The Drowing Summer

Xia Xiaoman had just captured her third crucial photo when a dark shadow suddenly loomed over her. She looked up, and rain immediately flooded her vision, blurring her sight. All she could make out was a pair of polished Oxford shoes splashing through the puddles. Following the sharp crease of his tailored trousers upward, she found Li Moting staring down at her. Raindrops slid along his jawline like the drool of some cold-blooded creature.

"Having fun with your little photos?" The man bent down and snatched the camera from her hands. As his sleeve brushed past her cheek, the expensive cashmere fabric carried the scent of absinthe. Xia Xiaoman instinctively reached toward her inner thigh—where her last weapon was concealed.

"Don't move." Li Moting pressed his thumb against her carotid artery, his palm unnaturally hot. "Unless you want these photos to become posthumous evidence."

The sound of rain suddenly roared in her ears. Xia Xiaoman noticed his pupils violently contracting—an abnormal physiological response. She suddenly recalled the records in the newspaper's archives: the Li family heir had a long-standing dependence on psychiatric medication.

"You need help, Mr. Li," she deliberately quickened her breathing, her collarbones heaving beneath her soaked evening gown. "Your adrenaline levels are three times the normal range right now."

Li Moting's fingers hesitated slightly.