Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 24

Qin Jue lowered her gaze to Lin Yuebai’s trembling eyelashes, as if suggesting 10 p.m. was an outrageous demand.

Indeed, for an underage girl, 10 p.m. was already quite late—perhaps even too late.

But for an adult long immersed in society, 10 p.m. might just mark the beginning of work.

Qin Jue’s breath brushed against Lin Yuebai’s forehead.

Lin Yuebai waited, but Qin Jue remained silent. Her body stiffened, and she couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Qin Jue’s expression. Yet, being half a head shorter, she saw nothing.

“Do whatever you want.”

Qin Jue’s hand rested casually on Lin Yuebai’s waist. The girl wore a tight black knit sweater today, accentuating her curves.

Had Qin Jue looked closer, she might have noticed how deliberately Lin Yuebai straightened her posture. Though not naturally voluptuous, the effort lent her a hint of pride.

Qin Jue’s fingers were cool against her waist, making Lin Yuebai’s muscles tense involuntarily before relaxing. She knew better than to resist—a docile lover should never refuse.

Those in power never liked rejection.

Lin Yuebai rose on her tiptoes and tentatively kissed Qin Jue’s cheek.

Then again.

The passersby averted their eyes, not daring to stare at the new producer and the leading actress. They lowered their heads, pretending not to see.

Lin Yuebai’s heart pounded. Softly, her pink tongue darted out to trace Qin Jue’s lips before retreating like a startled spark. Even she was surprised by her own recklessness.

Would Qin Jue like it?

Her expression remained unreadable—was this silent refusal?

A shadow crossed Lin Yuebai’s heart. Maybe she hadn’t done enough.

She had no leverage to keep Qin Jue’s favor.

A stubborn flicker of resentment rose in her chest, and she no longer wanted to kiss her.

Meanwhile, Qin Jue was listening to her system’s chatter.

“You did well,” it echoed in her mind. “Touching her in public humiliates the protagonist, fueling her shame! Once she rises to power, she’ll repay you tenfold!”

Qin Jue: “Trying to get me killed faster?”

System: “Look how red her face is. If she had a knife, you’d be skewered already.”

Qin Jue conceded the point. Still, she noticed Lin Yuebai’s ears, hidden beneath her hair, burning crimson, her lashes fluttering wildly.

Eventually, Qin Jue withdrew her hand from Lin Yuebai’s waist. The system’s task was done—she had no desire to bully a future star in front of everyone.

She didn’t enjoy trampling others into the mud, nor did she see herself as superior. It was all just part of the mission.

Qin Jue pulled out a card from her wallet and tossed it to Lin Yuebai.

“Go have fun. Stay away from shady people—you know I value cleanliness.”

“Mm. Thank you, President Qin.”

“Hm?”

Lin Yuebai’s tongue froze. Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, she clumsily corrected herself, “Thank you… Qin Jue.”

Jing Xin watched the scene with silent disdain. The mere sight of Lin Yuebai’s face, so strikingly similar to her own parents’, was enough to irritate her. Seeing Lin Yuebai wear that face while being all lovey-dovey with Qin Jue, acting like the most obedient little lover in the world, made her feel like she had an unswallowable piece of gum stuck in her throat.

Utterly irritating and disgusting.

But Jing Xin, who had been pampered and praised since childhood and entered the entertainment industry without suffering any hardships, curled her lips into a cold yet arrogant smile.

So what?

Her manager, noticing Jing Xin’s displeased expression, whispered, “Should I dig up some dirt on Lin Yuebai? You two don’t have any resource conflicts lately—did she offend you?”

Jing Xin rolled her eyes dismissively and turned back to the business car. “What kind of nobody is she, worth my time to investigate?”

Manager: “…”

What an arrogant woman.

After Lin Yuebai got into Jing Xin’s car and left, she changed out of her costume into the clothes Qin Jue had bought for her.

With Lin Yuebai gone from the set, Qin Jue stood in the dressing room, gazing outside. The crew bustled with activity as usual. The director wiped sweat from his brow while gesturing at the props team.

“There’s an issue with the prop list. Why are so many office chairs and desks missing? What kind of decent company’s meeting room only has three chairs? Does this look acceptable to you?”

