Scumbag Woman, But Pampering My Wife - Chapter 52

The man was about to declare his supposedly prestigious identity when Qin Jue shot him a glance—one filled with nothing but mockery and malice.

Staggering back several steps, the man finally gritted his teeth, each word dripping with venom.

“Sorry.”

Qin Jue: “Get lost.”

She withdrew her gaze, refusing to waste another second on the blind date.

She hated having her plans disrupted. Today, she had intended to visit the film set and then take a stroll nearby with Lin Yuebai.

Her little moon was about to leave for an overseas shoot, and Qin Jue realized she might be experiencing some separation anxiety.

She wasn’t the type to rely on others, yet her eyes always lingered on Lin Yuebai.

She had grown accustomed to the sound of her voice always surrounding her.

Lin Yuebai took half a step back.

Qin Jue stepped forward, grabbing her wrist. “What were you filming just now?”

Her tone carried a teasing edge. “Were you gathering evidence of me meeting another man in secret?”

Lin Yuebai bit her lip, her expression turning pitiful—like a wronged kitten.

Qin Jue: “Let me see.”

Towering over Lin Yuebai, she cornered her against the wall, casting a shadow that blocked out all light.

Lin Yuebai’s breath quickened, her lashes fluttering as she avoided Qin Jue’s gaze, her entire demeanor unbearably docile.

“Were you jealous just now?”

Qin Jue traced circles on the inside of Lin Yuebai’s wrist. “Did you think I was cheating on you?”

Not letting up, she pressed further. “Feeling guilty, aren’t you?”

Lin Yuebai’s face flushed deeper as she nudged Qin Jue’s calf with the tip of her high heel.

“Say something, baby. How else will I know what you’re thinking?”

Qin Jue peppered her with endearments—”baby” this, “darling” that—while deftly dodging Lin Yuebai’s attempts to snatch back her phone.

She opened the most recent recording. In it, a woman leaned against the sofa, looking down at the man seated across from her as if he were trash. Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed his collar and slapped him.

Qin Jue’s brow arched. With the system’s help, she had known Lin Yuebai was filming and had deliberately adjusted her angles to showcase her best features.

A peacock quietly flaunting its plumage.

And it had worked.

Her finger accidentally swiped to a photo from another day. She immediately swiped back—she had no interest in invading privacy.

But the phone lagged, freezing on another candid shot.

Zoomed in to the max, the woman in the frame wore sunglasses. Someone was holding a car door open for her while she balanced a coffee in one hand and a document in the other. Tall and elegant, she had opted for comfortable flats instead of heels.

While Qin Jue had been watching Lin Yuebai, Lin Yuebai had been watching her too.

She returned the phone without deleting a single photo.

Trapped against the mirrored wall of the bar, the younger woman trembled, her fingers clutching Qin Jue’s sleeve.

“I missed you.”

Lin Yuebai whispered it again beneath the thumping music. “President Qin, I just missed you.”

Qin Jue didn’t catch it—until a hand suddenly gripped her collar, pulling her down.

Lin Yuebai disliked noisy places. Her lips almost brushed against Qin Jue’s ear as she whispered, “Who was that man just now? Why did you hit him?”

The system couldn’t take it anymore: “Complete the storyline, please.”

Qin Jue bargained: “The storyline is already complete. According to the system’s mission requirements, my physical contact with the blind date exceeded the specified standard.”

The system: “…”

Qin Jue: “The protagonist also took intimate photos of me with the blind date.”

The system: “?”

You’re not talking about intimate photos of hands touching faces, are you?

Qin Jue didn’t repeat the disgusting suggestion from her blind date about the three of them living together. She gave a vague explanation, and Lin Yuebai nodded thoughtfully.

Even in this abridged version, a flash of displeasure crossed Lin Yuebai’s eyes.

Qin Jue placed her hand on Lin Yuebai’s shoulder and led her outside the bar. Her voice was soft and slow, as if she had truly suffered immense injustice.

“Baby, everyone outside bullies me. My family forces blind dates on me, buys negative trending searches for products I’ve invested in, uses connections to hold my goods at customs… No one at home loves me…”

Qin Jue carried the faint scent of alcohol from the bar. She hadn’t drunk any cocktails with alcohol content—the smell came from others, mixed with a not particularly pleasant tobacco odor.

