Chapter 48: A Controlling Boyfriend
The office door opened again before he could examine the feeling more closely.
Zeyu strolled into Hanchuan’s office like he owned it. A garment bag was thrown over one shoulder and his phone pressed to his ear as he appeared to be having a very serious conversation with whoever was on the other side.
"No, soft," he said, looking around the room until he spotted Zhiyi. "Nothing dramatic. She looks best natural. She already has the dress. I only need hair and makeup. I don’t care what you planned for tonight. I’m paying you enough to drop whatever you are doing and show up where I tell you to."
He listened while crossing the office, then frowned at whatever the person on the other end said. "No, you don’t need to know what she wants," he snapped back, the look on his face turning a bit dark.
Zhiyi lifted her head from Hanchuan’s chest, worried that she had done something to upset him.
Zeyu looked directly at her, shook his head, and offered her a soft smile with a wink. "What can I say? I’m a controlling boyfriend."
The words were delivered lightly enough to pass as a joke, but something beneath them prevented Hanchuan from dismissing them as one.
Zhiyi apparently saw no reason to object, instead, she lowered her head again while Hanchuan narrowed his eyes at his best friend.
Zeyu continued toward the private executive suite attached to the office without acknowledging the warning. "You’ll understand when you see her," he finished, right before ending the call and reaching for the door.
Hanchuan stared at him. "You called someone."
Zeyu glanced over his shoulder. "For Zhiyi."
"I gathered that."
"Then we’re communicating beautifully," Zeyu purred.
Zhiyi looked between them, ignoring the argument in favor of the useful information buried beneath it. "Who is coming?"
"A stylist," he replied, his voice much softer than when he was speaking to Hanchuan.
He let the garment bag slide from his shoulder onto the back of a chair. He had intended to change, but the slight crease between Zhiyi’s brows made him abandon the door and cross the office instead. "She’ll handle your hair and makeup. You don’t need to prepare anything before she arrives."
Zhiyi remained against Hanchuan’s chest, studying Zeyu as she worked through what he had told her.
There was no objection in her expression. She only appeared to be searching for the part of the arrangement that still required something from her. "Will she need me to choose anything?"
"No." Zeyu stopped in front of her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.
He moved slowly enough to give her time to register the contact, and when she didn’t pull away, his thumbs brushed once over the fabric of her shirt. "That’s the point. You’ve done enough today. Until dinner, your only job is to sit somewhere comfortable and let other people handle everything else. I’ve already taken care of the decisions."
Some of the tension left her shoulders beneath his hands. Zhiyi looked toward Hanchuan, not because she doubted Zeyu, but because Hanchuan had spent seven years helping her confirm which tasks still belonged to her.
He understood the question she hadn’t asked. "Zeyu’s right. There’s nothing else you need to do."
Zhiyi accepted the closed instruction with a small nod. "All right."
The satisfaction that appeared on Zeyu’s face was immediate and unbearable.
Hanchuan regretted agreeing with him before the last word had fully left Zhiyi’s mouth. "Don’t enjoy that."
"Too late." Zeyu removed his hands from her shoulders and retrieved the garment bag, his grin widening as he finally headed toward the private suite. "I intend to remember it forever."
"You’ll be fortunate if I allow you to remember it until dinner."
Zeyu smiled before retrieving his garment bag and disappearing into the private suite to change.
The stylist arrived twenty-three minutes later with an assistant carrying two hard-sided cases.
Zeyu had managed to change into his tuxedo while they waited. He opened the office door with one hand still adjusting his cuff link, greeted the stylist by name and stepped aside to let her enter.
She crossed the threshold already speaking to him, then saw Zhiyi.
Her attention moved from Zhiyi’s face to the dress she was already wearing. She stopped for half a beat. "Stand up for me," she said.
Zhiyi rose from the sofa.
"Turn around. Slowly."
Zhiyi did.
The dark-blue fabric was matte and smooth, heavy enough to fall in clean lines without clinging to her body.
The strapless bodice crossed her chest asymmetrically. One side ran in a straight, restrained line beneath her collarbone; the other folded upward into a sharp sculpted point, giving the dress an elegance that was neither soft nor conventional.
Diagonal pleats swept across the fitted bodice and converged at her waist, defining it without the rigid structure of boning or a corset.
Below her hips, the skirt opened into a full A-line fall. Deep folds of midnight-blue fabric reached the floor and shifted around her ankles as she turned.
The slit was concealed within one of those folds. It disappeared entirely when she stood still, then opened above her knee when she completed the turn, allowing her to walk without shortening her stride.
The back remained simple, following the line of her body to the waist before releasing into the skirt. A concealed zipper ran beneath her left arm, placed where she could reach it herself.
It was dark, mysterious, and fit Zhiyi like it had been made with her in mind.
The stylist looked at Zeyu. "You chose this?"
"I approved it," he replied with a smirk.
"That wasn’t what I asked." The stylist was old enough to hold her own against Zeyu and not fall for his playboy charm, and that was one of the only reasons why he always used her.
A smile touched his mouth. "Then yes. I chose this."
The stylist walked once around Zhiyi, lifting the back of the skirt long enough to examine the hem before letting it settle. "The length is right. Sit down."
There was no discussion of what Zhiyi might prefer. No row of colour palettes placed in front of her and no questions about whether she wanted something romantic, dramatic or natural.
The stylist positioned her before the mirror, fastened a protective cloth around the neckline of the dress and opened her cases.
Zhiyi watched her lay out the tools in precise rows.
Never before had she experienced something like this. She could only hope that she didn’t mess anything up.