Two Faced Lover - Chapter 83

83: Smoking

The office atmosphere became subtly tense after the manager’s remark, like the static-charged fuzz on a wool sweater in autumn—each strand standing on end, prickly with electricity, yet not stiff or rigid.

Bo Mingyan crossed her legs, arms resting casually atop them, fingers tapping intermittently as she pondered.

She cast a careless glance toward Meng Xuran, who was propping her cheek on the sofa armrest, letting out a cold scoff, her expression dripping with unmistakable mockery.

Bo Mingyan thought that Meng Xuran had probably considered it too.

The way things were unfolding was a bit strange.

If Brand A was behind this, their “thief crying thief” tactic was downright idiotic.

Anyone in the fashion design industry knew that in past copyright infringement cases, finished clothing products weren’t considered “reproductions” under the Copyright Law, but design sketches and garment patterns were legally protected.

Take Moment’s design drafts, for example—especially their haute couture pieces—which often incorporated designers’ unique creative elements. Meng Xuran always ensured these design drafts were properly registered and filed.

Forget about whether plagiarized design sketches could even be used to accuse Assassination’s finished costumes of copying. Making a big deal out of this would do Brand A far more harm than good.

If it came down to comparing timelines for the first draft of the design, they’d be thoroughly humiliated. Add a lawsuit on top of that, and they’d be hit with massive compensation claims.

It wouldn’t even earn them much traffic or attention—after Brand S’s “inspiration” controversy, countless smaller shops would flood the market with knockoffs, diverting sales. All they’d be left with was a tarnished reputation.

What was the point?

After an indeterminate stretch of silence, the manager couldn’t hold back any longer. “Director Meng, how do you think we should handle this?”

If it were any other issue, the PR department could make their own judgment. But this involved design—and a project tied to a film collaboration.

Meng Xuran scoffed coldly. “Has Brand A responded yet?”

“Not yet, but…” The manager frowned, handing his tablet to Meng Xuran. “We’ve been monitoring their activity. After the hashtag started trending, they took the garment off their store.”

Ava was incredulous. “They took it down? Instead of riding the wave to boost sales, they took it down?!”

Gu Miao quipped, “Guilty conscience, huh? Picking a fight with us is like an egg smashing itself against a rock.”

Meng Xuran took the tablet and skimmed through it. The PR team had neatly organized screenshots and timestamps. Within two minutes of the hashtag hitting the trending page, Brand A had removed the garment from their store—even deleting all related Weibo posts.

The move reeked of panic, as if they were desperate to distance themselves the moment they realized their design was being linked to Moment.

“Manman, compile the timeline for the draft design process and send it to the PR manager.” Meng Xuran said naturally, using Bo Mingyan’s childhood nickname.

Bo Mingyan nodded. She had already noted the steps for handling this in her memo.

The PR manager was baffled. Manman? Who’s Manman? It wasn’t until he heard Bo Mingyan respond with an “Okay” that it clicked—Ah, must be another designer alias.

Like Ava from the haute couture team, or the various English names floating around the general design department.

“Uh, Man… Man…”

The PR manager faltered mid-sentence, his eyes flickering toward Bo Mingyan as he spoke. Her sharp, striking features made it hard to look at her directly.

For some reason, when the words “Manman” left his mouth, the young designer’s expression shifted subtly—something meaningful. He sensed a silent “What did you just call me?” in her gaze.

Baffled, the PR manager tried again. “Uh, that is—Manman—”

Midway through, his peripheral vision caught Meng Xuran’s icy glare. A man well-versed in reading expressions, he immediately shrank back, throat bobbing as he pivoted:

“Ah, Designer Bo, you can add me directly from the company group chat.”

Meng Xuran picked up the teapot from the table and walked to the water dispenser to refill it. Her tone was flat, but her words were anything but:

“Manman is what I call her. A pet name. Mind your manners.”

The PR manager froze, his gaze darting between Meng Xuran’s cold expression and Bo Mingyan’s stoic face. He turned to stone on the spot.

Across the sofa, Gu Miao and Ava reacted in unison—one with a sharp inhale, the other with a soft tsk. Meng Xuran shot them a glare, and the two immediately mimed zipping their lips.

Meng Xuran looked back at the PR manager’s tablet. The screen displayed a Weibo page, the hashtag hovering around the 30s in rankings—not yet a major issue.

