilted his head, slowly setting his jacket over the back of her chair, his tone deceptively casual. "Accidentally bought you lingerie?"

"I hate her." Yao groaned and dropped her forehead against the nearest cushion.

Da Bing blinked slowly, as if deciding whether it was time to intervene.

Xiao Cong sniffed the box with curiosity.

Sicheng crossed the room and crouched beside her, voice a low murmur near her ear. "You didn't throw it out."

She made a noise that could only be described as a flustered whimper. "I didn't say I was keeping it either," she hissed.

He reached over, fingers brushing over hers with a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth. "Good," he whispered, his voice deep and smug and far too close. "Because I'd hate for that to go to waste."

Yao's entire soul exited her body.

And Sicheng?

He stood with perfect composure, hands in his pockets, strolling into her kitchen like he hadn't just sent her into full system failure with one sentence.

Yao stared after him in disbelief, cheeks still on fire, her heart pounding from the sheer audacity of that man and his unholy voice. He had no right sounding that smug after sending her into a tailspin with one single line and walking away like he hadn't just threatened her sanity with lace and implication. She huffed. Then her eyes landed on the nearest weapon. The couch pillow. With a flash of righteous vengeance, she grabbed it, stood up—and launched it across the room.

It hit him square in the back.

Hard.

Sicheng paused mid-step in front of her kitchen counter, the force of it making his shoulders jolt forward slightly. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't even turn. Just stood there, one hand still lazily in his pocket.

"Oh no." Yao whispered to herself, already regretting it.

Then he turned.

Slowly.

Flat expression. One brow raised. Dangerous calm.

Yao's eyes widened. "Cheng-ge..."

He took one step toward her.

"Don't."

Another step.

"You're being dramatic!"

Another.

"I didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

He kept walking.

And she bolted.

A squeak escaped her as she scrambled away from the couch, nearly tripping over Xiao Cong—who meowed loudly in protest—and darted toward the safety of her bedroom.

She'd almost made it.

Almost.

But he was faster.

She squealed as a firm arm caught her just at the doorway, and the next second she was being swept off her feet with an undignified yelp. "Cheng-ge!" she shrieked, half laughing, half flailing.