After Faking My Death, My Iceberg Ex-Wife Went Crazy for Me - Chapter 14

To Geng Xiaoxiao’s surprise, Shang Yafan seemed genuinely intent on simply helping her change clothes.

There were no detours, no small talk. After leading her to the dressing room, Shang Yafan closed the door and stood guard outside with Xue Jiqing.

Unsure of Shang Yafan’s motives, Geng Xiaoxiao, feeling sticky and uncomfortable in her wine-stained dress, stopped overthinking it. After confirming her privacy, she changed into the linen dress.

Outside, fragments of Shang Yafan and Xue Jiqing’s conversation drifted in. They were discussing compensation.

Xue Jiqing refused to accept it, though she didn’t say so outright. Geng Xiaoxiao knew she felt a measure of pity for Shang Yafan’s situation.

As an illegitimate daughter, Shang Yafan’s position was precarious. Her biological father had already passed away, leaving her without protection within the Shang family, treated little better than an object.

After a few more exchanges, Shang Yafan suggested exchanging WeChat contacts for further communication. Geng Xiaoxiao pushed open the door, interrupting their conversation.

In the original novel, Xue Jiqing had only appeared two or three times, essentially a background character.

Geng Xiaoxiao didn’t want her involvement to create further connections between Xue Jiqing and Shang Yafan.

Both her intuition and the original story were telling her the same thing:

Shang Yafan was far more complex than she appeared.

Under the simultaneous gazes of the two women, Geng Xiaoxiao feigned ignorance. “Sister Jiqing, let’s go back.”

Xue Jiqing nodded, turned off her phone, and slipped it into her suit pocket. “Thank you for your trouble,” she said to Shang Yafan.

Shang Yafan didn’t press further. She gestured toward the exit. “Let’s go. I’ll show you out.”

Geng Xiaoxiao trailed behind, her gaze deliberately drifting toward Shang Yafan.

Just a few more steps to the elevator. Could tonight’s events truly have been just an accident?

She couldn’t convince herself. A nagging feeling lingered in her chest, like watching a stone thrown into the sky that never seemed to fall back down.

Lost in thought, Geng Xiaoxiao noticed Shang Yafan and Xue Jiqing, who were walking ahead, had stopped abruptly.

Geng Xiaoxiao halted as well, hearing Xue Jiqing ask in surprise, “Why is the elevator under maintenance?”

“Probably a malfunction,” Shang Yafan replied, frowning slightly as she pressed the call button without response. “There’s another elevator over there. I’ll take you.”

“Okay,” Geng Xiaoxiao said.

Finally, she heard the sound of the stone hitting the ground.

The private room was filled with the delicate aroma of tea, a sanctuary from the bustling world outside.

Ye Ling took a slow sip of the warm tea, finding relief from her stomach discomfort.

Su Yi and Shang Mi’er, having not seen each other in a while, were engrossed in conversation, their voices rising and falling like a lively melody.

The slightly shrill tones grated on Ye Ling’s ears. She lowered her lashes, a flicker of impatience crossing her eyes.

Tomorrow, a key business partner would be visiting Mo Yuan Technology. Her focus should be on finalizing the agenda and handling work matters, not listening to these trivial exchanges.

Unfortunately, Shang Mi’er’s father, Shang Yangheng, remained skeptical of the rumors they had deliberately spread.

Ye Ling understood his reservations. In his eyes, his daughter and Ye Ling had grown up together, and Ye Ling had even saved Mi’er’s life. If there were genuine feelings between them, they wouldn’t have waited this long to act.

Moreover, while few knew about Ye Ling’s marriage to Geng Xiaoxiao, the secret wasn’t entirely airtight. Whispers had circulated in their social circles half a year ago, though without concrete evidence.

To convince Shang Yangheng, they needed more leverage.

This birthday banquet, and Su Yi’s presence, were part of that strategy.

As the steam from her teacup dissipated, Shang Mi’er finally steered the conversation toward the main point.

“Are you free on the eighth of next month?”

