My Love-Obsessed Elite Family Villain Husband Has Gone Mad with Jealousy - Chapter 22

Qiao Enen slept exceptionally well that night.

It was the most restful night she’d had during those few days of the month in years.

And today was the second day, typically the most painful day of the entire period, with the pain lasting until evening. Yet she felt absolutely nothing—blissfully comfortable.

Warm sunlight streamed into the room, bathing Qiao Enen in its soft glow as she stretched luxuriously.

Then she realized with horror—this wasn’t her bedroom.

It was Fu Qianshan’s room?

How had she ended up here?

The System chimed in Host, you sleepwalked.

Qiao Enen panicked. She’d sleepwalked again?

And ended up in Fu Qianshan’s room?

Then… then where’s Fu Qianshan?

She hadn’t been kicked out?

I don’t know, I just woke up too, the System replied.

Qiao Enen …

A gentle knock sounded at the door.

Expecting Fu Qianshan, Qiao Enen’s heart tightened. Instead, she heard a woman’s voice.

Mrs. Fu, are you awake? This is Leng Yan. May I come in?

Only then did Qiao Enen realize that Fu Qianshan had returned to the country early this morning.

As expected of the workaholic CEO from the novel, he’s really pushing himself too hard.

But how exactly did we sleep last night? I have absolutely no memory of it.

Could it be that Fu Qianshan saw me sleepwalking in, couldn’t wake me up, and stormed off to sleep somewhere else in a huff?

Fortunately, Fu Qianshan wasn’t here. Qiao Enen’s vacation mood returned.

Just then, Leng Yan informed her, Mr. Fu has instructed me to accompany you at all times and attend to all your needs, from meals to daily routines.

Qiao Enen ……?????

And so, her vacation life transformed into

Mrs. Fu, the ice cream is too cold. You shouldn’t eat it these days. Here, put on this heat pack, Mrs. Fu.

Mrs. Fu, the seawater is too cold. Swimming isn’t suitable for you right now. A foot soak? Even a seawater foot soak is not allowed.

Mrs. Fu, you can’t eat anything spicy or stimulating. Have you forgotten about burning your mouth last time?

Mrs. Fu, you can’t drink alcohol right now…

Mrs. Fu, you…

Qiao Enen ……!

What am I even allowed to do anymore?

Well, this vacation is turning out to be rather dull.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a handsome man propping up an easel, likely sketching.

The man sat on a low stool, wearing a loose cotton-linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his well-defined forearms.

His bony hands, stained with charcoal dust, held the pencil with unwavering steadiness.

Sunlight bathed his focused profile melancholy yet beautiful eyes, a high-bridged nose, and a sharp, clean jawline.

The charcoal pencil scratched softly across the paper, as if isolating him from the surrounding clamor.

Yet a faint frown creased his brow, and his lips were pressed tightly together, as if wrestling with an unresolved knot.

Qiao Enen’s eyes lit up.

You can always draw, right?

I can.

Qiao Enen approached him politely. Could you draw a portrait for me?

Hearing this, Song Weiyun, who had been hesitating on how to begin, momentarily lost his focused expression. But after studying her face for a minute, he began to sketch.

Qiao Enen obediently settled onto the small stool opposite him.

Meanwhile, back in China, the atmosphere in Fu Qianshan’s top-floor presidential office at the Fu Group was oppressively tense.

Fu Qianshan forcefully suppressed the churning pain in his abdomen, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Yet his gaze remained sharp as he precisely identified the core issues of the project and proposed corrective measures.

His deep, authoritative voice brooked no dissent as he clearly assigned tasks with unwavering resolve.

Three days. You have only three days to catch up on the project. Any further mistakes, and you’ll submit your resignations.

As his final words hung in the air, the office fell into absolute silence.

The executives froze like frightened cicadas, barely daring to breathe. They nodded in unison, their shirts already soaked with cold sweat.

Once the executives had filed out cautiously, closing the door with painstaking care, Fu Qianshan finally slumped back against the wide leather chair, his tense spine relaxing.

He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

The cramping in his abdomen hadn’t eased; instead, it intensified sharply the moment his focus wavered.

The sensation was like a dull knife twisting repeatedly in his gut, forcing a muffled groan from his lips.

He closed his eyes, his thick lashes casting a small shadow beneath his lids. His chest rose and fell with restrained movements.

After a moment,

Is the plane ready?

His voice was hoarse from pain and exhaustion, yet it carried an unmistakable chill.

President Fu, the plane will be ready to depart in half an hour.

But President Fu, you don’t look well. Should Doctor Xie examine you again?

No need.

His reply was curt and dismissive.

He hadn’t anticipated the pain would escalate to this degree today. Even his legs, which should have been numb, felt increasingly weak.

How had Qiao Enen endured all these years?

