Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 17
17:
Yan Qingqiu scurried upstairs.
In the car, Song Qingre took a long moment to compose herself, adjusting the seat recliner. The lingering scent inside had faded to a wisp, like the last ember of a fuse quietly burning through her veins.
Eventually, she stepped out and greeted the butler. “Uncle Dong.”
The butler nodded. Song Qingre added, “About the doctor you scheduled earlier, any updates?”
“All arranged. Top specialists, domestic and international.”
Song Qingre asked, “Any gland experts? Mine’s been acting up lately. Could I get their contact information?”
“Of course.” The butler said, “I’ll email you the details. Gland issues are serious, best not delay.”
“Thanks.”
Lowering his voice, the butler smiled. “You and the young miss seem closer. Looked quite cozy earlier.”
Song Qingre shrugged. “Passable.”
The butler chuckled knowingly. “Best get checked properly then. Two alphas and all.”
Song Qingre paused, then smirked. “Don’t tell her. You know how proud she is, and that paper-thin face of hers.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The butler winked. “Even if I knew, I’d play dumb.”
After this coded exchange, Song Qingre entered the house. On the second floor, she tested Yan Qingqiu’s doorknob—locked tight.
Retreating to her own room, Song Qingre leaned against the shower tiles, letting the cold surface leach the heat from her skin as she pondered.
Last time she’d comforted Yan Qingqiu during her episode, there’d been no scent. Typical for alpha-alpha interactions. Yet today, that unmistakable omega pheromone.
And she’d deliberately provoked it.
They’d eaten dinner separately, retreating to their rooms afterward. Song Qingre had tried Yan Qingqiu’s door repeatedly, always locked. What is she doing there?
Yan Qingqiu was struggling. Daylight hours were manageable, but nights stretched endlessly lonely. Cold showers became frequent escapes.
9 PM.
At her desk, Song Qingre opened the butler’s email.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
—
Morning found Yan Qingqiu listless.
She typed symptoms into her phone for the doctor:
[Stage two progression. Gland is now producing pheromones… bodily fluids carrying omega scent… silver lining: proper methods can alleviate symptoms.]
Her face burned. Descending to the living room, she rubbed her neck—the swelling gland more prominent now.
A movement on the stairs made her freeze.
Song Qingre stood shadowed in her black dress, observing. “Is your neck bothering you?”
Sh1t. Too late to hide it.
Yan Qingqiu raised her hand an inch higher, scratching her head. “Ugh. Feels like my brain’s growing out.”
Song Qingre’s laugh was velvet. “Adorable.”
Heart attack avoided.
Yan Qingqiu fled to the garden, pacing until her nerves settled.
At breakfast, Song Qingre elegantly sliced fruit. “Any plans today?”
She’d intended to visit Su Xingjie, but yesterday’s trauma made that unwise. As she considered loafing, the doorbell rang—a deliveryman with two bouquets.
“For Miss Yan?”
“Xingjie’s too much!” Yan Qingqiu signed until she noticed the card. “Who sent these?”
“A gentleman.”
She shoved the flowers back. “Return them.”
“But he insisted—”
“No!” Yan Qingqiu dusted her hands. “Disgusting. Playing hard to get before, now this harassment?”
She’d met too many Fu Ye types, flowers and calls to string her along without commitment. The old Yan Qingqiu fell for it; the new version had grown a brain.
“Next time, stomp them in his face,” she told the butler.
Song Qingre emerged, plucking the card from a bouquet.
“Tu es la lumière de ma vie.” She tore it apart. “Last week he wrote me: Est-ce que je peux voir ton ombre aujourd’hui?”
“Meaning?”
“Can I love you tonight?” Song Qingre deadpanned.
The butler pressed his lips together.
“Vile.” Yan Qingqiu shuddered at the implication.
“I received a 3 million payment today, I can return 500k. Accompany me to the office?” Song Qingre adjusted her blazer. “In case he ambushes you. He once chased me abroad.”
Reasonable.
Taking the keys, Song Qingre nodded at the butler before ushering Yan Qingqiu into the car.
She produced a perfume bottle.
Puzzled by the sudden gifts, Yan Qingqiu spritzed her wrist—smelling only her morning cologne. “No scent?”
“Odd. This alpha relaxant usually works…” Song Qingre frowned.
Panicking, Yan Qingqiu sniffed again. “So strong it numbed my nose!”
“Impossible.” Song Qingre took the bottle. “Ah, wrong one. This is just water.”
“…Are you impoverished?”
“Artist’s aesthetic.” Song Qingre shrugged. “I designed the spray bottle myself.”
She retrieved an unopened perfume. Yan Qingqiu checked the label warily, useless without alpha knowledge.
“Don’t like it?”
“Calculating the price.” She inhaled deeply; the fragrance soothed her nerves.
“A gift.”
“Must be deducted from your debt.” Yan Qingqiu insisted. “3,000!”
Song Qingre agreed.
A scheme was formed, to raid Song Qingre’s office for expensive trinkets to clear the debt faster.
En route, Yan Qingqiu produced a pocket ledger. Song Qingre slowed the car. “Wait till we arrive. Don’t stab your eye.”
[20w repaid. Sept 3 – Perfume: 3k]
Song Qingre reviewed it. “Yesterday’s 20k wasn’t cleared though. The painting and kiss are still owed.”
“Roll it over.” Yan Qingqiu snapped the book shut. “We need ground rules.”
At the office, Song Qingre shut the door. “Speak.”
“Outdoors, no mentioning of our arrangement.” Yan Qingqiu eyed decor for valuables. “If exposed, claim it’s purely financial—you had cashflow issues I helped resolve. No ‘mistress’ nonsense.”
Song Qingre leaned against the desk. “Continue.”
That infuriating calm! As if saying “Keep talking, I’ll still misbehave.”
“Are you even listening?”
Suddenly, Song Qingre bent forward—their faces inches apart. “Focused enough?”
Yan Qingqiu slapped a hand over her mouth.
Song Qingre’s lips brushed her fingers—electric. Bones melting, Yan Qingqiu barely stifled a whimper.
“I obey.” Song Qingre’s gaze was fathomless.
Humiliated, Yan Qingqiu nearly bit her.
“Break my fingers, and who’ll paint for you?”
Song Qingre laughed, then asked, “How much just now?”
“One dollar!” Yan Qingqiu recoiled, but Song Qingre yanked her back, eyes lingering.
“…1,000 yuan. Final offer.”
Her stammer betrayed her.
Song Qingre was staring at her neck, where the gland swelled visibly.
If pheromones leak now… if she discovers the truth—
“How strange.” Song Qingre murmured. “Qingqiu’s alpha gland looks… unusual.”
Yan Qingqiu’s breath hitched.
Can’t hold back much longer…