“And you—come here! This prop’s been broken for three days. Why hasn’t anyone fixed it? Where exactly are you spending the investor’s money?”

The director ranted and raved, practically pointing fingers at the props team.

Qin Jue gave him a fleeting glance, and the director awkwardly withdrew his hand, pretending to sip his chrysanthemum tea nonchalantly.

Investor? Wasn’t Qin Jue the biggest investor here?

Fine. All that scolding was meant for her ears.

Qin Jue averted her gaze. She didn’t care about these things.

Instead, alone in the dressing room, she held a black fitted knit top that seemed to still carry a trace of body warmth.

The knit top was indeed a bit too small.

The fabric wasn’t high-quality either, rough against her palm. She couldn’t fathom how Lin Yuebai had worn it so naturally.

Poor little thing.

…

Zhuang Lan and Qin Jue’s secretary, Zhong Yi, stood together.

Zhong Yi, the executive assistant, tired from standing in high heels, casually perched on a small stool in the corner, a laptop on her lap and a cup of coffee beside her. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she arranged meeting agendas and organized previous meeting notes.

Zhuang Lan: “Can I discuss something with you?”

Zhong Yi had a sharp, no-nonsense appearance—the epitome of a traditional career woman. Even in the grimy chaos of the film set, she wore the most pristine business suit, looking more like an elite than Lin Yuebai’s character in the drama.

Honestly, she seemed more like a leader than Qin Jue, who had inexplicably taken on the role of producer.

“Go ahead.”

Zhuang Lan watched as Zhong Yi opened another tab to collect and analyze data—some industry trend summaries and statistical charts she’d dug up from who-knows-where, colorful and utterly incomprehensible.

“Can you free up two hours tonight for our dear Qin Jue to go live?”

Zhong Yi scratched her head. “Lin Yuebai went out for dinner. Tonight, I negotiated a prime streaming slot with the platform. Lin Yuebai’s fanbase is still shallow—she needs to attract more casual viewers. The live stream would be great exposure.”

She gave Zhuang Lan a look that said, Are you out of your mind, or am I?

“Your idea is quite dangerous,” Zhuang Lan remarked.

Zhuang Lan: “So could you have President Qin hold the fort in the livestream for half an hour until Yuebai finishes her work and returns?”

Zhong Yi stopped typing on her keyboard, abandoned the data analysis, and ignored project management altogether.

“The industries our boss has invested in deal with millions every minute. Taking half an hour to go live—does that streaming platform even deserve it? What’s its market value, peanuts? We’d be doing it a favor just by considering it.”

Zhong Yi was about to add that Lin Yuebai was, at best, just a fling Qin Jue had taken a fancy to. Getting to see her once a day was already an excessive display of affection—greed would only lead to downfall.

But just as she opened her mouth, she caught sight of Qin Jue from afar, fondling the clothes Lin Yuebai had just changed out of. She kneaded the fabric in her hands before pressing the cuffs and collar to her lips.

Is… is she… licking it?

“……”

The boss is a bit of a pervert, huh.

Zhuang Lan: “What were you saying just now?”

Zhong Yi hesitated. “You… have a point. I’ll go talk to the boss.”

Zhuang Lan: “…We’re all just employees here. I get it.”

“……”

Both sighed deeply, though Qin Jue remained oblivious. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the knitted sweater against her lips.

It was a bit scratchy. With a sigh, she finally grabbed a fabric shaver.

The system screamed: “OOC warning!”

Qin Jue paused, the shaver in hand. “I just want Yuebai to wear something comfortable.”

Her grip on the plastic casing tightened. If not for this sudden system binding, she wouldn’t have to do many of these things—nor would she deliberately engage in humiliating behavior.

She wasn’t the type to derive pleasure from others’ shame.

The system, utterly incapable of empathizing with its host, offered guidance:

“As the villain, you need to publicly humiliate Lin Yuebai on set. In the original plot, there’s a scene where the villain tears her shirt buttons off in front of everyone, forcing her to cover her chest and hide in a restroom stall.”

Qin Jue’s fingers turned pale around the fabric shaver.

