The morning after Eden House was quiet.

  Not tense. Not loud.

  Just **aware.**

  Of Ruoxi.

  Of Chen Yuren.

  Of something shifting.

  She didn't walk in with her usual slow hips and red lipstick. No dramatic entrance. No swinging ponytail.

  She wore a loose, off-shoulder knit and a high messy bun. Fresh-faced. Barely any makeup.

  But when she passed by Li Shixun at the coffee machine, she brushed her hand over his arm—just once—and whispered,

  > "Still watching?"

  He turned his head, startled.

  She was already gone.

  ---

  **She hadn't stopped flirting.**

  She just stopped asking for attention.

  Now, she *offered it*—like secrets, slipped into palms, meant only for the ones quick enough to catch them.

  ---

  By te afternoon, the show's producers announced a new twist:

  > **"Tonight, contestants may privately request a midnight terrace conversation with anyone. No cameras. No rules."**

  Anonymous.

  Voluntary.

  Dangerous.

  Ruoxi didn't request anyone.

  But someone requested her.

  ---

  **11:52 PM – Rooftop terrace.**

  She showed up on time.

  Expecting Gu Zeyan, maybe.

  Or Yuren.

  But it was **Zhao Wenhao.**

  One of the others.

  Tall. Loud. Handsome in a way that knew it. The kind of guy who thought confidence could repce depth.

  She leaned against the balcony rail, arms crossed. "You called me out like it's a high school dare."

  He grinned. "Just wanted to know if you're this charming in private."

  She smirked. "Fttery this early? You didn't even offer me a drink."

  He stepped closer. "You didn't seem the type to wait for one."

  The air shifted.

  Ruoxi's smile cooled by two degrees.

  "I'm not," she said softly. "But I am the type to expect a man to know the line."

  His fingers brushed her wrist—bold, casual.

  And in one fluid motion, she stepped back. Not startled. Not shaken.

  Just deliberate.

  Her eyes locked onto his with unsettling calm. "Touch me like that again without asking, and you'll find out why my exes call me 'scalpel.'"

  Wenhao froze.

  She tilted her head. "Flirting is a dance. Not a grab. Learn the rhythm or get off my floor."

  Then she left him there. Alone. Looking like a man who brought a water gun to a war.

  ---

  **Confessional booth – next morning.**

  Ruoxi, still in her robe, sipping bck coffee.

  "Some men think flirting is permission." A pause. "It's not."

  A small smirk.

  "It's just me being generous with my attention. Don't mistake it for surrender."

  Cut to bck.

  ---

  Back in the vil, Gu Zeyan saw her return to her room without a word. No drama. No firestorm.

  But he noticed the way she closed her door—slow, silent, final.

  He didn't ask what happened.

  But his jaw tightened.

  And when Zhao Wenhao tried to approach her the next morning, he found Gu Zeyan already seated at her breakfast table.

  No words.

  No invitation.

  Just there.

  Like a shield.

  And for once, Ruoxi let him be.