On anyone else, these smells would seem messy and tainted, but combined on Qin Jue, they only made her appear pitiful.

Like a dog drenched in heavy rain.

Qin Jue lowered her eyes, standing by the quiet roadside with both hands holding a cup of hot milk tea.

“Since my mother died, no one at home has loved me. My mother’s family had some foundation, but after her death, my father turned against them. All these years, he’s been draining my mother’s family to expand… It’s almost laughable—his business ideas can’t keep up with the times. He’s lost so much money over the years that he’s squandered everything he took from my mother’s family.”

Knowing Lin Yuebai didn’t like sweet drinks and needed to watch her weight, she had specifically ordered sugar-free milk tea.

This was the first time Lin Yuebai had seen the usually proud Qin Jue bow her head and whisper her grievances.

She looked genuinely fragile, as if about to break.

The system: “Stop pretending. Any more of this and even I might believe you.”

Qin Jue: “Everything I said is true.”

The system was astonished.

Lin Yuebai’s heart clenched sharply. Helplessly, she reached for Qin Jue’s hand. “Sister Qin Jue…”

She had thought Qin Jue was born with a silver spoon, never having to endure hardship in this life.

Rumors said she was willful, of poor character, taking pleasure in humiliating others.

But how vastly different rumors were from reality.

Lin Yuebai genuinely ached for her.

How much suffering must one endure to develop a temperament as gentle as Qin Jue’s now?

How many times must one be knocked down in society to navigate the business world so effortlessly?

The system detected the protagonist’s accelerated heartbeat, darkened mood, rapid breathing, and what seemed like the verge of tears.

Had it not seen the protagonist’s current state, the system might have concluded from the data alone that the host had bullied her to tears.

The system reported the detection results to the host.

Qin Jue smiled beautifully. “But all that is in the past. My life is good now. Just being able to see you every day makes me perfectly content.”

Qin Jue gently tucked the stray strands of hair behind Lin Yuebai’s ear.

“There’s a lively night market nearby. Want to take a walk with me?”

Lin Yuebai opened her mouth several times but ultimately said nothing. When Qin Jue handed her a bowl cake, she took a small bite and remarked,

“I never thought someone like you would eat at street stalls in a night market.”

Qin Jue put on a gentle yet pretentious air. “Everyone goes through times when they’re broke. And when you’re broke, you learn to appreciate the simple joys of life. I’m really happy you came with me.”

The system closed its eyes in despair.

You’re so full of it.

……

“Cut the crap about ‘simple joys of life.’ You took Lin Yuebai to a night market—did you even ask for my permission?”

Zhuang Lan was pacing Qin Jue’s office, tugging at her hair in frustration.

“If my visa hadn’t been delayed, I would’ve already gone abroad with Lin Yuebai for filming.”

She pointed at Lin Yuebai’s medical report. “Director Qin, take a good look—she has acute gastroenteritis now. What the hell did you two eat? How did this happen?”

Zhuang Lan used to be intimidated by Qin Jue, but after spending more time with her, she realized the CEO was actually quite approachable. Today, her courage had returned, and she was back to her usual assertive self.

Lin Yuebai was more endearing than any artist she’d managed before. As her agent, Zhuang Lan’s main duty was to take care of her and protect her interests.

Qin Jue sprawled lazily on the plush leather sofa, lifting her eyes briefly to glance at the report.

“You might not believe it, but she only took one bite of each thing. I ate the rest.”

Zhuang Lan stood frozen, feeling dizzy.

That same night, paparazzi snapped photos of the two. When the studio offered to buy the images, the photographer said—“Director Qin said you could just publish them.”

Now, the internet was flooded with pictures of the two “good friends” strolling hand-in-hand through the night market.

Lin Yuebai wasn’t carrying anything, while Qin Jue’s arms were full of street snacks.

The more Zhuang Lan watched Qin Jue lounging on the sofa with her eyes closed, the angrier she got.

“Director Qin, please consider Yuebai’s health. Her stomach has always been weak—she can’t handle this kind of recklessness.”

Qin Jue, annoyed by the noise, finally admitted, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have indulged our delicate star by letting her try everything.”

