Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 26

Qin Jue felt a ticklish sensation on the inner side of her wrist and instinctively tried to pull away, only for Lin Yuebai to firmly grasp it.

She couldn’t move.

Just who was the sugar mommy here, and who was the kept woman?

Her little canary had some nerve.

Qin Jue stared in surprise at the hand gripping her wrist. Lin Yuebai’s fingers were beautiful, the tips tinged a soft pink—clearly well cared for.

Her knuckles were delicate, so fragile they looked like they might snap under too much scrutiny.

Too thin. She needed to be fed better.

For a moment, Qin Jue was lost in thought, acutely aware of Lin Yuebai’s body heat and the scent that enveloped her.

In the cramped confines of the car, it was suffocating.

“Let go.”

System: “I bet the protagonist is gritting her teeth just to survive by your side. There’s no way she actually likes you.”

Qin Jue: “I think so too.”

System: “Otherwise, why would she be gripping your hand so hard? She’s even left red marks! She must hate you!”

The more the system thought about it, the more convinced it became. While it couldn’t fully read the protagonist’s emotions, it wasn’t blind—the red fingerprints on Qin Jue’s wrist were proof of how tightly Lin Yuebai had held on.

Qin Jue let the system ramble, nodding along occasionally. “Maybe you’re right.”

The system spun in midair, seemingly marveling at its own brilliance and cunning.

Lin Yuebai tilted her head slightly to study Qin Jue’s expression, but the other woman remained deep in thought, gaze lowered. Obediently, she nuzzled her cheek against Qin Jue’s shoulder.

She wasn’t dressed warmly today—just an old coat over a tight, curve-hugging miniskirt that clung to the fullest part of her thighs. Beneath it, she wore sheer black stockings that shimmered faintly in the light.

On anyone else, the outfit might have looked tacky, but on Lin Yuebai, it was stunning.

The car fell into a brief silence. Qin Jue suddenly felt her throat go dry as the system projected a list of possible lines for her to say.

She didn’t want to say any of them.

It was cold outside, and Lin Yuebai had been freezing, her hands and legs chilled to the touch. She was too thin, malnourished—if this kept up, she’d fall sick sooner or later.

“Qin Jue?”

Suddenly, Qin Jue flipped her grip and pinned Lin Yuebai’s wrist against the car door, her lips quirking in a half-smile.

“Dressed like this on purpose, just to tempt me?”

“Trying to play games with me? You’re still too green.”

She delivered one of the scripted lines, then took Lin Yuebai’s cold hand in hers. Her other hand settled on Lin Yuebai’s knee, idly tracing the sharp jut of bone before kneading the soft flesh of her thigh.

The driver, as if blind and deaf, pulled the car over to the side of the road.

“Qin Jue, there’s still the wrap party later—”

“I know. Stay still.”

The car’s interior was warm. Qin Jue rubbed Lin Yuebai’s palm between her own until it flushed red with heat before finally letting go.

Pinned against the door, Lin Yuebai’s expression shifted from confusion and fear to quiet resignation as she turned her head away, her ears burning crimson.

“Are you really in such a hurry to go eat with a bunch of strangers?”

The woman in the loose-fitting suit before her used her red nails to tilt Lin Yuebai’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

In the dim light of the car, Lin Yuebai caught a glimpse of the faint goldfish pattern on Qin Jue’s tie. There was no doubt that the fabric of her suit was exorbitantly expensive—the same cut as last time, though with subtle differences in material. Who knew how many identical outfits she owned?

She didn’t seem the fickle type; if anything, she was remarkably devoted. Lin Yuebai’s thoughts drifted until Qin Jue instructed the driver to pull up at the restaurant hosting the wrap party.

Lin Yuebai had been thoroughly scrubbed down and could barely stand straight as she stumbled out of the car, nearly tripping at the door.

Qin Jue had rubbed her down from head to toe. Her half-sleeved jacket had been tossed aside in the car, replaced by Qin Jue’s oversized black suit coat.

The rubbing had been intense.

And warm.

So intense her knees had gone weak.

She was like a cat dumped into a bath, overwhelmed by foam before she could react, scrubbed everywhere from top to bottom without a single spot spared.