Absent-mindedly, Meng Xuran began picking at her nails, a habit when deep in thought. Normally, she’d agonize alone until her temples throbbed. But this time, she turned to Bo Mingyan and asked, “What should we do about the hashtag?”

Bo Mingyan considered it. “Someone will want to take it down more than we do.”

Given Brand A’s current stance, they seemed more afraid of the situation escalating.

Meng Xuran glanced at the petrified PR manager and ordered, “Leave the hashtag for now. First, contact Brand A’s representative. Legal action is our last resort. I don’t care how you do it—by any means necessary, get them to reveal the source of that design draft and who provided it.”

The PR manager snapped back to attention and nodded solemnly. “Understood. I’ll get on it right away.”

Bo Mingyan arched a brow. Meng Xuran’s approach aligned almost perfectly with the steps she’d outlined in her memo.

Once the PR manager left, Meng Xuran turned to Gu Miao and Ava, who were still sitting across from them, eyes wide like they were watching a show.

“You two don’t have work to do?”

The dismissal couldn’t have been clearer.

“We do, we do.” Ava said, standing with an awkward chuckle. “I’ve got sketches to finish.”

She didn’t leave immediately, subtly tugging at Gu Miao’s sleeve to signal an escape.

But Gu Miao remained sprawled on the sofa, looking utterly unrepentant. “I don’t have any work.”

“Then go review the surveillance footage. Compile a list of everyone who entered or left the sample room during that period and send it to me.” Meng Xuran resent the instructions via WeChat for good measure, then smiled sweetly—though the warmth didn’t reach her eyes.

“Now you have something to do, don’t you?”

“…” Gu Miao gave her a thumbs-up. Touché.

With only Bo Mingyan and Meng Xuran left in the office, silence settled between them, the spacious room suddenly feeling cold and desolate.

The issue wasn’t hard to resolve, but the negative impact couldn’t be ignored. They needed to find the mastermind behind it to address the problem at its root.

Not particularly troublesome, but undeniably mood-killing.

Bo Mingyan pulled a candy tin from her pocket, opened it, and offered it to Meng Xuran first.

The colorful, round candies looked irresistibly sweet, instantly lifting some of the gloom in Meng Xuran’s heart.

She picked a pink-orange one—apple flavor. Bo Mingyan took an orange one—tangerine.

After putting the tin away, Bo Mingyan stood. “I’ll go organize the timeline for the draft design.”

As she stepped past Meng Xuran, the latter grabbed her wrist.

At first, her grip landed on the watch, pressing uncomfortably against Bo Mingyan’s wrist bone. But then, almost immediately, Meng Xuran loosened her hold slightly, fingers sliding down just a bit.

Her palm was slightly damp with sweat, her skin cool to the touch once she relaxed.

Bo Mingyan’s fingers twitched as she turned to look at Meng Xuran.

After wrapping up the discussion, Meng Xuran’s tension had eased somewhat. The sharp edge in her demeanor softened, her posture turning almost lazy.

Her long hair cascaded down, softening the angles of her profile. Propping her chin on one hand, she kept her gaze fixed on Bo Mingyan’s hand, eyelids lowered.

This hand—slender fingers, well-defined joints, nails smoothed and rounded by Meng Xuran herself just yesterday.

Bo Mingyan’s hands were different from hers. Always warm, slightly larger. Before holding them, Meng Xuran had thought her own hands were perfectly fine—not too small, not too cold, capable of coolly controlling any variable.

But after touching Bo Mingyan’s, hers suddenly felt tiny, her palms inexplicably cold.

Meng Xuran gripped Bo Mingyan’s hand tightly, absorbing her warmth, as if hoping that real, solid heat could seep from their joined palms straight into her heart.

Her fingers slid forward, intertwining with Bo Mingyan’s. Then she lifted her gaze, meeting Bo Mingyan’s eyes with quiet intensity.

“No rush. It’s not going anywhere.”

Bo Mingyan let her hold on, voice gentle. “But we can’t drag it out either.”

Meng Xuran pouted. “What’s more important—organizing drafts or me?”

Like a child throwing a tantrum.

Bo Mingyan chuckled. “Hmm~ Who was it that told me to organize them, again?”

Meng Xuran, knowing full well she was being teased, stayed silent.