Qin Jue’s stomach was far hardier than Lin Yuebai’s. This body was the same one she’d had before transmigrating into the novel. Back then, she’d had some stomach issues from excessive drinking, but after careful recovery and a healthy diet post-transmigration, her digestion was now as strong as any normal person’s.

Zhuang Lan sat down on the sofa beside Qin Jue. “I wonder how Yuebai’s doing abroad.”

Qin Jue: “I’m your boss. I didn’t tell you to sit. Get up.”

Zhuang Lan: “…”

Qin Jue mentally reviewed the original novel’s plotline, recalling the hardships the protagonist faced overseas.

Considering Lin Yuebai’s current stomach condition and the prevalence of raw, cold foods abroad, she’d undoubtedly suffer even more.

Qin Jue wasn’t feeling much better than Zhuang Lan.

Lin Yuebai’s trip wasn’t long—she’d be back just in time for the next variety show recording.

The show’s latest episode had already aired, generating significant buzz online. Combined with the night market photos, even casual fans were jumping on the bandwagon.

Qin Jue opened Weibo and deftly began managing the engagement metrics. Zhuang Lan glanced over and caught sight of something oddly familiar.

“What were you just looking at?”

Qin Jue tilted her phone to the side. “Snooping on your boss’s phone? That’s an extra charge against you.”

Zhuang Lan frowned slightly but ultimately said nothing.

She had seen a name… Ming something me?

The system chimed in, “If the protagonist finds out you’ve been secretly stalking her with a burner account, she’ll be furious.”

The system naively believed that its host—who had given the protagonist acute gastroenteritis, allowed paparazzi to post photos on Weibo, and now secretly lurked on the protagonist’s account—was playing with fire.

After Zhuang Lan left, Qin Jue murmured, “It’s been three days since I last saw Little Moon… Three whole days without hearing her voice.”

…

“I have three days left until my birthday. Qin Jue, she…”

Lin Yuebai settled into a hotel abroad. Fortunately, the film didn’t require many overseas locations—domestic studios were advanced enough that shooting entirely abroad wasn’t necessary.

Zhuang Lan hadn’t managed to secure a visa, but Zhong Yi’s application went smoothly, so she was sent as a stand-in manager to accompany Lin Yuebai.

Zhong Yi stood outside the room, wrapping up a call with the film crew. When she hung up and stepped inside, she found Lin Yuebai sitting silently in front of the vanity mirror, lost in thought.

“Still feeling sick?”

Lin Yuebai forced a faint smile. “I’m fine physically, just…”

She didn’t want to seem overly sentimental in front of others, so she swallowed her longing.

Under Zhong Yi’s concerned gaze, Lin Yuebai steeled herself and finished applying her makeup.

“Let’s go. The crew is already waiting downstairs.”

Her stomach still ached faintly. The medicine had eased the discomfort somewhat, but her spirits remained low. Still, she was a professional—she delivered every emotion and movement the director demanded with precision.

Once filming wrapped, she’d retreat into silence again.

She looked like someone nursing a broken heart.

Zhong Yi reported Lin Yuebai’s daily condition to Qin Jue, who always called the moment the messages arrived.

Unaware that her secretary was monitoring her every move, Lin Yuebai sat quietly by the fountain after shooting wrapped. The water roared behind her, the stone cherub above plucking its harp as icy droplets cascaded into the pool below, where countless coins from around the world shimmered.

They said wishes made here with a sincere heart would come true.

Lin Yuebai pulled a coin from her pocket. It plunged into the water with a plop, and she clasped her hands together, resting her forehead against her fingertips as she whispered,

“I hope I can finish filming and go home soon.”

The time difference meant that when she was free, Qin Jue was working, and by the time Qin Jue was free, exhaustion had already pulled her into sleep.

Pigeons cooed at Lin Yuebai’s feet, their red eyes and white feathers stark against the stone. With no food to offer, she shooed them away whenever they tugged at the hem of her green dress with their tiny beaks.

Her stomach ached.

“Stay still—I’ll take your picture.”

Zhong Yi wasn’t as skilled a photographer as Zhuang Lan, but Lin Yuebai’s beauty made any shot look stunning.

The shutter clicked, freezing a moment in time.