“So you’re saying I should ruin this sweater?”

A highlighted thread appeared before her eyes. The system helpfully explained, “With this fabric, just snip one thread, and the whole thing will split apart with a tug.”

A single snip with scissors—invisible on the table—would leave it vulnerable to tearing wide open with the slightest pressure.

And knitted sweaters were worn close to the skin.

The system threatened, “Fail to comply, and I’ll electrocute you.”

A shadow crossed Qin Jue’s eyes. She retrieved a small pair of scissors from the toolbox and cut along the marked thread.

The black sweater was casually draped over the chair.

Qin Jue tossed the cold scissors aside. The system wasn’t as clever as it thought—there were too many variables it hadn’t accounted for.

If Lin Yuebai noticed anything amiss, Qin Jue could simply drape another garment over her shoulders, averting disaster entirely.

Pleased with her compliance, the system hummed in her mind, “You’re the first host I’ve had, but I’m sure you’ll be the best!”

Qin Jue suppressed a smile and responded with a noncommittal “Hmm.”

At 9:30 that night, Qin Jue was working in her hotel room, clad in a wine-red bathrobe. Her damp hair clung to her shoulders in tangled strands, droplets rolling down the coiled ends.

When Zhong Yi knocked on the door, her heart was pounding.

The hotel room door opened to reveal the boss holding a cup of warm milk, her body seemingly enveloped in a translucent mist that made her dark eyes appear even more hazy.

The red nails against the pure white milk created a striking visual contrast.

Zhong Yi was momentarily dazed before Qin Jue motioned for her to enter.

“What is it?”

Qin Jue had been thinking about investing in a small home appliance brand. In her past life, she had worked with similar companies and knew that flashy marketing often made money faster, but someone still had to focus on real industry.

She wanted Lin Yuebai’s endorsements to permeate every aspect of daily life—only then would her foundation be secure.

Zhong Yi quietly relayed Zhuang Lan’s request, avoiding the boss’s gaze the entire time. Deep down, she found it absurd and ridiculous that the boss would stoop to spending half an hour in a livestream.

At the same time, she couldn’t shake the thought that her boss was the kind of pervert who would secretly kiss (lick?) someone else’s clothes in private. Honestly, nothing this woman did would surprise her.

Rich people really have their own way of playing around.

Really their own way.

Zhong Yi expertly concealed her thoughts as she explained the livestream request. Qin Jue blinked in surprise, and the system, worried she might refuse, urged, “Agree to it!”

They couldn’t pass up any chance to bully the protagonist.

“Alright, got it.”

Qin Jue leaned against the doorframe, the overhead light casting half her face in shadow, leaving only her red nails tapping rhythmically against the glass.

The warm milk swayed in the cup, but her fingers were even more beautiful.

After Zhong Yi left in a daze, Qin Jue downed the milk in one go. She didn’t drink or smoke, but when agitated, she indulged in sugar to calm her nerves.

She pulled a lollipop from her bag, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth—lemon-flavored, but not sour, just sweet.

The account and password for the livestream arrived from the manager. Qin Jue turned the camera on herself.

Her fingers tapped idly against the glass tabletop.

Behind her, the city’s dazzling nightscape stretched out. Since the power restrictions, neon lights had dimmed, replaced by the warm glow from within buildings. The dark sky outside resembled a vast velvet curtain, each window emitting a cold yellow light—countless overworked souls burning the midnight oil.

Welcome to Lin Yuebai’s Livestream.

On screen, Qin Jue was reviewing documents. Fans flooded in, only to be met with a stranger, making them double-check if they’d entered the wrong room.

“Uh… who are you?”

“Did I click the wrong link? Where’s Yuebai?”

“I know her! She’s Yuebai’s friend and the producer of Workplace Breakthrough.”

“Damn, this is creepy. Why is the producer logging into Yuebai’s livestream??”

“I was gonna say this feels like some shady backdoor deal, but this is way too blatant.”

“Wait, why’s the vibe so weird? Maybe they’re just friends? Even if they’re dating, she wouldn’t just hijack Yuebai’s stream like this.”