“Next month…” Su Yi pondered. “Not sure. Mom and I are going to Europe to escape the heat. Want to come?”

“No, no, you can’t go!” Shang Mi’er grabbed her arm, glancing at Ye Ling, her cheeks flushing crimson. “At least… at least wait until after the eighth.”

Su Yi seemed to understand. Lowering her voice, she teased, “Could it be that Miss Shang is about to have some good news?”

“Not yet!” Shang Mi’er gently pushed her away, her face growing even redder. “The eighth is just… just A-Ling and my engagement party.”

“An engagement party and you say it’s not…”

A sharp clatter cut off Su Yi’s words.

She followed the sound to see a porcelain cup lying on its side in front of Ye Ling, a thin layer of tea spreading across the table.

“My apologies, it slipped.”

The four words were delivered in a flat tone, devoid of sincerity.

Su Yi felt a sudden chill. Forcing herself to ask, “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”

Ye Ling’s eyelids flickered as she shook her head.

Su Yi exhaled in relief. “It’s fine, just wipe it up.”

Ye Ling pulled out a few tissues and bent down to wipe up the spill. Behind her, Shang Mi’er clasped her hands together, her face twisted into a pleading expression.

Ye Ling averted her gaze, refraining from snapping at her only because Su Yi was present.

After cleaning up the mess, Su Yi replaced the cup and poured another cup of tea before resuming her conversation with Shang Mi’er.

“I’ll tell Mom we’ll postpone our summer retreat. I’ll attend your engagement party even if I have to melt in the heat!”

“It won’t be that hot,” Shang Mi’er murmured, her voice softening.

Assuming she was shy, Su Yi pressed for details about the engagement party, her tone growing noticeably warmer.

Still only twenty, Su Yi’s tactics remained somewhat naive.

Ye Ling lifted her teacup, the rising steam brushing against her eyelashes, unable to thaw the icy chill in her eyes.

She recognized Su Yi’s gaze all too well: calculating, weighing pros and cons.

No different from the others at the banquet, Su Yi’s smile revealed teeth that seemed harmless but were merely biding their time for the perfect moment to strike.

This made Ye Ling wonder how much genuine warmth there truly was in her friendship with Shang Mi’er.

Was it merely a bond forged to maintain the interests of their families?

The tea was too hot; Ye Ling barely touched her lips to it before setting it down. A drop splashed onto the back of her hand.

Ye Ling raised her hand to wipe it away, her movement pausing mid-air.

Suddenly, a pair of light brown eyes flashed before her.

Just as she often wore colored contact lenses to conceal her true eye color, the true emotions behind those eyes were often hidden by their owner.

What was usually displayed was docility and gentleness, but occasionally, like a wolf cub baring its fangs, a fierce glint would surface.

A faint smile curved her lips as Ye Ling lowered her right hand.

Two faint scars marked the web between her thumb and index finger—her own handiwork.

“…I haven’t congratulated President Ye yet,” Su Yi suddenly stood up, raising her teacup in a toast.

Ye Ling glanced up and politely lifted her own cup.

Su Yi chuckled. “Mi’er has been in love with you for so many years. She’s finally seen the clouds part and the moon emerge. I’ll definitely be at your engagement banquet. And not just that—when Mi’er marries you, I’ll be her bridesmaid too!”

“Let’s toast with tea instead of wine. May you two be forever united in heart and soul, and may your love last a hundred years. Congratulations to Mi’er for finally achieving her heart’s desire, and congratulations to President Ye for winning the heart of such a beauty! Ha ha…”

The next moment, the private room door burst open with a crash, and a white blur surged in like a whirlwind.

Su Yi’s laughter turned into a strangled squawk, like a chicken having its throat squeezed.

A thud echoed through the room—the sound of flesh colliding.

Ye Ling turned her head, tasting bl00d at the corner of her lips.

Outside the door, a figure stood silently.

A flax-colored long dress, paired with delicate but incongruous makeup.

She walked forward, her gaze never meeting Ye Ling’s.

“Sister Jiqing,” Ye Ling whispered, her voice trembling in the air.

“Let’s go.”