A girl in an emerald-green dress sat by the fountain, her profile gilded by sunlight. At her feet, white doves pecked at the fabric of her skirt, their crimson eyes bright against snowy feathers.

Lin Yuebai idly scrolled through the comments section after posting photos on Weibo, expecting the usual harmonious responses. But to her surprise…

“Who knows how Lin Yuebai climbed her way up? Only her fans believe she got here through hard work. Plenty of people work hard—why is she the one who made it?”

“Honestly, she’s not even that pretty. Probably just heavily photoshopped.”

“I’ve got videos of her debut overseas. Wearing such short skirts without shame—if I were her parents, I’d disown her too. Hehehe.”

“No sugar daddy backing her? Yeah right.”

“Everyone’s selling themselves in the entertainment industry. Who’s she trying to fool with her act?”

“Always marketing that ‘best friend’ CP. Who knows what their real relationship is?”

Even her fans were bewildered.

Huh??

“These messy comments are obviously paid trolls. I can confirm from under the bed—Little Moon and her best friend are the real deal!”

“If you knew she debuted overseas, maybe consider that girl groups in that country wear short skirts as standard? They still wear safety shorts underneath.”

“Anyone who knows Little Moon’s past wouldn’t attack her. Her adoptive parents swapped her with a rich family’s child and went to prison. You expect those monsters to treat her well? Surviving that childhood was miracle enough.”

Lin Yuebai swiped past the trending hate topics without reaction. She was used to being targeted—this level of vitriol barely registered.

Zhong Yi sat beside her, offering comfort. “Don’t worry, PR is handling it. Someone’s clearly feeling threatened enough to come after you.”

Lin Yuebai looked up, confused. “Did I offend someone recently?”

Zhong Yi knew bits about the Qin family drama—how Qin Jue had angered her father by beating up a blind date. Of course those two would hold a grudge. The conservative Qin family would never accept Qin Jue dating a woman anyway. But none of this needed explaining.

Lin Yuebai opened her mouth stiffly. “The outfits back then… the company decided them. We had no say.”

“Specialists will handle it. Focus on filming—the director’s calling you.”

No say indeed. Most unknown female idols didn’t. The entertainment industry was brutally unfair—male idols got to perform in sleek suits while women faced impossible standards: show off slender waists, display perfect legs.

She wanted to explain further but found no words. The thought struck her—would Qin Jue watch her old performances?

……

“Stop watching already…” The system manifested as a bouncing light sphere in Qin Jue’s mind. “The plane will take off without you.”

“No it won’t. That plane waits for me.”

Typical villain logic, the system mused.

Qin Jue’s mental conversation didn’t slow her physical movements as she stood, phone screen still displaying Lin Yuebai’s past stage recordings.

The girl in the footage stood at the center position. Since her debut was brief and her team disbanded quickly, there weren’t many stage performances circulating publicly—only scattered practice room versions remained.

The girl was visibly young, her face still carrying traces of youthfulness, yet she wore makeup that leaned toward maturity.

Her upper half was clad in a fairly standard white uniform shirt, but her skirt was an extremely short pleated one, revealing her safety shorts with just the slightest turn.

Countless gazes were fixed on Lin Yuebai.

A shadow flickered through Qin Jue’s eyes.

She sat silently in the first-class cabin for a long time without speaking.

System: “Many online speculate that you’re Lin Yuebai’s sugar daddy.”

Qin Jue: “Aren’t I?”

System: “Will you respond?”

Qin Jue saved several of the better dance performances. She had no intention of appearing before the audience as Lin Yuebai’s sugar daddy—from start to finish, her identity had always been that of a close friend.

“I’ve already had the PR team suppress the buzz. Legal notices have been sent to the accounts stirring up trouble online, and we’ll pursue this to the end.”

Though Qin Jue had never dealt with entertainment industry matters before transmigrating into this novel, the core principles remained the same. She wouldn’t just issue legal threats without follow-through—once she acted, she saw it through completely.

Only by making an example could she secure a period of peace.

In truth, much of the online slander in the original plot could have been avoided—it was just that Lin Yuebai had no one by her side to help her back then.

By the time Qin Jue finished handling all the work, it was already late. With several hours left before landing, she closed her eyes to rest.