The cat staggered, dazed and disoriented, her thighs rubbing together—though that spot had been left untouched.

When the director spotted Lin Yuebai’s arrival, he quickly waved her into the private room. Qin Jue followed close behind, dressed in a white silk blouse, and casually took the seat beside her, pulling out the chair with a tap of her knuckles on the head of the table. “Sit here.”

Every gesture screamed possessiveness.

Like a timid bride, Lin Yuebai sat down obediently beside Qin Jue, murmuring a soft “thank you.”

In Qin Jue’s mind, the System bounced around excitedly. “As the villain, you’re supposed to get the protagonist drunk at the party—the more, the better. In the original plot, there’s a scene where the villain drags the wasted protagonist to a hotel room, strips her, but at the critical moment, the protagonist sobers up and fights tooth and nail to escape, barely preserving her virtue.”

The System continued, “Your job now is to pour drinks down her throat. If she refuses, force her chin up and make her drink. Don’t worry, Lin Yuebai’s the protagonist—her body can handle it.”

Helpfully, the System even pulled up a few drama clips for Qin Jue to reference.

Qin Jue: “…”

Her silence was deafening.

Qin Jue: “So all I have to do is get her drunk?”

The System: “The protagonist won’t drink willingly. I suggest you—”

As it began to ramble, Qin Jue cut it off, telling it to go watch cartoons instead. Delighted, the System obeyed, but not without a final reminder to complete the mission properly.

Qin Jue found this System unbelievably stupid.

At the banquet, glasses clinked in endless toasts. The director had chosen a high-end restaurant run by industry insiders, with top-notch security. Before the dishes even arrived, bottles of baijiu and red wine were uncorked.

Qin Jue held a glass of baijiu between two fingers. As the producer, countless people came to toast her. The large private room had three tables, but Qin Jue wasn’t much of a drinker—when others offered, she merely took a symbolic sip.

The sharp, pungent burn of the liquor lingered in her mouth and nose. Back when she was building her business, Qin Jue had downed plenty of alcohol, often excusing herself mid-banquet to vomit in the restroom during those early, grueling days.

She put on a perfect smile and walked back into the private room to continue drinking. She had never liked alcohol, but in business, drinking was unavoidable.

Once she gradually achieved success later on, no one would dare force her to drink. At most, she would raise her glass to save face—without taking a single sip.

This body had a low tolerance for alcohol—weak yet eager to indulge. Qin Jue had only taken a few small sips before feeling dizzy. When the director, swaying and red-faced, refilled her glass with a grin and clinked his cup against hers, Qin Jue raised her glass to her lips—only for an arm to suddenly block her way.

Lin Yuebai smiled flawlessly. “Director, I’ll drink this for President Qin.”

She downed half the glass in one go, leaving Qin Jue’s cup empty.

From then on, every drink was taken by Lin Yuebai on Qin Jue’s behalf. Qin Jue’s hand hovered mid-air, slightly stunned.

Stop drinking. You don’t have to be so earnest—you don’t need to finish it all.

“Yuebai, you’re young and talented—you’re destined for greatness. You just look like someone who’ll be a star.”

The director, thoroughly drunk, slurred as he slung an arm over Lin Yuebai’s shoulder and shouted in her ear, “Your drinking skills—you’re good. You’re a real talent. I’ll call you for my next project—you’re my lead actress, no question.”

His curly, sheep-like perm brushed against Lin Yuebai’s cheek. She was already lightheaded, her body burning, peach-blossom eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Thank you for your support.”

She was more well-mannered than even the most disciplined actors, fully versed in the unspoken rules of drinking etiquette. Every time she clinked glasses, she lowered hers slightly—charming and deferential.

Qin Jue leaned back in her chair, watching Lin Yuebai—draped in her suit jacket—work the room with effortless grace. A bitter ache settled in her chest.

Why drink so much with them?

You could’ve refused. You could’ve made an excuse to leave early. Qin Jue’s gaze darkened, her voice deeper and rougher than it had been in the car.

“Lin Yuebai. Come here.”

Qin Jue hated drinking with others, hated socializing like this. She believed that if a deal couldn’t be settled outside the dinner table, what difference would alcohol make? Business was, at its core, an exchange of interests. When you had enough leverage and influence, these so-called drinking games were nothing but a joke.

