Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 23

An electric current surged from the back of Qin Jue’s skull down to her tailbone, the pain nearly making her lose her balance.

The buzzing in her ears from the shock persisted until Jing Xin left, leaving her barely able to steady herself against the edge of the table.

In her mind, the system emitted a sharp, screeching noise.

“I didn’t mean to shock you! Can’t you just follow the script?! QAQ”

If the system were a real person, it would have already cried itself unconscious.

Qin Jue could feel the usually fluffy, soft system light ball now huddled in a corner of her consciousness, sobbing uncontrollably.

It looked pitiful.

Not very bright, and very pitiful.

Lin Yuebai supported Qin Jue’s arm, her face full of concern. “Are you allergic to mangoes too?”

The back of Qin Jue’s head and her temples throbbed with pain, but fortunately, the system’s punishment was quick to come and quick to fade. Her fingers dug into the table, leaving faint scratch marks.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you really okay?”

Lin Yuebai’s heart clenched. Others might not have noticed, but she had keenly detected the momentary stiffness in Qin Jue’s expression, followed by an almost imperceptible sharp intake of breath.

Qin Jue waved her off and sat down on a stool, acting as if nothing had happened. She picked up the remaining mango pieces from the plastic container with a transparent fork and chewed them calmly.

The mango was indeed sweet, but to Lin Yuebai, it might as well have been poison.

Lin Yuebai stood nearby, her gaze lowered. A loud buzzing filled her ears. Seeing Qin Jue in even the slightest discomfort made her want to throw away that box of mangoes without a second thought.

Maybe she could be braver. She didn’t want to care about her future or the capital backing Jing Xin—she just knew Qin Jue was hurting.

Her ears still ringing, Lin Yuebai shakily placed a hand on Qin Jue’s shoulder.

Lured by the sweet scent of mango, the system cautiously peeked out.

Unnoticed by anyone, it gobbled up a small portion of the mango.

System: “Detected protagonist’s favorability toward you! The protagonist must not develop feelings for the villain!”

Lines of text floated before Qin Jue’s eyes as the system crossed its arms. “I’ve gathered some villainous lines from other stories for you. Your mission is to make the protagonist resent you! Besides being wicked, the villain must also motivate the protagonist to move forward!”

In short, the harder the villain oppressed the protagonist, the more determined the protagonist would become.

Qin Jue: “…”

Qin Jue: “Let me rest for a bit. My head still hurts.”

The system grumbled, “I ate the mango for you. Now get to work.”

Qin Jue: “…”

She set the transparent fork aside, her peripheral gaze landing on Lin Yuebai’s hand resting on her shoulder. A faint, mocking chuckle escaped her lips—light yet laced with derision. But to Lin Yuebai’s ears, there was an unusual fluctuation in that laugh.

Just because she got shocked, Lin Yuebai developed feelings for her?

How could the protagonist’s favorability be so easily earned?

What a good child.

What if she had met a fraud instead of her?

Qin Jue couldn’t help but think how gullible Lin Yuebai’s personality was. A little kindness, and she’d give her heart away.

How could that be allowed?

Qin Jue’s gaze swept over the system’s ruthlessly cruel words projected before her eyes as she selectively responded.

“My health is fine. I don’t need your pity.”

Her words lacked conviction—no sooner had she spoken than she covered her mouth and coughed twice.

Her body swayed slightly with each cough, a fragile weakness surfacing in her eyes.

“You’re mine. If you let people in this industry walk all over you, it reflects poorly on me. Is this all you’re capable of? I overestimated you.”

Lin Yuebai’s hand stiffened on Qin Jue’s shoulder, as if struck by lightning. She blinked innocently before withdrawing it.

The scent of roses and agarwood clung to Qin Jue, intoxicating in the cramped dressing room.

“Even outsiders know not to kick a dog without considering its owner. If I see you being humiliated like this, how much worse must it be when I’m not around? How much more disgrace will you bring me?”

Qin Jue tossed a tissue into the corner trash bin, dusting off her hands—though there was no dust to be seen. Her haughty gaze seemed to look down on everyone, as untouchable as a deity enshrined in the clouds, commanding reverence too intimidating to meet head-on.

Yet the faint flush from her earlier cough lingered on her cheeks, breathtakingly beautiful.

Lin Yuebai’s heart pounded violently against her ribs.

The more unattainable Qin Jue seemed, the more it magnified Lin Yuebai’s own inadequacy.

Now, that very light was shining upon her.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be sorry.”

“I’ve never seen someone as spineless as you, letting others trample all over you. Don’t tell anyone outside that you’re mine—I won’t have you embarrassing me.”

