Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 6
6:
Song Qingre walked over as instructed, her slim black blazer hugging her frame with tailored precision. The deep V-neck revealed a glimpse of collarbone, her hair elegantly pinned up. The white shirt beneath the blazer created a stark contrast—black and white, radiating restrained allure.
Her approach was overwhelming, an intimidating presence that made one want to retreat. But Yan Qingqiu had paid for this. Her greed emboldened her. She loosened her grip on her skirt.
“Sit on my lap.”
“Okay.”
The black blazer draped over Yan Qingqiu’s legs, pressing down on the white rose chain adorning her hem. Sunlight streamed through the office window, only now feeling unbearably bright.
A beam landed on Yan Qingqiu’s cheek. She leaned back to evade it, just as Song Qingre’s lips brushed close.
“Call me ‘big sister’ first,” Yan Qingqiu demanded, tilting her head away.
“But I’m older than you,” Song Qingre murmured, her breath tickling Yan Qingqiu’s ear. “It’s embarrassing.”
“You have to. Otherwise, why would I pay for you? I like it when you dress like an elite, call me ‘big sister,’ and let me kiss you.”
“So this is your type?”
Not exactly. She liked all types.
But seeing Song Qingre’s blazer on the chair, why waste the opportunity?
Dressed like this, Song Qingre exuded an irresistible restraint, the kind only artists could pull off. Two buttons undone, her collarbones peeked through.
Yan Qingqiu didn’t dare look lower. If she leaned forward, her lips might graze Song Qingre’s chest.
“Say it.” No takebacks after payment.
“Qiuqiu… big sister.”
Yan Qingqiu’s bones turned to jelly. At a loss, she pinched Song Qingre’s arm.
—
When Song Qingre pulled away, Yan Qingqiu caught her chin, thumb stroking the delicate skin.
“Harder.”
Her lungs burned. White noise filled her skull, oxygen deprivation on the verge of blackout.
A sharp nip at her lip made her recoil against the sofa, dazed.
Song Qingre tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Done?”
Yan Qingqiu thought so, until her system chimed:
[Reminder: The task is for YOU to kiss HER until breathless. Not the other way around.]
“I said… not enough.” She shoved Song Qingre into the cushions, sealing their lips again.
This time, she pinched Song Qingre’s nose first. Song Qingre caught her wrist but released it at Yan Qingqiu’s frown.
One hand pinned Song Qingre’s arm; the other clamped her nostrils shut.
Their bodies collided, hearts pounding painfully.
Song Qingre lay pliant as a fish on a chopping board. A stifled gasp escaped her, cheeks flushing crimson from lack of air.
Yan Qingqiu finally relented, brushing their lips.
Song Qingre’s lashes fluttered, chest heaving. “Qiuqiu… why the nose-pinching? Feels like you’ve been trying to kiss me to death from the start.”
Her fingers found the nape of Yan Qingqiu’s neck, kneading the sensitive skin there—as if gripping her lifeline.
Yan Qingqiu’s face burned hotter when her system announced: [Task complete.]
Song Qingre’s knowing gaze sent her into panic.
An arm hooked around her neck, yanking her down. Song Qingre shifted, blocking the sunlight with her body, trapping Yan Qingqiu against the sofa.
“Are you hiding something?”
No answer.
“No lying.”
Yan Qingqiu panted, frozen.
Song Qingre’s thumb grazed her lower lip. “More kisses, Qiuqiu?”
“Mmph…”
—
Their separation came courtesy of Fu Ye’s abrupt arrival. His company was a mere thirty minutes away.
When he barged in, the secretary and assistant couldn’t stop him.
Sheng Huajian, already disliking him, snapped: “What do you think? They were making out!”
“What?”
Fu Ye froze, unsure which part of him had turned green.
Mission accomplished, Yan Qingqiu straightened her dress to leave—only for Song Qingre to tug her back.
“Eat first. Aren’t you hungry?”
She was.
Yan Qingqiu sat at Song Qingre’s desk, a far cry from her past life’s cramped office space. The chair was softer than her old bed.
The thermal lunchbox kept everything warm: soup, dim sum, pearl-skinned meat buns. Yan Qingqiu ate while stealing glances. Song Qingre showed no anger at being “kept.”
Why so compliant?
“Need mouthwash?” Song Qingre offered.
“Too troublesome.”
“It’s fine. Good to have in the office for future use.”
Future? Planning to freeload daily?
Yan Qingqiu left with the contract, detailing their arrangement in euphemistic legalese.
Fu Ye sat shell-shocked in the lobby. She ignored him, chin high.
Once, she’d loved him desperately, enduring his cruelty for scraps of attention. Now? Not a glance.
The elevator doors closed on her triumphant face.
—
In the car, Yan Qingqiu flipped through the contract. “Can I enjoy life now?”
Song Qingre’s struggles made her dread future “business wars.” She wasn’t cut out for it.
System: [No need for now. Rest easy.]
She wanted to believe it. As a wealthy heiress, lazing around on a million monthly sounded ideal.
No more grinding.
Ugh.
She begrudgingly added 0.01 to the system’s favorability.
The hospital visit was for a full checkup—brain scans included, hoping to evict the system.
This thing…
She didn’t trust it.
She’d been lured here unwillingly, forced into life-or-death tasks. It reeked of coercion.
Her payment apps still had funds. Face/fingerprint verification would suffice for now.
The driver frowned. “Why not have Butler Chen arrange VIP care? No queues.”
“I prefer this.” Better safe than sorry.
Three hours later, results in hand:
“You’re a beta,” the doctor said.
“Huh? I’m an alpha.”
“There are no glands detected. Maybe a registry error? You mentioned smelling another alpha’s citrus scent?”
“We did repel each other! I got feverish!”
The doctor chuckled. “Repulsion means nausea, not attraction. Ask if they wore perfume. Otherwise, retest. Rare cases involve secondary gender presentation, like late-blooming omegas.”
“At 24?!”
“Happens. One patient only discovered they were an omega after pregnancy.”
The doctor added kindly, “If sexually active recently, take precautions. The early-stage of secondary differentiation has high conception rates.”
“HAH?!”
Dazed, Yan Qingqiu stepped into the sunlight, clutching the report and a pamphlet:
[Late-Blooming Omega Guide]
1. Br3ast growth, scent sensitivity
2. Increased libido (nocturnal peaks)
3. Neck pain/heat
All check.
The sun bore down as she flipped pages.
Back home, she’d been a simple human (or degenerate).
Now?
A beta masquerading as an alpha, destined for omegahood.
Her neck throbbed.
I’d rather stay a degenerate.