The man closed his eyes, resting briefly.

After a moment, he took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging pain. His gaze refocused on the documents before him, his knuckles white from gripping them tightly.

Meanwhile, Qiao Enen’s painting was nearly finished.

She took the portrait, its details rendered with astonishing precision.

Especially the eyes—clear, luminous, and so lifelike they seemed about to blink, brimming with vitality and mischief.

Qiao Enen’s eyes curved into a smile, her admiration boundless.

So someone really can paint with such breathtaking realism.

Thank you, I love it.

How much do I owe you? I’ll pay you.

No charge. It’s a gift.

The man, who had been silent since their meeting, finally smiled faintly.

Seeing the girl’s confusion, he glanced at the portrait and said softly, I should be thanking you.

He paused, then added, Thank you for giving me inspiration.

As if suddenly remembering something, he hastily gathered his things and left, dialing a number as he walked, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement.

I can paint again.

Yes.

Qiao Enen stared at the portrait in her hand, blinking in bewilderment.

Didn’t Mrs. Fu want dessert?

Oh, right.

At the dessert shop, Qiao Enen ordered a bowl of strawberry taro balls. But just as the dish arrived and before she could take a single bite, she noticed Leng Yan watching her with her arms crossed.

Qiao Enen awkwardly tugged at the corner of her mouth. I almost forgot—this is for my sister.

She pushed the bowl across the table, watching eagerly as Leng Yan ate it spoonful by spoonful.

Just then, a server approached politely. Excuse me, is that your car parked outside? You can’t park there.

My apologies, I’ll move it right away.

Leng Yan glanced at Qiao Enen, her meaning clear.

Qiao Enen pressed a finger to her lips, miming zipping them shut.

Only then did Leng Yan reluctantly leave the dessert shop.

As soon as Leng Yan got into the car and drove away, Qiao Enen swiftly tried to order another bowl of strawberry taro balls.

But in the next moment, an enticing strawberry ice cream suddenly appeared in her line of sight.

Qiao Enen froze.

The artist who had drawn her earlier without charging her stepped closer, holding out the strawberry ice cream. His smile was a little stiff but gentle. This is for you, as payment for being my model.

Huh?

Qiao Enen was completely bewildered.

But the most basic survival rule when traveling is never to accept food from strangers. She couldn’t take it.

Yet the allure of that pink strawberry ice cream, cool and sweet, was overwhelming. Qiao Enen unconsciously swallowed, her fingertips twitching.

Just as she was about to steel herself and refuse, a large, distinctly jointed hand gripped her slender wrist.

Qiao Enen stared at the familiar hand, her heart clenching.

She looked up in shock and, as expected, met a pair of familiar, bottomless, and utterly still eyes.

Fu Qianshan?

Could it really be Fu Qianshan?

The surrounding air instantly froze.

The sweet, cloying scent of the ice cream, the painter’s gentle smile—everything was ruthlessly swept away by this sudden, overwhelming presence.

Mr… Mr. Fu? Qiao Enen stammered, her shock overriding her usual composure. What are you doing here?

What’s going on? Didn’t Fu Qianshan return to China? It’s barely dark—why is he back?

What does he want this time?

Fu Qianshan didn’t answer her question.

He merely cast an utterly indifferent glance at the man holding the ice cream, his gaze sweeping over him like he was an insignificant object, devoid of warmth or curiosity. Yet it carried an invisible, suffocating pressure, as if the man and his ice cream were nothing more than insignificant dust motes on the backdrop.

Mrs. Fu, let’s go.

The man gripped Qiao Enen’s wrist, turned, and, with the natural authority and icy composure of a born leader, pulled the heartbroken Qiao Enen away.

His wheelchair-bound figure cut a tall, straight silhouette, radiating the formidable aura exclusive to those in positions of power.

Only after they had left did Song Weiyun seem to emerge from an invisible ice seal. He stared blankly at the girl’s slender retreating figure, the melting ice cream dripping onto his fingertips sending a chill through him.

He couldn’t understand why this ordinary girl had reignited his creative spark, which had been dormant for half a year.

Before this, he hadn’t been able to complete a single painting in six months.

He had simply wanted to thank her, but that man just now…

Wait, Mr. Fu?

Mrs. Fu?

Were they married?

Two impeccably suited bodyguards appeared, forming an impenetrable wall that blocked his view of the girl.

Only after she had entered the car did the bodyguards turn and leave, settling into another vehicle. Both cars sped away.

Song Weiyun’s brow furrowed slightly.

Meanwhile, in the car returning to the hotel, Qiao Enen was utterly perplexed. Why had Fu Qianshan come back?

And why had he appeared so conveniently right in front of her?

Even if he had to show up, she had finally managed to get Leng Yan away and was about to buy some sweets.

