Two Faced Lover - Chapter 16

16: Locked Out

‎At a little past ten on Sunday night, Bo Mingyan habitually locked the door. After showering, she went through her usual routine—feeding the fish, replenishing the cat food, and refilling the water bowl while doing laundry—before finally heading to bed.
‎
‎She left her bedroom door ajar.
‎
‎The little black cat that shared her name was particularly clingy. Over the past few nights, whenever Bo Mingyan locked her bedroom door, the cat would meow plaintively in the living room, unable to enter.
‎
‎Its cries grew increasingly pitiful, sounding as if it were on the verge of tears, radiating utter grievance.
‎
‎They say pets resemble their owners—how true that was.
‎
‎Left with no choice, Bo Mingyan could only leave her bedroom door slightly open.
‎
‎Not long after she fell asleep, the cat squeezed through the gap, nimbly leaped onto the bed, and padded along the edge to the headboard. It sniffed Bo Mingyan’s hair before settling comfortably beside her head.
‎
‎Perhaps the day’s trip to Nanquan City’s small goods market to hunt for jewelry components had worn her out, because Bo Mingyan drifted off quickly.
‎
‎At some point, the cat’s ears twitched against her cheek, the tickling sensation making her frown. The cat stretched, arched its back, and hopped off the bed, trotting out of the room with a series of meows.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan jolted awake. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she slipped on her slippers and followed the cat into the living room.
‎
‎A faint noise came from outside the door—someone was fumbling with a key, struggling to fit it into the lock.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan’s heart skipped. Holding her breath, she glanced at the shoe cabinet beside her, where a shoehorn hung.
‎
‎Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Bo Mingyan grabbed the shoehorn, hiding it behind her back as she tiptoed to the entryway. Peering through the peephole, she saw the hallway light on and Meng Xuran standing outside, pressing the bell again.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan exhaled in relief—then remembered. Meng Xuran had mentioned she’d return tonight.
‎
‎But Bo Mingyan had forgotten to leave the door unlocked for her.
‎
‎Opening the door, Bo Mingyan watched as Meng Xuran wheeled her suitcase inside, apologizing first: “The key wouldn’t work for some reason. Might need to replace it.”
‎
‎“The key’s fine.” Bo Mingyan admitted awkwardly. “I was the one who locked the door.”
‎
‎“…”
‎
‎Meng Xuran paused mid-motion while changing her shoes, glancing up. Her gaze landed on the shoehorn in Bo Mingyan’s hand. “Why are you holding that?”
‎
‎To whack intruders.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan curled her fingers around it. “It fell. I was just putting it back.”
‎
‎Meng Xuran raised a brow, her eyes meeting Bo Mingyan’s half-lowered ones.
‎
‎Their gazes collided—briefly—before Bo Mingyan looked away first.
‎
‎Silently, Meng Xuran watched her rehang the shoehorn, lips quirking as a soft, breathy chuckle escaped her.
‎
‎The sound brushed against Bo Mingyan’s ears, itching and prickling uncomfortably. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to explain—that locking the door was just a habit, that she felt unsafe otherwise.
‎
‎But the reason behind the habit was hard to voice. And truthfully, she hadn’t kept Meng Xuran’s return in mind.
‎
‎Even if she had, she’d have locked the door anyway.
‎
‎Explaining felt pointless.
‎
‎“Sorry.” Bo Mingyan muttered, offering the same lukewarm apology she’d given countless times before, then turned to leave.
‎
‎“What for? You didn’t do anything wrong. A woman living alone should lock her door.” Meng Xuran’s voice was light as she added, “Though I’d hoped not to disturb you. Guess I failed.”
‎
‎Bo Mingyan’s steps faltered.
‎
‎The living room lay dark ahead, the only light spilling from the entryway behind her, casting a pale strip across the floor.
‎
‎Meng Xuran stood in the brightest spot. Despite her flawless makeup, exhaustion lingered at the edges of her eyes—yet the moment Bo Mingyan turned to look, that weariness vanished beneath a gaze softened with warmth.
‎
‎Her lips curved into a tender, almost endearingly silly smile.
‎
‎The aquarium’s oxygen pump hummed softly, bubbles rising in steady streams.
‎
‎Like Bo Mingyan’s long-stagnant heart, now quietly stirring.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan wet her dry lips, silent.
‎
‎Long ago, she’d locked doors too—often accidentally shutting out roommates. Some had called in fury, others bluntly told her she was inconsiderate and should live alone. Some gave silent glares, while others retaliated by locking her out overnight.
‎
‎The list went on.
‎
‎In learning to navigate social niceties to avoid conflict, Bo Mingyan had long accepted a truth: everyone lived differently. She had no right to demand understanding.
‎
‎So when someone grasped her reasons without explanation, she found herself at a loss.
‎
‎The quiet of the entryway didn’t last. Soon, it grew noisy.