“I don’t care what their relationship is—this woman’s fingers are gorgeous. The way she flips through files like a CEO… except what kind of CEO sucks on a lollipop while working?!”

The system echoed in Qin Jue’s mind: “You need to declare your possessiveness over the protagonist during the livestream! Make sure everyone knows the protagonist’s ambiguous status. The more questionable it seems, the more the audience will cheer when you die.”

While seemingly flipping through documents, Qin Jue was actually holding her phone, browsing photos someone had sent her.

Lin Yuebai and Jing Xin had visited a luxury boutique, where Jing Xin made numerous purchases.

An SA knelt on the floor helping her try shoes, while Lin Yuebai sat quietly nearby, neither browsing items nor showing any intention to buy.

Then came a short video clip.

“Only three pairs of these shoes exist nationwide. You’re not buying them?”

“No need. They don’t suit me.”

“Why save money for your CEO Qin? You’re an actress now—who are you pretending to be poor for?”

Lin Yuebai’s dark tea-colored eyes reflected the dazzling array of merchandise. The massive logos transformed into barely noticeable glimmers in her gaze, as if none of these items could spark her interest. Too aloof, too detached—just standing there made her seem utterly out of place, yet simultaneously like the most precious treasure in the entire store.

Qin Jue checked her payment records. Lin Yuebai hadn’t used her card to buy anything.

This kid is too well-behaved.

Is this the protagonist? With such high moral standards, she’s bound to get bullied.

Or perhaps she believes everything gained must be earned through equivalent effort.

Just a pair of shoes or a bag, and she’s looked down upon?

Qin Jue sent a few messages, then flipped her phone face-down on the desk, turning a smiling gaze toward the livestream.

“I’m Yuebai’s friend. If you don’t mind, I can share some interesting stories from the set.”

The livestream comments scrolled rapidly.

Prompted by the system, Qin Jue added,

“Yuebai and I aren’t just ordinary friends. Our relationship is… complicated. You could say we’re particularly close. I’m her only good friend, and I became a producer just for her.”

Her red nails tapped idly against the desk, producing a light, rhythmic sound.

“She went out to dinner with someone tonight. Yuebai and I have never gone out this late before. Their relationship is so good it makes me envious.”

“Sis, do you realize how passive-aggressive you sound?”

“Just looked her up—Qin Jue. That surname isn’t common, but the only family I can think of who could become a producer with zero experience…”

“Pretty sure Qin Jue invested in Starlight Entertainment.”

“Wait, she’s not just the producer but also the boss??”

“And apparently the ‘best friend’ too.”

“Define ‘friend’…”

Qin Jue’s eyes lingered on the last comment. “Does definition matter? What matters is that Yuebai is closest to me. I invested in this drama for her—doesn’t that say enough?”

“She’s special.”

Qin Jue spoke ambiguously, letting those who understood read between the lines.

The system cheered in triumph at the completed mission.

The chat exploded.

Most viewers had casually clicked into the livestream only to stumble upon major drama.

As for Lin Yuebai’s career-focused fans, some shifted focus from the relationship speculation to… whether this meant Yuebai wouldn’t be bullied anymore?

Yueyue is absolutely worth it!

…

On the other side, as she was leaving, Lin Yuebai turned to bid farewell to Jing Xin.

Her face was slightly pale, her fingers unconsciously digging into her palms—a subconscious gesture she made when nervous.

It was almost 10 p.m. now.

Taking the highway by car would be too late.

Would President Qin be angry?

President Qin would definitely be angry, right?

Going out shopping and dining with another woman at night—even if it wasn’t her choice—those in power only cared about results.

Lin Yuebai didn’t notice the few strands of hair tangled between Jing Xin’s fingers behind her.

People with longer hair naturally shed more strands, easily picked up without notice.

Before leaving, Jing Xin held the car door of the vehicle Lin Yuebai was about to enter.

“I heard you’re from a small town. Lucky for you, you have such a pretty face. At first glance, I thought you were from a wealthy family in Jiangnan.”

Lin Yuebai shook her head. “You’re joking. My family is from a rural village up north. Both my parents are laborers.”