It was precisely because Qin Jue had clawed her way up, precisely because she knew the razor-sharp burn of liquor down her throat, that this scene grated on her so much.

The commanding tone came from behind.

Lin Yuebai froze like a cat caught by the scruff of its neck. Her body swayed slightly, cheeks flushed a deep, intoxicating pink that spread all the way to her ears.

Before she could reach Qin Jue, an arm suddenly yanked her into the deserted hallway. Lin Yuebai stumbled, nearly losing her balance, still clutching a half-full glass of red wine.

The dark liquid sloshed, a few stray drops spilling over the rim.

Her back hit the cold wall, the suit jacket on her shoulders now stained with alcohol.

Drunkenness eroded reason. Qin Jue’s gaze was dangerous, fingers digging into Lin Yuebai’s shoulders. Her pitch-black eyes held no warmth—more terrifying than a hawk in the dead of night, making the cat shrink in fear.

“Do you enjoy drinking with them that much, Lin Yuebai? Do you even realize how drunk you are?”

“Are those people really worth your efforts to please? Believe me, if I just invested a little money, you could go to any other production crew and they’d treat you like royalty, showering you with attention. Can’t you have some self-respect? Stop acting so servile—it’s irritating to watch.”

“You represent my dignity. Don’t cheapen yourself in public.”

Qin Jue whispered these words into Lin Yuebai’s ear, but the latter could barely hear them. All she could see was Qin Jue’s red lips parting and closing, glistening with moisture, looking irresistibly plump and kissable.

“What?”

Lin Yuebai’s thoughts were slow to catch up.

Qin Jue had been angry, but her fury was momentarily derailed by Lin Yuebai’s confused response, leaving her in a brief daze.

Really, why was she getting so worked up over this girl? She was still young—only twenty—looking pitifully naive, barely grasping the rules of the adult world.

For a moment, Qin Jue wasn’t sure whether she was angry at Lin Yuebai or at herself.

Some people were just born for work—even drunk, she hadn’t forgotten the system’s demands. She snatched the wine glass from Lin Yuebai’s hand, tilted her head back to take a large gulp, then leaned down and pressed her lips directly against Lin Yuebai’s.

Lin Yuebai instinctively leaned back, but the unyielding wall behind her left no room for retreat. She rose slightly on her toes to meet Qin Jue’s movement, her cheeks cupped in Qin Jue’s hands.

Lips against lips, the rich taste of red wine flowed between them. Lin Yuebai froze for a second before swallowing reflexively.

Her tongue brushed against Qin Jue’s, but she couldn’t taste the wine—only something sweet and faintly spicy.

“Ah, Qin Jue—mmph!”

In the deserted hallway, Qin Jue gripped Lin Yuebai’s chin, forcing her mouth open as she poured the remaining wine down the poor young starlet’s throat.

No hesitation. No mercy.

The hands that had cradled Lin Yuebai’s face now held her jaw firmly, while the other hand pressed shamelessly against the slight curve of her lower abdomen.

Had she eaten too much? Or drunk too much?

But a little softness there was natural—pleasant to the touch.

“Do you understand your mistake now?”

“Mmm…”

“Use your words.”

“I won’t drink with others again… or attend those gatherings… I shouldn’t have taken it upon myself to drink on your behalf…”

Lin Yuebai’s words were disjointed, but Qin Jue got the gist.

Without bothering to say goodbye to the drunkards in the private room, Qin Jue took Lin Yuebai straight to a hotel suite.

From her bag, she pulled out an envelope—filled with crisp red bills, prepared earlier for this very purpose.

Lin Yuebai, already thoroughly drunk, collapsed onto the bed at the slightest push, too dazed to move. Only her glistening eyes remained alert, blinking up at Qin Jue like an overly attached pet.

Wronged after being bullied outside, now seeking comfort by mewling at her owner.

What greeted Lin Yuebai instead was a shower of red banknotes raining down, interspersed with scattered black cards.

The bills covered her body entirely. For a moment, Lin Yuebai was too stunned to react, staring blankly at the crimson storm above her. The large notes landed on her face, her clothes, burying the white sheets beneath her. A black card dropped beside her hand.

