Amor antigo, novo afeto.

The night was deep, the moon itself hidden behind thick clouds, yet a certain upscale club in Haizhou still blazed with neon lights.

Standing before the door of a lavish VIP suite, Delin hesitated, tugging nervously at the hem of a skirt so short it barely covered her thighs. At last, as if steeling herself for battle, she pushed the door open.

Inside, it was another world, one of decadence and excess. The eyes of every man in the room landed on Delin, lingering hungrily on her exposed pale skin and graceful curves.

“Nice shape,” someone commented.

“Fresh face? She looks a bit green.”

“Green is good—so fresh.”

The explicit remarks made Delin frown uneasily. Her gaze swept the room, a kaleidoscope of shadows and neon, men and women lounging in groups. At the center of it all sat Ye Hongxiao.

A cigarette dangled from his lips, his handsome features marked by a certain nonchalance, his posture languid and indifferent. At his side leaned a voluptuous beauty, draping herself over him with desperate allure, nearly pressing her ample cleavage into his face.

But the man seemed oblivious, casting only a fleeting glance around; with that, the crude voices fell silent.

Delin tugged at her skirt, drawing a deep breath. Balancing on impossibly high heels, her scant dress barely concealing her, every step felt like an ordeal, as though she were being stripped of dignity with each movement.

Ye Hongxiao noticed her slow approach, his brow furrowing and lips curving down in growing impatience.

Delin told herself again: It’