‎
‎The cat, having inspected Meng Xuran’s luggage, now circled her feet, meowing incessantly as if scolding: “Where have you been all these days?” “You’d better not have been fooling around with other strays!”
‎
‎“Enough, Your Highness. Stop nagging. I was earning money to buy you treats, not flirting with other cats.” Meng Xuran crouched, ruffling the cat’s head. “My precious Manman, were you good? Did you miss me?”
‎
‎Though clearly addressing the cat, the words sent an unwarranted jolt through Bo Mingyan. Her pulse stuttered as she looked away, unconsciously rubbing her earlobe and shifting her weight toward the living room.
‎
‎Meng Xuran caught the movement from the corner of her eye, her smile deepening.
‎
‎“Have you gained weight? Tsk, living the good life, huh?” Scooping up the cat, Meng Xuran stepped closer to Bo Mingyan. “Thanks for feeding them.”
‎
‎The sudden proximity unsettled Bo Mingyan. Flustered, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No need. It was nothing.”
‎
‎She sidestepped, putting distance between them.
‎
‎“Sister.” Meng Xuran stopped her. “Could you do one more ‘nothing’ for me?”
‎
‎Since their chance meeting at the bar, Meng Xuran hadn’t called her that. Bo Mingyan turned with a questioning glance.
‎
‎Meng Xuran set the cat down and crouched—tall yet slender, she looked almost fragile in that position.
‎
‎“I… haven’t eaten.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, flashing her watch with the other. Her eyes curved pleadingly. “It’s past midnight. Forget the cat and fish tonight—feed me, okay?”
‎
‎“…”
‎
‎Had it not been for that “sister” and her vulnerable demeanor, Bo Mingyan might have refused.
‎
‎No wonder she’s in management—she knows exactly how to make people bend to her will.
‎
‎With Meng Xuran away, the fridge had been nearly emptied. Only two tomatoes, two eggs, and a pack of noodles remained.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan gathered the ingredients, setting the eggs on the counter before rinsing the tomatoes under the faucet. Water hissed as it filled the pot.
‎
‎“Tomato and egg noodles okay?” she asked over her shoulder, hearing the door open behind her.
‎
‎When no reply came, she glanced back.
‎
‎Meng Xuran stood half-in, half-out of the kitchen, one foot planted inside while the other blocked the curious cat.
‎
‎Seizing the moment, she slipped in fully, leaning back to shut the door. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Hm? Yeah, I’ll eat whatever you make.”
‎
‎Bo Mingyan suspected she hadn’t heard the question. Teasing, she said, “What about cilantro salad and stir-fried peppers with mushrooms?”
‎
‎“Huh?” Meng Xuran’s expression froze briefly before she spotted the tomatoes and eggs. A sly grin surfaced. “If you cook it, I’ll eat it.”
‎
‎Bo Mingyan snorted, whisking the eggs. “Next time, then.”
‎
‎Amusement laced her tone, clearly joking.
‎
‎Meng Xuran bit her lip, ducking her head to hide a smile and the emotions welling in her eyes. Her fingers brushed the apron hanging on the door.
‎
‎“Here.” she said, holding it out. “Put this on.”
‎
‎“Oh. Right.”
‎
‎Bo Mingyan’s hands were stained with tomato juice. She eyed them, about to wash up, when Meng Xuran intervened.
‎
‎“Let me.”
‎
‎Before Bo Mingyan could react, the cat-patterned apron was draped over her head. Meng Xuran gathered her loose hair, fingers skimming the ties at her nape.
‎
‎“Want your hair up?” Meng Xuran asked, adjusting the neck strap.
‎
‎The ties were short, her hair thick. Meng Xuran’s breath ghosted over Bo Mingyan’s ear and neck with each word, sending a shiver across skin that flushed from collarbone to earlobe.
‎
‎Bo Mingyan tensed, fingers flexing, a strained “Mm” escaping her throat.
‎
‎Just as she prepared to step away, Meng Xuran retreated first.
‎
‎Her hair was gathered gently, swiftly. “Tell me if I pull too hard.”
‎
‎Bo Mingyan stayed silent.
‎
‎Once her hair was tied, Meng Xuran’s hands dropped to the waist ties—this time without a single touch.
‎
‎As she knotted the bow, her gaze flicked up. Bo Mingyan’s stiff shoulders had begun to relax.
‎
‎“Done.” Meng Xuran stepped back. “Need any help?”
‎
‎“Don’t you have an early trip tomorrow? Go pack. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” Bo Mingyan resumed chopping tomatoes.
‎
‎“Fine.” Meng Xuran turned to leave, hand on the doorknob.
‎
‎Outside, a scooter’s alarm blared twice.
‎
‎She glanced back.
‎
‎The kitchen window framed an ink-black night, the room’s steam softening her gaze, blurring the boundaries she’d drawn in her heart.
‎
‎“Bo Mingyan,” she asked quietly, “have you ever cooked like this for someone else before?”