Bo Mingyan tried to pull her hand free. “The PR manager will be pestering me soon.”

Meng Xuran tightened her grip, pulling Bo Mingyan closer by the waist. “Then just tell him Director Meng is keeping you in her office for discussions.”

“What if he asks what we’re discussing?” Bo Mingyan asked offhandedly.

“Love, obviously.” Meng Xuran said, then immediately cringed at her own cheesy, clichéd joke—but couldn’t help laughing anyway.

Bo Mingyan hadn’t found it particularly funny at first, but seeing Meng Xuran giggling like a shaking little sieve, she couldn’t hold back her own laughter.

“Stop laughing.” Meng Xuran threatened. “Seems like you don’t want to leave after all.”

The more she said it, the harder it was for Bo Mingyan to hold it in. She quickly turned her face away.

Meng Xuran released her hand and stood, stepping right into her line of sight. “Still laughing? You really don’t want to go, huh? Want to do it in the office?”

Bo Mingyan glanced up at the surveillance camera in the office.

Meng Xuran waved her phone. “I turned it off ages ago for such an important discussion. And your first instinct is to check the camera? Bo Manman, you actually want to do it in the office, don’t you?”

Bo Mingyan looked down at her, lips parting as she debated explaining—but realized any explanation would be wasted on someone like Meng Xuran. After a brief internal struggle, she decided to let it go.

“Going to organize the files now,” she said flatly, suppressing her smile.

Meng Xuran’s grin widened, eyes curving into crescents. She blocked Bo Mingyan’s path. “Is this you being shy? You should learn to face your true self.”

Bo Mingyan stepped back.

Meng Xuran cut her off from the front. “Manman.”

Bo Mingyan turned another way, but Meng Xuran swiftly intercepted her again.

“When did you learn to be such a tsundere, huh?”

“Bo Manman.”

“Bo Mingyan.”

Meng Xuran kept teasing from behind, but Bo Mingyan ignored her, walking straight to the door. Just as she reached for the handle, Meng Xuran slammed a hand against it, blocking her exit.

“We haven’t even done anything yet. Why leave? You clearly—”

Bo Mingyan’s gaze dropped from Meng Xuran’s arched brows to her moving lips. In one swift motion, she pinned Meng Xuran against the wall and sealed her mouth with a deep kiss.

The flavors of apple and tangerine melded into something new—tangy and sweet, flooding every corner of the tight space.

The round candies rolled and clashed between their tongues, neither willing to yield.

Only when Meng Xuran was breathless, legs trembling as she clutched a nearby display shelf for support, did Bo Mingyan finally pull away.

“Behave.”

Legs weak, Meng Xuran leaned against the wall. She shifted slightly, feeling the dampness between her thighs, and inwardly cursed herself. Pathetic.

As Bo Mingyan ruffled her hair and walked out, Meng Xuran bit down on the last remnants of her candy, the burst of tangerine sharp on her tongue. She licked her lips and muttered,

“Make me.”

Back at her desk, Bo Mingyan opened her sketchbook, tablet, and computer, compiling a detailed timeline of the design process.

Meanwhile, Ava kept an eye on the hashtag, periodically sending screenshots.

For the final update, Ava propped her chin on her hand, too lazy to type. Swiveling her chair toward Bo Mingyan, she whispered, “This is hilarious. The hashtag’s been yo-yoing up and down. What’s the buyer even trying to do? Their spending power’s weak—it keeps hovering around 30th, barely any traction. Without the Assassination tag, no one would’ve noticed.”

Given the current situation, it didn’t seem like Brand A was behind it. More like someone was “using a borrowed knife to kill”—though it was still unclear who was borrowing the knife to kill whom.

“Hey, guess what the top comment is?” Ava barely held back her laughter.

Bo Mingyan tilted her head slightly, humoring her. “What?”

“Fashion designs aren’t finalized in one draft. The version in the Assassination promo is the final. If you backtrack Moment’s initial design timeline, which came first? Think about it.” Ava recited the comment.

“Think about it. That part’s genius, right?”

At the same time, Meng Xuran was listening to Gu Miao boast about Ava’s comment.

“It’s alright,” Meng Xuran said.

“Just alright? My wife’s a genius, okay?!” Gu Miao pointed at the likes beside the comment. “4,317 upvotes. Who could top that?”