Jing Xin’s gaze darkened. “Then meeting me must truly be your big break.”

The words were arrogant and strange, but she had the status to say them.

Lin Yuebai said nothing, simply watching her quietly.

She had endured too many taunts growing up; Jing Xin’s words barely registered.

Jing Xin curled her lips into a cold smile. “If I were you, I’d just make some quick money in the industry, go home to build a house, and stay in that shabby place for the rest of my life. Marry someone, have a few daughters and a son—after all, that’s your destiny, isn’t it?”

“Why should anyone aim so high?”

The words were venomous. Lin Yuebai’s expression darkened, but Jing Xin acted as if nothing had happened as she stepped into a luxury car.

There were only 20 minutes left until 10 p.m.

Lin Yuebai took a deep breath. The priority now was to apologize to President Qin.

And then… sleep with her.

She hoped Qin Jue wouldn’t have any strange bedroom habits to punish her.

The wealthy always played dirty—ordinary money couldn’t excite them; only excessive indulgence and sexual thrills could.

Lin Yuebai wasn’t naive enough to think Qin Jue was kind enough to sponsor her out of goodwill.

There weren’t that many saints in the world.

The hotel wasn’t far from the film set. As the car passed by, Lin Yuebai asked the driver to stop. She hurried into the dressing room and grabbed a black knit sweater from the back of a chair.

Qin Jue seemed to like this one.

The form-fitting black sweater accentuated her chest, waist, and even hip lines. The high-neck design was strikingly modest yet exuded a different kind of sensuality.

It was already 10:30.

Lin Yuebai closed her eyes briefly. She changed into the black high-neck sweater Qin Jue liked and used the keycard to open her door.

Her movements were light, her heartbeat rapid. If she had been more attentive, she might have heard the faint sound of fabric tearing.

But she didn’t notice.

…

Qin Jue lounged on a single sofa, casually chatting with her live-stream audience.

“Her archery skills are impressive. The definition in her forearms shows she’s trained—strong and beautiful.”

Qin Jue wore blue-light-blocking half-rim glasses, her wine-red robe long replaced by silk pajamas. The V-neck design revealed her collarbones and a glimpse of her shoulders.

Lin Yuebai’s mind exploded.

She hurried over to Qin Jue’s side and saw that the live stream had already been activated on the computer.

Lin Yuebai’s face paled instantly—

Qin Jue, unaware of the presence behind her, continued, “Interested in her weight? Yuebai is quite slim—I can lift her with one arm. I want to fatten her up a bit, but this picky little thing refuses to eat anything. So hard to please.”

The live chat erupted:

“AHHHHHHH I just beat up my roommate for never calling me ‘little thing’ like that!”

“Since when do ‘good friends’ call each other ‘little thing’?!”

“…Jue is five years older than Yuebai. My sister’s also five years older than me, and she just calls me ‘brat’ instead.”

“Kick that last commenter out!”

“Qin Jue, turn around already!”

“Flirting right in front of her? Nice. Am I part of your foreplay now?”

Yuebai glanced between the live stream and the trending hashtag on Weibo:

#LinYuebaiLittleThing#

The tag had climbed into the top five before vanishing abruptly—clearly deleted.

When Qin Jue finally turned at the chat’s prompting, Yuebai instinctively stepped back. The sudden movement made the fabric at her chest tear with a sharp rip, splitting downward.

The camera was still rolling.

Yuebai: !

Her expression darkened further.

She never expected the crew’s costumes to be this flimsy.

What must Qin Jue think of her now? Some shameless hussy trying to seduce her on camera?

Though she considered herself thick-skinned, she couldn’t bear imagining Qin Jue’s assumptions. She refused to appear so… cheap.

Qin Jue’s expression shifted. Snatching the throw blanket draped over the sofa, she swiftly wrapped it around Yuebai—blocking the camera’s view just in time. But from her angle, the black knit top gaped unmistakably open.

She saw the soft curve of Yuebai’s abdomen, the pale swell of her chest, and the delicate lace trim of lemon-yellow lingerie.

Nothing ostentatious.

Then came the scent—that particular fragrance only truly beautiful people seem to carry.