“I don’t lack money. Stop trying to save it for me. Understood?”

You’re not allowed to grovel before anyone. You’re not allowed to let others force drinks on you. And you’re never to take drinks meant for me again.

From the depths of Qin Jue’s consciousness, the system peeked out. “Mission complete?”

Qin Jue completed the task procedures, leaned back on the sofa to sober up for a while, then went to take a shower. She brought a basin of hot water and a towel to clean Lin Yuebai’s body—Lin was particular about cleanliness and wouldn’t tolerate sharing a bed with someone unkempt.

With downcast eyes, Qin Jue gazed absently at Lin Yuebai, who had fallen asleep peacefully amidst a pile of red banknotes.

“According to your task requirements, she should have stormed out by now.”

“But I forced her to drink and humiliated her with money. She must hate me now.”

The system thought that made sense and set off a little electronic firework in the host’s mind.

“Host, you’re amazing, simply amazing.”

…

Qin Jue fell asleep in the adjacent room. With New Year’s Eve approaching, her phone buzzed with increasing messages, allowing her to briefly set aside work concerns and sleep until she woke naturally.

Lin Yuebai stirred awake in the early hours. Her stomach, sensitive to alcohol, ached in sharp, intermittent spasms, beading cold sweat on her forehead. Her lips stung from the rough kisses, slightly swollen at the corners—likely bitten and bruised.

Lin wasn’t the type to black out after drinking. She remembered clearly how she had toasted everyone with a glass in hand the night before.

Then Qin Jue had dragged her into the hallway and forced half a glass of wine down her throat.

Their lips had clashed, teeth grazing, tongues tangling until the last drop was swallowed.

Weak and dazed, she had leaned into Qin Jue’s tall, slender frame, clinging like a child to her dearest sister, as fireworks exploded in her mind.

Now, slipping out from under the covers, she found the white sheets strewn with red banknotes. A shake of the blanket sent a flurry of crimson bills fluttering to the floor, interspersed with several lucrative endorsement contracts.

A scene of decadent extravagance—nothing less.

Anyone waking to such a sight would be stunned. Lin Yuebai pressed a hand to her aching stomach, rummaged through her bag for antacids, and swallowed them dry. She searched the entire room, even the bathroom, but found no trace of Qin Jue.

So, after dumping her here, Qin Jue had just… left?

She. Left.

Lin circled the room again, disbelieving, confirming there was no sign of a second person.

Her patron had pinned her against a hallway wall for a heated kiss, then vanished?

She was now in clean pajamas, her body wiped free of sweat and liquor.

There was no question who had done this.

Was Qin Jue some kind of saint?

Lin gathered the scattered money from the bed and floor, her anger simmering.

She was genuinely furious.

…

The next morning, Qin Jue checked out of the hotel to find Zhuang Lan waiting in silence.

The manager sat in the lobby, rising hesitantly at Qin Jue’s approach, her words caught between speaking and holding back.

The system cheered in Qin Jue’s mind, “Scan complete! At 6 a.m. today, the protagonist stormed out. Mission accomplished flawlessly. You truly are a heinous villain.”

Qin Jue: “…Good.”

The system’s emotions didn’t align with human ones.

Zhuang Lan: “Did you and Yuebai have a fight?”

One hand in her pocket, the other holding a vanilla latte, Qin Jue took a sip.

“No.”

Zhuang Lan: “Yuebai said she’s returning to the capital ahead of schedule. She asked me to wish you a Happy New Year.”

Zhuang Lan studied Qin Jue’s expression carefully, searching for signs of conflict.

If they hadn’t been fighting, why would Lin Yuebai’s voice sound so hoarse and aggrieved in the voice message?

She should be happy since the TV drama just wrapped up filming.

Qin Jue: “…I did something that hurt her.”

Without explaining further, Qin Jue bent down and got into the car. The driver stepped on the accelerator, and the manager quickly slid into the passenger seat.

Manager: “Yuebai said she has no plans to go home for New Year’s this year. I found her a highly respected acting coach—she’ll be taking lessons.”

Without Qin Jue’s connections, Zhuang Lan wouldn’t have been able to secure that teacher, no matter how extensive her network was.

When Zhuang Lan mentioned the teacher’s name, Qin Jue recognized it from the original novel and nodded in agreement.