“Someone could.” Meng Xuran was currently tracking the IP of the original poster, her tone breezy. “The one who got plagiarized—my wife.”

Gu Miao: “…”

Meng Xuran tapped out a stomping “Hmph!” sticker to Bo Mingyan, followed by a Samoyed emoji spamming “Wife! Wife! Wife!”

Manman: What’s wrong?

Ancestor: Got triggered.

Manman: By what?

Ancestor: Gu Miao flaunting her relationship in front of me! As if she’s the only one with a wife!

Ancestor: Hah.

Ancestor: I have one too!

Meanwhile, Ava had finished reading the comment. Eager to tease, she turned—only to catch the subtle shift in Bo Mingyan’s expression.

“Yanyan~ You think that comment’s spot-on too, right?” Ava grinned. “Know who wrote it?”

“I do.” Bo Mingyan didn’t look up from her computer. “Gu Miao’s already singing your praises.”

“???” Ava’s eyes flicked to Bo Mingyan’s screen, landing on the chat log with Meng Xuran—specifically the words “Gu Miao.” Then her gaze jumped to Meng Xuran’s profile picture. “That dark avatar—that’s Director Meng, right? Damn it!”

Ava’s amusement vanished. She grabbed her phone and fired off a rapid series of texts to Gu Miao. After her furious typing, she sighed. “Director Meng’s avatar is so artsy. When I first added her, her username was really cool too. I didn’t even bother saving her contact, but then it randomly changed to [Still Had to Add Me]! I almost deleted her.”

Hearing this, Bo Mingyan paused, recalling the day she rented the apartment and added Meng Xuran. Back then, the username had struck her as both arrogant and odd.

Later, after realizing this was the “drunk” she’d taken home, the username seemed even more obnoxious.

Now, thinking back—Gu Miao had taken her photo that day. Meng Xuran had recognized her and changed it on purpose.

“What was her old username?” Bo Mingyan asked, clicking on Meng Xuran’s avatar.

She’d seen it before—a backlit silhouette against a dark background, soft contours, a cigarette between her lips, tendrils of smoke curling into the air.

“Kiss the Smoke.”

……

A heavy silence filled the air until Ava’s assistant returned with fabric samples from a supplier.

“I just fed myself a giant helping of dog food. I’m stuffed. Back to work.”

Ava wheeled her chair away, deciding the plagiarism issue wasn’t worth worrying about—their opponent was too weak. She closed the Weibo tab, done wasting time on the online drama.

Meng Xuran must’ve gotten busy. When Bo Mingyan asked if Gu Miao had finished reviewing the footage, she didn’t reply. Bo Mingyan closed the chat and returned to organizing files.

But Ava’s words—and Meng Xuran’s avatar—kept pulling her thoughts astray. One moment, she wondered when exactly Meng Xuran’s world had “gained color.” The next, she remembered the first time she’d seen Meng Xuran smoke.

In Lu Yo’s bar, down the dimly lit hallway outside the restroom, red lips parting around a cigarette, smoke rising as Meng Xuran watched her through the haze, eyes brimming with something complicated and ineffable—like the ember at her fingertips.

Flickering between light and shadow, indistinct yet palpable.

Bo Mingyan hadn’t expected to see Meng Xuran smoke again so soon.

The PR manager contacted Brand A’s representative. Their designer claimed she’d purchased the design and provided the seller’s account—but after the transaction, the account had gone dormant, stripped of all personal details.

Gu Miao reviewed the surveillance footage, listing everyone who’d entered or left the sample room, eventually zeroing in on one person—

Sun Haoqi.

Due to the cheating scandal, Sun Haoqi couldn’t bear the humiliation and left for another city, changing his phone number in the process.

It wasn’t until late at night, after her shower, that Meng Xuran finally got hold of Sun Haoqi’s new number.

Seizing the opportunity while Bo Mingyan was still in the bathroom, Meng Xuran dialed the number.

Sun Haoqi only admitted to having taken photos.

Meng Xuran frowned. “Why did you take them?”

“I thought the designs were beautiful, so I saved them on my phone for inspiration.” Sun Haoqi quickly defended himself. “But leaking them wouldn’t benefit me at all. If I sold the designs, you’d definitely find out. And once you traced it back to me and mentioned my lack of professionalism in the industry, no company would ever hire me again.”