Qin Jue wasn’t sure if that was the right description, but beautiful people simply smelled divine.

Warm. Intoxicating. Hitting her full force.

Unbearable.

Qin Jue’s face burned crimson. Her fingers trembled slightly around the blanket before thrusting it back at Yuebai, pushing her firmly out of frame.

Yuebai gasped. Clutching the rose-and-agarwood-scented throw by the bed, she noted its understated luxury label—probably cashmere, impossibly soft against her skin, leaving tingling trails where it brushed.

Back in the stream:

“HOLY SH*T SISTERS WHAT DID I JUST WITNESS??”

“Did something flash by?”

“Pretty sure Yuebai appeared, got instantly blanketed, then yeeted offscreen.”

“Damn. Is this what ‘best friends’ do? Swaddle each other on sight?”

“Fine fine, I’ll stop watching (chin rub)”

“Am I tripping? Jue-jie, your face looks flushed.”

“Am I tripping? Jue-jie, your gaze just went vacant.”

“Am I tripping? Jue-jie, why the excessive blinking?”

Seeing that the livestream duration was sufficient, Qin Jue decided to end it. Originally, she had only intended to stream for half an hour on Lin Yuebai’s behalf, but the time had far exceeded the daily requirement. She turned off the camera and streaming software, then flipped the camera face-down on the desk for extra precaution, ensuring nothing could go wrong.

Lin Yuebai crouched by the bed like a kitten, wrapped in a blanket. Her graceful swan-like neck, usually long and elegant, now slightly bent, still retained its refined charm.

She was an elegant swan-kitten.

The system was both shocked and bewildered: “According to the plot, this outfit was supposed to malfunction in front of the entire crew…”

The system continued, “Based on my calculations, Lin Yuebai should be glaring at you resentfully yet restrainedly.”

“Alright, she is glaring at you now.”

The system considered the task complete—after all, the protagonist was glaring at the antagonist.

But something still felt slightly off.

The system, still young and inexperienced, couldn’t process the complexities of human emotions. It could only judge based on rigid conditions and marked the task as completed.

Lin Yuebai crouched by the bed, her face flushed red as a monkey’s bottom. With her fair, delicate skin, the blush made her look like a juicy, ripe peach.

The resentment she had felt earlier vanished the moment she saw Qin Jue, replaced by an inexplicable stubbornness.

“Stop looking at me,” Lin Yuebai muttered, trying to pull the blanket over her head.

Qin Jue froze under her gaze, still holding the stick of a lollipop. She tossed it aside and poured a cup of warm milk from the water bar.

That glance held no malice—it was more like a kitten batting with its soft paw, claws retracted.

The hotel room was silent, the only sound being the rapid thumping of Lin Yuebai’s heart.

She didn’t care whether Qin Jue had spouted nonsense during the livestream. She had arrived late today—it was only natural for the other to be upset.

Mustering her courage, Lin Yuebai peeked out from under the blanket, still feeling chilly. Before she could speak, something warm pressed against her cheek.

“?”

“Drink some milk. Did you eat properly for dinner?”

No accusations, no disdain—just concern.

Lin Yuebai’s heart lurched violently. Without realizing it, her gaze toward Qin Jue had softened into something pitiful yet endearing.

“Mhm…”

The warmth of the milk cup against her already burning cheeks sent a shiver down her spine. She gingerly held the cup, sipping slowly—like a kitten lapping up milk.

Qin Jue leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, watching as Lin Yuebai inched closer to her.

Did the novel ever describe her as this adorable?

Probably not.

The novel only depicted Lin Yuebai’s endurance and later merciless retaliation against the antagonist, focusing heavily on her triumphant achievements and the thrill of revenge.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Lin Yuebai murmured, standing up awkwardly with the blanket still wrapped around her. Her long hair partially obscured her downcast eyes.

She hadn’t enjoyed dinner with Jing Xin. She had wanted to return early the entire time, but the other had clearly intended to make things difficult for her.

Take her to the Black Pearl restaurant, take her shopping at luxury boutiques—her bank account may be flush, but that money has other purposes… it can’t be squandered.

Those in power don’t care about the emotions buried in her heart.