With that, Qin Jue slammed the door shut, leaving Lin Yuebai alone in the dressing room.

The system cheered in Qin Jue’s mind,

“That’s the spirit! Even I’m clenching my fists listening to this! You should be strung up on a lamppost, hehehe.”

Qin Jue: “…”

After leaving, Qin Jue circled back, standing on tiptoe to peer through the window. Only when she confirmed Lin Yuebai wasn’t crying did she finally walk away.

She exhaled deeply in her mind. After saying all that, there was no way things would end well between them now.

How could she have said something so cruel—“Even kicking a dog requires considering its owner”?

That was too much.

Jing Xin, though flamboyant, was at least a competent actress. After a few retakes, Lin Yuebai managed to get through their scene together.

The more Qin Jue looked at Lin Yuebai’s face, the more unsettled she felt. How could she resemble their parents more than Qin Jue did?

Jing Xin, clad in a high-end office suit, held a slender cigarette between her fingers as she eyed Lin Yuebai from a distance.

“Memorizing lines again? What’s so hard about a few lines? Then again, talentless people should work harder—otherwise, why bother staying in this industry? You might as well stick to dancing.”

Her thin red lips curled with disdain. Lin Yuebai closed the script on her lap. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Though she appeared to be reviewing her lines, Lin Yuebai’s mind was filled with Qin Jue’s cold, cutting words. Not a single one had been protective—yet every one of them was.

Hidden within the script, her phone displayed news of her former agency, Mengzhen Entertainment, now exposed for abusing its artists, illegal confinement, tax evasion, and over a dozen other charges.

No one understood the vast influence of Mengzhen Entertainment in the industry better than Lin Yuebai. It wasn’t something that could be shaken by a few ordinary victims airing their grievances on Weibo.

Fang Xun, Aurora’s former teammate, messaged her:

“Holy sh1t, Yuebai, I heard Mengzhen Entertainment was reported by President Qin??”

“I don’t know how President Qin treats you, but damn, she’s impressive—when she helps, she really helps!”

“Ahahahaha, remember Aurora’s former manager? That idiot tried to flee abroad but got caught at the airport. Rumor has it he was still cursing you when they pinned him down.”

“Anyway, be careful. Though Qin Jue was willing to help, that rich second-gen isn’t necessarily good. You should stay somewhat guarded.”

Lin Yuebai turned off her phone. Even her former teammates seemed to think the lawsuit against Mengzhen Entertainment resulted from her whispering in Qin Jue’s ear.

Lin Yuebai said nothing. Everything had been Qin Jue’s doing.

Opening a news site, she saw her former manager’s bruised face pressed against the ground, one arm twisted behind his back by security after resisting, now dislocated and hanging limply.

Prison awaited him.

Scrolling down, large advertisements for the milk tea brand she endorsed dominated the page.

Setting aside her script, Lin Yuebai noticed the cup of Moonlight Jasmine tea atop Qin Jue’s black car in her peripheral vision, its sleeve printed with her chibi likeness.

Qin Jue leaned against the car door while on a call, occasionally sipping from the cup. Noticing Lin Yuebai’s gaze, she raised the cup in a distant toast.

Don’t listen to her words—watch her actions…

Lin Yuebai’s heart was in turmoil. Compared to what Qin Jue gave her, she’d offered nothing beyond enduring occasional barbs.

Maybe she should hand over her bank card… but Qin Jue refused.

Jing Xin, ignored nearby, grew increasingly irritated. “I said my cameo’s wrapped up and I’m treating you to dinner. Are you even listening? Newcomers these days have such airs.”

Lin Yuebai: “Apologies. I need Qin Jue’s permission first.”

Jing Xin: “.”

Hanging up, Qin Jue finished her tea. In private, she’d tear open the lid to lick out the last coconut jelly.

Alerted by her system to Lin Yuebai’s approach, her expression cooled instantly. She folded the chibi-printed sleeve into her pocket and tossed the empty cup away.

“Yes?”

Lin Yuebai wore her black form-fitting knit costume—professional, flattering her figure, though somewhat petite. Hmm, easily cupped in one hand.

Qin Jue averted her gaze. She preferred delicate proportions over voluptuousness.

Unaware, Lin Yuebai boldly took Qin Jue’s cold hand, pressing it clumsily against her cheek in attempted seduction.

“I’m having dinner tonight—I’ll return late to the hotel. I might drink. Is that okay?”

Lin Yuebai was too awkward. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to speak seductive words, nor would it permit her to accept Qin Jue’s kindness without reciprocation.

The only repayment she could offer was to surrender a portion of her autonomy.

“I’ll be back by 10 p.m.”

The obedient girl said so.