Chapter 23: Shattered Dignity

Chapter 23: Shattered Dignity

The private room fell into deathly silence. Song Wenhao had never seen anyone so brazen, daring to provoke at a moment like this.

Gu Hansheng let out a cold laugh, suddenly grabbing Zhao Yu by the collar and dragging him out. Zhao Yu stumbled awkwardly, practically being dragged by force, unable to keep up as he was yanked along.

The two walked through the corridor and into the restroom. Veins popping on the back of his hand, Gu Hansheng shoved Zhao Yu into the farthest stall.

Zhao Yu hit the wall, grabbed the partition, and collapsed onto the toilet lid. Everything in front of him was swaying, even Gu Hansheng looked like he had a double.

"You'll accept any request?" Gu Hansheng's icy voice echoed in the cramped stall as he yanked Zhao Yu's hair, forcing his head up.

Zhao Yu winced in pain, brows furrowed, the corners of his eyes flushed red, the alcohol on his lips giving off an enticing sheen.

His face was actually pretty handsome—lean, with sharp bone structure, a straight nose bridge that wasn't too sharp, smooth brow bones that didn't come off as aggressive. The exact same face looked totally harmless on Chen Xitong, but on Zhao Yu, it had this indescribable edge.

Chen Xitong couldn't drink, and Gu Hansheng wouldn't have let him end up in such a state. But Zhao Yu—Gu Hansheng stared coldly at his lips, sneering, "A fake dares to talk big. What the hell can you even do?"

The things Zhao Yu had said infuriated him. Truth or lies wasn't exactly hard to tell apart—he just hadn't wanted to at the time, which let the guy get away with it. Everything that followed—the money, time, and effort he'd poured in—now felt so ridiculous. The true love he'd tried to protect had ended up backfiring, mocking him: Look, even with an Ivy League education, navigating the business world, fighting against so many scheming people, in the end, you still got played by some cheap con artist.

How could someone as proud as him put up with being played like that?

Yet this con artist still had the nerve to lecture about truth and lies, acting like he could read his mind. It pissed him off.

Zhao Yu watched him undo his belt, and then two fingers forced his mouth open, pressing his tongue down. A cold voice came from above him: "Open your mouth. Tuck your teeth in."

...

Zhou Lan bought food and returned to find Zhao Yu missing. He immediately pulled the car over and rushed inside to look for him. After searching up and down without finding Zhao Yu, and with calls going unanswered, he was frantic as a chicken with its head cut off when he suddenly spotted someone throwing up at the restroom sink—Zhao Yu's face flashed by in the mirror.

Zhou Lan rushed over to support him, patting his back. "How much did you drink? You okay?"

Another tall figure stepped out from inside, walked over to the sink, and took his sweet time washing each finger, shooting a mocking glance at Zhao Yu in the mirror. "All talk, no game."

Zhao Yu wiped his busted lip with the back of his hand, staring straight at Gu Hansheng, and asked in a hoarse voice, "About pulling the investment—will you let it go?"

"I'll call you." Gu Hansheng pulled out a tissue to dry his hands, tossed it in the trash, and turned to leave.

He treated Zhao Yu like a used tissue, tossed aside, not even bothering to give him a straight answer.

Zhou Lan asked quietly, "What did you say to Mr. Gu?"

Zhao Yu didn't answer. His body swayed and nearly fell. Zhou Lan slung his arm over his shoulder and led him out, stumbling the whole way to the car.

Zhao Yu was completely drunk and passed out as soon as he got in. Zhou Lan busted his ass to get him home.

In the morning, a harsh ray of sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains into the room. Zhao Yu stirred under the covers, opened his eyes painfully, and stared at the white wall of the bedroom. The smell of booze hadn't faded, and last night's memories slowly resurfaced.

He crawled out of bed, holding his pounding head, and walked out of the bedroom. Zhou Lan bolted upright from the sofa. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Zhao Yu poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the table. "Did you bring me back last night? I don't remember."

"How much did you even drink?" Zhou Lan said. "Didn't I tell you not to go in? You even tricked me into leaving. Unbelievable."

"Thanks for the compliment." Zhao Yu said flatly.

Zhou Lan sighed. "So what did you say to Mr. Gu?"

Zhao Yu thought about the reckless crap he'd spewed while drunk and couldn't help but facepalm. He was genuinely drunk, that was real, and being completely ignored by Gu Hansheng with no other moves left was also real. Bottom line, he'd said those things on impulse. Now that he was sober, he couldn't work up the nerve to say them again.

The reckless move had successfully pissed off Gu Hansheng. Zhao Yu said, "He probably hates my guts even more now."

"But he told you to wait for his call."

"Really?" Zhao Yu was surprised. "When did he say that?"

"At the restroom door. I think you really blacked out. How much do you even remember?"

Honestly, not long after entering the restroom, he couldn't remember much—only that it was awful, and Gu Hansheng hadn't gone easy on him at all.

Zhao Yu touched the scabbed corner of his mouth. "I'm going to take a shower first."

He slipped into the bathroom, stripped off his booze-soaked clothes, and tilted his head up under the cold water pouring down. The sound of the water broke his memories apart, and the sherry scent of Macallan turned into a faint bitterness rising from his gut.

Gu Hansheng told him to wait for his call, but he had no idea what that meant.