“Go take a shower.”

Qin Jue’s words drifted lightly through the air.

“Finish your milk first.”

…

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Lin Yuebai washed quickly—

Back in the training camp, where over twenty people shared a single shower, everyone had mastered the skill of finishing in minutes.

Hot water cascaded over her skin as she lathered herself with the hotel’s sea salt and rose-scented body wash.

She was nervous.

Was Qin Jue the type to be cruel in bed? She’d heard many high-ranking figures had unspeakable tastes.

Some were gentle, others enjoyed torment, and the worst kind took pleasure in breaking those who shone brightly in public—covering them in shameful marks to satisfy some twisted craving.

Was Qin Jue like that?

She didn’t seem it, but appearances could be deceiving.

Qin Jue had handed her warm milk twice—once when she was left at her door, and again just now.

She carried no scent of alcohol, didn’t indulge in smoke or liquor, yet rumors painted her as wild, a true heartbreaker.

And those red nails—short but sharp enough to unsettle.

The more Lin Yuebai thought, the more fear coiled in her chest. Resigned, she turned off the shower, wrapped herself in a robe, and stepped out.

Dim nightlights greeted her. Qin Jue reclined on one side of the plush bed, tapping at an e-ink tablet.

The screen’s soft glow was easy on the eyes. The hotel’s high floor distanced them from the city’s clamor, enclosing them in silence.

If not for her reputation and the whispers, Qin Jue might’ve looked like nothing more than a disciplined, workaholic perfectionist.

Lin Yuebai repeated in her mind: Appearances deceive.

Qin Jue’s grip on the tablet tightened. Her gaze didn’t settle on any text. “Must it be like this?”

System: “Yep! Calculations show this’ll quickly stir the protagonist’s negative emotions!”

It brimmed with confidence. “You got this. I’ll lock myself in the dark room and watch cartoons. If she hits you, I’ll auto-enable pain immunity.”

Qin Jue: “Fine.”

Lin Yuebai climbed onto the bed quietly, her skin still fragrant with sea salt and roses.

She had no experience with this—none at all. But she’d seen seniors from the training camp dragged away by wealthy patrons, returned battered yet forced to perform the next day.

No gloves. No lube.

Her face paled briefly before she obediently nuzzled Qin Jue’s arm.

The woman beside her exhaled faintly, then set the tablet facedown on the bedside table.

Fingers clamped around Lin Yuebai’s chin.

“You were late today.”

The dim light hid Qin Jue’s expression. Lin Yuebai’s jaw ached, but she forced a docile smile.

“My mistake.”

Her words were sweet, her fingers suggestive as they brushed Qin Jue’s thigh.

A delicate hand trailed from the outer curve inward, soft as silk.

Lin Yuebai had practiced dance since childhood, her body incredibly supple like a little snake as she untied her bathrobe and tossed it aside, pressing her entire form against Qin Jue’s silk pajamas.

A wave of heat surged between them, the scent intoxicating, the girl in her arms softer than spring water.

She wanted to coax Qin Jue into a good mood—to secure more resources, to soar higher, to never again be trampled into the mud.

Her crimson nails lightly traced Qin Jue’s shoulder blades, sending shivers across the skin. Qin Jue pressed her into the sheets, holding her firmly against her chest.

Lin Yuebai’s smile was unnatural as she tried to mold her pliant body against Qin Jue’s. “President Qin… Qin Jue… Jiejie… The hotel’s body wash smells lovely, don’t you think?”

The body in her arms was soft and smooth, having gained a little weight recently, making her even more pleasant to touch.

The girl’s dark tea-colored eyes reflected the silhouette of the woman beside her as she lifted Qin Jue’s hand to her lips and kissed it.

Then, she guided that finger to her own tongue.

Don’t hurt me too much… I’m scared of pain.

A clumsy seduction.

Even though she was terrified.

Qin Jue pressed her lips to Lin Yuebai’s rounded shoulder, trailing kisses downward.

She felt the momentary tension in the girl’s body before it melted, yielding to her next move.

A gentle voice drifted from above Lin Yuebai. “Be good… It’s late. Stop squirming and sleep.”