The system didn’t understand why the villain was in such a hurry to intervene. “You’re the villain—you don’t need to interfere. All suffering only makes the protagonist stronger.”

Qin Jue: “Shut up.”

Her first priority after landing was to find Lin Yuebai. By the time she arrived, it was nearly midnight—just two hours away from Lin Yuebai’s twenty-first birthday.

Qin Jue stood on the empty streets. Unlike back home, nights here weren’t particularly safe.

“Boss?”

Zhong Yi hurried downstairs after receiving the call, only to find her boss standing alone beneath a fountain, tossing a coin into the water before clasping her hands together in a silent prayer.

Zhong Yi: “…” This looked eerily familiar.

Zhong Yi: “Our people traced the troll accounts to a PR firm. As expected, it leads back to the Chairman and the Second Young Master…”

Qin Jue opened her eyes and shot her a glance.

“I spoke out of turn.”

A cold smirk curled in Qin Jue’s heart. Qin Chenyi—what kind of Second Young Master was he?

Zhong Yi gave a brief report on recent events. Qin Jue listened in silence, her expression dark. “Tomorrow is Miss Lin’s birthday. What do you think?”

Zhong Yi had already bought a necklace in advance, which could be passed off as a gift from the boss to perhaps lift Miss Lin’s spirits.

What could she do? As the secretary of a domineering CEO, Zhong Yi had impeccable professionalism.

Qin Jue: “A necklace is too perfunctory.”

Qin Jue: “It’s almost midnight. We’re still missing a cake.”

Zhong Yi’s flawless expression froze. “A cake? Now?”

The overworked employee didn’t understand. She smiled through gritted teeth.

Being summoned in the middle of the night to deliver a keycard was already pushing the limits of her job description—it definitely did not include banging on the door of a boutique cake studio at this hour and demanding the baker whip one up immediately.

Her six-figure salary did not cover this.

Qin Jue gave her a strange look. “Do you have something to say?”

Zhong Yi carefully composed her tone in her mind, trying to express her confusion and refusal with polite and kind words.

Qin Jue took the room card from Zhong Yi and said, “I see there’s a 24-hour convenience store over there. Ask the hotel to borrow a kitchen, then go back and rest. I’ll make the cake.”

Zhong Yi returned to her room as if sleepwalking. From the window, she saw her big boss carrying a convenience store bag in each hand.

In her dazed state, Zhong Yi thought, President Qin really is a good boss—never making things difficult for her subordinates at all.

Lin Yuebai had a sensitive stomach, so Qin Jue decided to make just a small yogurt cake with some fruit as decoration.

Eating cake and blowing out candles was part of the ritual, so Qin Jue also prepared a pot of shredded beef congee.

Twenty-one colorful candles were placed on the cake, and a handful of cilantro was sprinkled over the beef porridge.

Qin Jue always paid attention to every detail.

She stood alone in the spacious hotel kitchen, while the system cowered in fear at her murderous expression.

“Villains aren’t supposed to make cakes for the protagonist.”

Qin Jue’s face remained impassive as the system whimpered, “Let me have just one bite QWQ, or I’ll electrocute you.”

Qin Jue: “…” Pathetic.

She opened her chat with Lin Yuebai. After rushing over from the airport, she had been carsick the whole way, leaving her phone on silent.

Little Moon: Good evening, good evening~

Little Moon: Stretching cat meme

Little Moon: My stomach’s feeling much better! Your secretary is really nice—give her a raise!

Little Moon: Don’t pay attention to the online rumors. I’ll explain everything to you myself.

Little Moon: Do you have time to video call soon? I kinda miss you.

Little Moon: If you like seeing me in short skirts, I’ll wear one for you, okay? Don’t ignore me…

Little Moon: It’s almost midnight. Are you asleep already?

Little Moon: Okay then… Goodnight.

Through the messages, Qin Jue could almost picture Lin Yuebai typing with restrained sadness.

In her room, Lin Yuebai stared at the unanswered chat, lying on her side as her heart weighed heavily.

Another message lost to the void.

As the clock struck midnight, so did a knock on Lin Yuebai’s door.

A special notification chimed on her phone, and a new message appeared in the chat.

Sister Qin Jue: Open the door.