Most importantly, this man had exuded a cold, oppressive aura from the moment he appeared, as if she owed him a billion dollars.

Qiao Enen was annoyed.

Very annoyed.

Thankfully, her painting was stunning.

It offered a small consolation to her wounded spirit.

She had to admit, the artist’s skill was truly remarkable.

They had captured her likeness with uncanny realism.

Her gaze shifted to the man reflected in the car window, who had been focused on his work since they got in.

His profile was sharp and cold, his presence radiating an aloof, regal air that warned others to keep their distance.

If such a proud, aloof, and noble man…

Hmph.

Qiao Enen’s mind conjured a vivid scene

Inside the mist-shrouded car, the air hung thick and heavy.

Fu Qianshan, the eternally aloof and icy man, now flushed crimson beyond recognition.

His expensive shirt lay in disarray, the collar gaping open to reveal his taut throat and collarbone, glistening with beads of sweat.

The drug’s potency had shattered his vaunted self-control.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he reached out a cold, pale hand with sharply defined knuckles toward the girl beside him. Come here… give me…

The girl, meanwhile, slowly hooked a finger under the pitifully thin silk strap of her nightgown, inch by inch, drawing the already flimsy fabric downward.

Her smooth shoulders and delicate collarbones were gradually revealed in the dim light.

What do you want from me? she asked, her voice soft and gentle, tinged with innocent confusion. Yet the lingering note in her voice felt like a tiny hook, tugging at his frayed nerves.

She even leaned forward slightly, letting the alluring curve of her chest peek through the fabric. Her wide, innocent eyes blinked innocently. I don’t understand…

But she refused to close the distance.

Fu Qianshan, forced to witness this peculiar provocation, remained silent.

Childish, he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, the hand gripping the documents tightened until the veins on the back of his hand bulged, and a faint flush crept up his neck.

Meanwhile, the images in Qiao Enen’s mind continued to play out…

Fu Qianshan closed his eyes tightly.

Finally, he set down the documents and pulled the girl beside him into his arms.

His broad palm instinctively settled on her soft abdomen as he casually took the painting from her hand and placed it at the far edge of the car.

Lost in her fantasies, Qiao Enen was suddenly scooped up like a kitten by the towering man beside her.

She gasped, forgetting all about the painting in her hand. Her heart pounded wildly, her cheeks, already flushed with fantasy, burned even hotter, as if they were about to bleed.

For just a moment, Qiao Enen had imagined the scene from her fantasies the man, his eyes bloodshot with desire, on the verge of losing control, his veins throbbing, seizing her—the one who had deliberately provoked him—and pulling her onto his lap, forcibly claiming her in a vengeful union.

Ahhhhh! Fu Qianshan, he… he he he he he…

Guilt-ridden, Qiao Enen gasped for breath. When she finally looked up, she met the man’s intensely dark and fathomless gaze.

Her startled, almost coquettish cry was instantly swallowed by the man’s crisp, oppressive aura.

Like a frightened kitten, she found herself trapped in his arms. Through the thin fabric, she could clearly feel the solid heat of his chest and the thunderous rhythm of his heart—strong, rapid, urgent.

Her own heart, caught off guard, began to race wildly, its frantic rhythm echoing in the confined space.

And her lower abdomen felt a strange… familiarity? beneath the man’s broad palm.

The sensation vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Because,

Fu… Fu Qianshan?

Qiao Enen dared not breathe deeply, swallowing hard. Her ears burned, and her heart pounded violently.

Her voice, unconsciously soft and delicate, carried a mix of panic and lingering embarrassment, the final syllable trembling slightly.

W-what’s wrong?

Why are you picking me up and holding me like a kitten? Is this something a man like you, who’s always buried in work, should be doing? Do you even know what I was just fantasizing about? I was imagining us…

Qiao Enen couldn’t finish the thought.

The chaotic images still swirled in her mind. Trapped by the very man she had deliberately teased without reward, their bodies pressed so close… so close…

They were so close, it felt like they could be together instantly, as if they had stepped back into her fantasies.

This is so embarrassing, so embarrassing.

Then she heard a faint, suppressed snort from the man.

It was so quick, she almost thought she had imagined it.

When she looked again at the man holding her captive, he remained perfectly still.

He didn’t even glance down at her, his gaze fixed steadily on the documents spread out beside them, as if holding her in his arms were the most ordinary thing in the world.

His large hand, warm and firm, rested on her lower abdomen, showing no lingering tenderness, but rather pressing down like a seal, forcibly ending her wild thoughts.

After a moment,

Nothing much, the man finally said. His voice, low and steady, showed no trace of emotion.

Only the quick bob of his Adam’s apple betrayed the forced restraint in his cool, clear voice Just trying to keep a certain little cat in line.