Chapter 5: I Have My Limits

There was no escape—she had to face it. Closing her eyes briefly, Xia Yihan steeled herself and said, "Young Master Ye, I value this job, but I have my principles. If you insist on crossing the line, I’ll have no choice but to leave."

She braced herself for his anger, but to her surprise, he only smirked mockingly, released her chin, and said coldly, "Serious? If you think you’re worthy of sharing my bed, you’re sorely mistaken."

Xia Yihan had essentially gambled everything. If he had pushed further, she would never have compromised her dignity—she would’ve walked away.

His dismissive remark, "not worthy," was almost a relief. At least she could stay.

Now, all she hoped was that the person she was waiting for would arrive soon, so she wouldn’t have to endure another night of walking on eggshells beside this insufferable man.

Following him down the corridor, they stopped in front of the last door. He stood there, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to open it.

She lowered her head, twisted the metal doorknob, and said softly, "After you, Young Master Ye."

He stepped into the bedroom expressionlessly, and Xia Yihan followed, her nerves on edge.

Unlike the opulent, gold-dominated European style of the outer rooms, his bedroom was dimly lit, with walls papered in deep purple-black, creating a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.

The space was vast, dominated by an oversized bed—easily two meters wide—with bedding in the same dark tones. The only light came from a crystal chandelier above the bed, its base also black.

The room’s somber decor seemed to explain Ye Zimo’s erratic behavior.

"Close the door," he commanded gruffly. Xia Yihan instinctively bit her lip before turning to shut it.

Ye Zimo reached for his belt, unfastening it with practiced ease. Like before in the bathroom, he stripped down to nothing but black boxer briefs.

Xia Yihan averted her gaze, and without further instruction, he strode toward a door in the corner. She assumed he was heading to the bathroom and would expect her to follow—until his icy voice stopped her: "Don’t come in."

Relieved, she halted immediately.

While he was in the shower, she wondered what exactly her "night duty" entailed. Was she supposed to keep watch like a palace maid in ancient times?

Her eyes were drawn to two framed photos on his bedside table.

The first, slightly yellowed at the edges, was an old photo taken at the Forbidden City. A young boy—presumably Ye Zimo—beamed with innocent joy, cradled in the arms of a woman who must have been his mother.

The second was a recent shot, the same pair in Prague Square, a place Xia Yihan had long dreamed of visiting.

In both photos, his lips were tightly sealed, no trace of a smile, while his mother’s affectionate gaze remained unchanged.

Xia Yihan stared, puzzled. Why only pictures of him and his mother? Did he have a strained relationship with his father?

And what did that mean for her...?

Just as she pondered this, a warm breath brushed her ear as his low voice murmured, "Interested? Just photos of a mother and son."

Startled, Xia Yihan quickly composed herself and replied softly, "I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do here, so I... looked around."

...

Ye Zimo didn’t look convinced but said nothing, merely gesturing to the sofa at the foot of the bed. "Sleep."

He didn’t specify what she was supposed to do for the night. The whole arrangement felt like his earlier "seduction" accusation—a setup to humiliate her in front of the other maids tomorrow.

Let them come, she thought. If tormenting a maid is his idea of entertainment, she wouldn’t disappoint him.

She lay down on the sofa while he settled into his massive bed. Barely two days since they’d met, and here they were, sharing a room in this bizarre arrangement.

He probably took such servitude for granted, stripping so casually in front of her. Meanwhile, she still wasn’t used to being this close to a strange man.

He was like a devil—a cat toying with a mouse, finding amusement in her discomfort. Was this really fun for him?

Though he seemed asleep, Ye Zimo remained vigilant, silently observing her every move.

He knew his father’s rivals—the provincial chamber of commerce president—would try to plant someone near him to gather damaging evidence. From the video, he’d already confirmed that the infiltrator was the woman now sleeping on the sofa. She didn’t fit the mold of someone like Fang Lina, who would stoop to marriage for wealth.

All night, he gave no orders, and Xia Yihan stayed awake, only dozing off when exhaustion overtook her.

At dawn, Ye Zimo rose to wash up. Xia Yihan noticed that without an audience, he disliked being waited on. Her presence seemed utterly unnecessary.

"Young Master Ye, roll call is soon. May I return to the workers’ quarters?" she asked quietly.

"No."

Of course he refused. Why were men of privilege so infuriating?

She had no choice but to follow him to the gym.

By 6:00 AM, the maids had gathered at the workers’ entrance.

The butler, his face dark, demanded, "Where were you last night?"

Zhao Tian’ai sneered, "Who knows? Didn’t come back all night. Probably slept with some man."

The news exploded like wildfire. Fang Lina and Sun Mengmeng exchanged knowing looks—had she really spent the night with the Young Master?

Under the butler’s lead, they marched to the gym as usual.

The moment they entered, they heard Ye Zimo’s voice—loud enough for everyone to hear—addressing Xia Yihan: "Last night, your service was acceptable. But unless instructed, don’t barge into my bedroom. I detest forward women."

Oh my God—she really had slept in his room?

Jealousy ignited in the three women like wildfire. They could barely contain their fury, itching to tear her apart.

Even though Xia Yihan had expected this, hearing him publicly humiliate her was unbearable.

Ye Zimo’s tone was frigid, his anger palpable. The butler rushed to reprimand Xia Yihan, desperate to placate him.