By the end of his plea, terrified that Meng Xuran might pull strings to blacklist him, Sun Haoqi was nearly in tears. “Director Meng, you have to believe me. After leaving Moment, I deleted all those images. I can even screen-record my phone to prove it. I did not sell those designs to another company. If I did, I—I’d get hit by a car the next time I step outside—”

“Enough.” Meng Xuran cut him off. “You took photos. Did anyone else see your phone? That woman you were involved with—did she see them?”

“No, no.” Sun Haoqi awkwardly explained. “I was afraid she’d find out about my… situation, so I never let her touch my phone.”

“Anyone else?” Meng Xuran pressed.

Sun Haoqi insisted there wasn’t, then added, “Maybe someone else took photos too. You can’t just suspect me.”

Meng Xuran scoffed. “You think our company’s surveillance cameras are for decoration?”

Sun Haoqi choked, but he was absolutely certain he hadn’t shown his phone to anyone.

Meng Xuran picked at her nails, deliberately provoking him with a casual tone. “If you can’t think of anyone else, then it has to be you, doesn’t it?”

The implication was clear: either take the blame or figure out who else could be responsible.

Panicked, Sun Haoqi’s mind blanked under pressure. After a long silence, he pleaded, “Director Meng, don’t push me like this. I really can’t think of anyone else, but I swear it wasn’t me. Just give me some time—I’ll think hard, and the moment it comes to me, I’ll tell you immediately.”

After hanging up, Meng Xuran switched to Weibo.

The post that had been yo-yoing up and down the trending list all afternoon had, by peak commuting hours, received a sudden boost.

The hashtag “Assassination Costume Design Plagiarism” shot into the top ten. Opening the topic revealed a flood of reposts from marketing accounts, all sharing the same lengthy post with side-by-side comparisons of Brand A’s design drafts and Gu Yuwei’s finalized costume stills from Assassination, complete with clearly marked timelines.

Meng Xuran scrolled through the comments.

When she checked earlier, the top comment had been:

@WindBlowsElephantLegsCold: I’ve always thought Moment’s designer’s work was hideous.

Now, that comment had been buried.

@IronPotBraisedGoose: A plagiarized novel adapted into a drama, with plagiarized costumes to match. What a perfect pair.

Thanks to this new top comment, Assassination’s source material—Poisonous Beauty—was now under fire for alleged plagiarism, spawning its own trending topic.

Meanwhile, Ava’s earlier comment and the PR manager’s subsequent clarification had sparked yet another topic:

Gu Yuwei: Nepo Baby

It was like a single fuse igniting three separate explosions.

The target wasn’t Brand A or Moment—it was Assassination, the author of Poisonous Beauty, and Gu Yuwei.

Moment was simply the easiest to attack. The other three, no matter which one, carried their own clout, and trending them would’ve cost far more.

A nerve in Meng Xuran’s temple throbbed painfully.

Ever since moving in with Bo Mingyan—since being with her—she’d never missed a meal. Bo Mingyan always blow-dried her hair thoroughly after washing. Her periods were tracked meticulously, with no cold foods allowed. Bo Mingyan called her “ancestor” pampering her relentlessly. Her migraines had stopped for a while.

Using her was one thing. But using Bo Mingyan’s designs?

Meng Xuran’s eyes darkened as she resumed picking at her nails.

—

In the shower, Bo Mingyan turned off her phone screen.

Something similar had happened back at ME.

After she rejected the sexual advances, another designer had stolen her drafts. No matter how she explained, her mentor—the man she’d once seen as a father figure—refused to believe her.

The last thing he’d said to her was: “Enough. Letting you keep your job is already mercy.”

Bo Mingyan lifted her gaze to the mirror, meeting her own jade-green eyes—like dense clusters of leaves.

She thought back to the moment she’d locked eyes with Meng Xuran when discussing the leak. Staring into her reflection now, it was as if she could see past the lush foliage to the sturdy trunk and vast earth beneath—the colors of Meng Xuran’s pupils.

One glance.

And she was at peace.

At this point, netizens’ attention had shifted. Moment was barely involved anymore.

Bo Mingyan assumed Meng Xuran would be sprawled on the bed as usual, either scrolling through shorts or watching TV. But when she stepped out of the bathroom, the bedroom was empty—only Xiao Man sat on the desk, licking his paws.