System: “Detecting negative emotions from the protagonist. She must be resentful—yesterday, you forced her to drink and then pushed her onto the bed.”

Qin Jue idly chatted with the system until the manager, glancing back, caught sight of her phone screen.

Was President Qin browsing Weibo?

After finishing her latte—with double vanilla syrup—Qin Jue registered a new Weibo account under a pseudonym.

System: “Why is your Weibo name also ‘Moonlight Over Me’?”

Qin Jue: “Because I can’t bear to let moonlight shine on the gutter.”

The system didn’t quite understand, but it knew its host had graduated from a prestigious university with dual degrees, was a relentless overachiever, and had built her fortune from scratch—truly impressive.

It was only natural that a little system wouldn’t grasp everything.

Qin Jue brushed off the system’s confusion and changed her profile picture to a candid shot of Lin Yuebai’s side profile, secretly taken on set.

She found a tutorial and started learning how to manipulate engagement metrics.

Qin Jue didn’t just have one Weibo account—all under variations of “Moonlight Over Me”—and she’d picked up most of the tricks used in fan circles.

@LinYuebai: Happy New Year, everyone! [Photo]

The photo showed Lin Yuebai taking a selfie in her apartment. She wore a strawberry-patterned apron, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her lips bore faint swelling—masked by lipstick, though not entirely. To the untrained eye, it might look like she’d gone for a plump, pouty effect.

In the background, a kitchen brimmed with ingredients, including a bound king crab splayed aggressively on the counter.

“My wife is so domestic, ahhh!”

“Your wife?? Can you not be so shameless online? Clearly, she’s my wife, thank you.”

“Can Little Moon finish all that by herself?”

“She must be having someone over for New Year’s dinner, right?”

“The official Weibo for ‘Breaking Through the Workplace’ just announced filming wrapped up—waaah, when’s the premiere?”

“Probably after Spring Festival, wuwuwu.”

“Isn’t that ‘good friend’ coming?”

“LOL, Qin Jue doesn’t even deserve a name here?”

Qin Jue commented with her alt account:

Moonlight Over Me: Such a lavish spread—can you manage all that alone?

Moonlight Over Me: That friend is very close to Little Moon. She’ll probably go, right?

Moonlight Over Me: Stop calling her ‘wife’ online. It’s rude.

Netizens: ?

“Alright, I get it—you’re a shipper of Little Moon x ‘that friend.'”

“By ‘that friend,’ you don’t mean the one who made Little Moon’s lips swell, do you?”

“Love the nickname ‘Little Moon’! Our Yuebai is truly the world’s white moonlight!”

“If you zoom in, her lips really are a bit swollen.”

Qin Jue left a few more comments but ended up being mistaken as the leader of a shipping fanbase. Unable to explain herself, she simply logged out.

A message from the Qin family sat unread in her inbox—Qin Jue instinctively ignored it.

Qin Jue’s gaze drifted toward the window. Lin Yuebai was probably in a bad mood now—having been forced to drink until drunk, insulted with money and resources, then leaving the hotel before dawn the next day, forcing a smile to post promotional content on Weibo.

Spending the New Year alone in a single dorm room, while her so-called parents still thought to ask her for money to buy their son an apartment.

Qin Jue was used to celebrating every holiday by herself. Ever since she started university, her parents hadn’t given her a single cent. Both had their own careers, their relationship was strained, and Qin Jue felt like an extra person in their lives.

Her family was well-off, yet she had to rely on student loans to pay her tuition.

She knew spending the holidays alone was uncomfortable. No matter how indifferent she pretended to be, when the first firework exploded in the sky, an indescribable loneliness would still rise in her chest.

That was why she liked Lin Yuebai. In Lin Yuebai, she caught the scent of a kindred spirit.

She would grieve, she would hurt, but none of that stopped her from moving forward step by step—until she reached a height where everyone had to look up to her.

The sorrow remained, but no one dared to belittle her.

Qin Jue opened her chat with Lin Yuebai and changed her contact name to “Little Moon.”

Qin Jue: Who are you having New Year’s Eve dinner with?

Qin Jue: I acted out of line after drinking yesterday. I’d like to visit and apologize in person.