When Gu Hansheng wanted to be nice to him, his thoughts were easy to read, something Zhao Yu could figure out. But now he couldn't get a read on him at all. The only thing he could figure was that if Gu Hansheng had zero interest in him, he wouldn't have forced him to do that—so there was still room to negotiate on pulling the investment.

After his shower, Zhao Yu checked his phone—still nothing from Gu Hansheng. Water dripped from his hair onto the screen, and he wiped it away, leaving a long streak.

Zhou Lan said, "You should at least tell me what the hell happened."

"Nothing happened. Zhou, you can clock out early. My stomach's killing me, and I need to sleep a bit more."

"Eat lunch before sleeping."

"Nah, no appetite."

Zhao Yu towel-dried his hair and collapsed onto the bed the second he got back to his room. His stomach cramped up painfully. He opened his chat with Gu Hansheng—the last message was his, unsent because he'd been blocked, leaving just a lonely exclamation mark.

Scrolling further up, the messages felt like a lifetime ago. When Gu Hansheng worked late, he'd tell Zhao Yu to go to bed early and not wait up, and Zhao Yu would ask if Gu Hansheng had eaten or when he'd be finished. There weren't many messages, just simple care—no matter when he texted, Gu Hansheng always replied fast.

He'd forgotten this was Chen Xitong's account and he'd never logged out. Now that he switched to his own account, it was completely empty—he hadn't even added Gu Hansheng. It was exactly like his relationship with Gu Hansheng: without Chen Xitong, they were nothing.

He clutched his stomach in pain, rolled over in bed, and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.

When he woke up, Zhou Lan was already gone. Stomach meds sat on the table, hot water was kept warm in the thermos, and a note on the porridge in the fridge told him to heat it up before eating.

As a personal assistant, Zhou Lan had done way more than enough. Zhao Yu sent him a thanks emoji and took the stomach meds with warm water.

His phone suddenly rang—it was Gu Hansheng. The text was just one line: Nine o'clock, InterContinental Hotel.

It was already past seven. Zhao Yu quickly got ready, changed, and rushed out the door without even having time to eat.

A forty-minute cab ride got him to the InterContinental Hotel, with twenty minutes to spare before nine. He sat down in the lobby. He felt carsick, and his stomach churned again. The front desk clerk noticed how pale he looked and kindly offered him a glass of warm water.

At ten past nine, Gu Hansheng still hadn't shown up. Zhao Yu was about to text him when he suddenly saw Gu Hansheng walking down from the second-floor restaurant with a few foreign clients. Zhao Yu shot to his feet, but Gu Hansheng ignored him, chatting with the group as he walked out.

A few minutes later, Gu Hansheng strolled back in, tilted his head, and jerked his chin for Zhao Yu to follow.

Zhao Yu followed close behind until Gu Hansheng stepped into the elevator. He paused, stopping at the door.

"Getting in or not?" Gu Hansheng asked coldly.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, Zhao Yu shot his hand out to stop them, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. His face was pale from the enclosed space and his stomach acting up.

"Stop faking it. One elevator accident and now you've got PTSD?" Gu Hansheng sneered, loosening his tie with a cocky air. The gentle image he'd put on before was gone, replaced by contempt hiding beneath a curled smirk.

Even the front desk clerk could tell Zhao Yu was genuinely sick—there was no way Gu Hansheng couldn't. He just didn't care. When you hate someone, even their weakness becomes hateful.

Zhao Yu did not say a word, silently enduring until the elevator doors slid open, then followed Gu Hansheng inside.

The room was very large, with a sweeping curved floor-to-ceiling panoramic window that offered a beautiful night view, yet neither of them was in the mood to take it in.

Gu Hansheng tossed his coat and tie onto the bed, then sat down in a chair, staring at Zhao Yu with a deadpan face. "Strip."

Although Zhao Yu had known what this was about when he came upstairs with him, the curtains weren't even drawn, and Gu Hansheng sat there fully dressed, just watching him—clearly intending to humiliate him.

Zhao Yu's skin prickled under the weight of his gaze. He was silent for a moment, then said, "I can strip—if you agree not to pull the funding."

"Are you bargaining with me?" Gu Hansheng retorted.

He knew Zhao Yu was at the end of his rope, which made him even more brazen. Zhao Yu lowered his head, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt as he pulled it off. Then he removed his pants, until he was completely naked, awkwardly clenching his hands into fists.

Gu Hansheng's gaze moved over him inch by inch, and he said, taking his time, "Last time, how did we do it? Do I need to teach you again?"

Zhao Yu stared down at the diamond-patterned carpet beneath his feet, then lifted his foot and walked toward Gu Hansheng. He envied the drunk version of himself from last night—numbed by alcohol, his senses dulled, and he'd even blacked out and forgotten so much. His stomach cramped again, and as he crouched down in front of Gu Hansheng, he crushed the last shred of his dignity underfoot.

...

It wasn't until dawn that Zhao Yu left the InterContinental Hotel, with faint dark circles under his eyes. Before he even made it back to his apartment, he collapsed by the flowerbed downstairs and threw up violently, then slowly steadied himself against the wall as he made his way into the stairwell and sat down on the steps.

The hallway light flickered on and off, and the emergency exit sign cast a greenish glow, making his silhouette look like a ghost drifting free of his body.

He had gotten what he wanted—Gu Hansheng agreed not to pull the funding for now, but the price was that he had to be at his beck and call.

Zhao Yu leaned wearily against the wall, his eyes slowly closing in exhaustion, his body merging with the darkness.