The cat paused, fixing Bo Mingyan with his green eyes.

Whenever she couldn’t find Meng Xuran, Bo Mingyan would ask Xiao Man, “Where’s your mom?”

Once, Meng Xuran overheard and accused her of cursing.

Bo Mingyan smirked. This time, she didn’t ask, heading straight out instead.

Xiao Man hopped down, padding ahead with light steps.

Following his lead, Bo Mingyan spotted Meng Xuran on the balcony.

Outside, the moon was bright, the stars sparse.

A kettle simmered on the coffee table.

Wrapped in a thin blanket, legs crossed and bare, Meng Xuran sat lazily on the plush sofa, one hand curled as her thumb worried at her fingernail, a slender cigarette between her lips—lost in thought.

The side window was open, letting in a breeze that swayed the spider plants and tousled Meng Xuran’s waterfall of hair, scattering the smoke from her lips and fingers into the night.

Bo Mingyan’s heart clenched, reminded of the first time she’d seen Meng Xuran smoke.

Her foot brushed against a press-on nail.

Bending to pick it up, she heard footsteps.

Meng Xuran glanced over, her gaze drifting lazily to Bo Mingyan’s face before pouting preemptively. “My head hurts.”

Bo Mingyan’s eyes softened as she approached. “Why?”

“Ask my head.” Meng Xuran drawled, propping her chin on her hand.

Bo Mingyan reached her, taking the hand that was still picking at nails. Her thumb brushed over the bitten-down edges—Meng Xuran had gnawed them to the quick, the flesh raw.

“Keep this up, and you’ll break skin,” Bo Mingyan warned.

“Then let it break.” Meng Xuran shrugged.

“Broken skin means no water contact.” This princess is too vain and pain-averse.

“Then I’ll use the other hand.” Someone was thinking of entirely different activities. “Won’t affect your enjoyment.”

“…”

Seeing Bo Mingyan speechless, Meng Xuran grinned—until a warning look made her stifle it. “Fine, I’ll stop picking.”

With that, she lifted her hand to tap ash into the tray, returning the cigarette to her lips.

The next second, it was plucked away. Meng Xuran looked up to see Bo Mingyan biting down on the same spot she had, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Will smoking make your headache go away?”

Meng Xuran’s eyes shimmered, the haze softening Bo Mingyan’s sharp features.

Bo Mingyan removed the cigarette, stubbing it out. “Cat got your tongue?”

Meng Xuran swallowed. “When I smoked alone, I used to wonder… what you’d look like with a cigarette. Melancholic? Helpless? Cold?”

Bo Mingyan arched a brow, intrigued. “And? Now that you’ve seen?”

Meng Xuran’s gaze was tender. “Enchanting.”

“Smoking won’t cure a headache.” Meng Xuran lifted a foot, grazing Bo Mingyan’s ankle, then sliding higher like a fish under fabric. She licked her lips. “But smoking something else might.”

Bo Mingyan gripped her calf, pulling it down, her eyes darker than the night outside.

“Hey!” Meng Xuran nearly slid off the sofa, squirming. “You’re so easy to tease! Let go—I’m gonna fall!”

Bo Mingyan released her.

Meng Xuran scrambled back up, her blanket slipping to the floor. As she reached for it, Bo Mingyan bent to grab the other end—and froze.

Seizing the chance, Meng Xuran yanked hard.

Caught off guard, Bo Mingyan stumbled forward, bracing herself on the sofa arm, half-collapsing onto Meng Xuran.

In the same instant, Meng Xuran hooked a leg around her waist, one arm locking around Bo Mingyan, the other pressing down on her shoulder until she was fully seated in Meng Xuran’s lap.

The move was smooth—a carbon copy of what Bo Mingyan had done to her in the car.

The only difference? Two fingers short.

Last time, Meng Xuran had nearly lost her mind.

The memory made her restless. Her hand slid slowly along Bo Mingyan’s waistline.

Bo Mingyan’s nose brushed Meng Xuran’s cheek, catching the faint trace of her perfume—something subtle, befitting her aura. The grape-like top notes had long faded, leaving only a soft, warm scent, like a fluffy fox stole wrapped around her.

Their mingled breaths were scorching.

Bo Mingyan gripped her wrist, voice rough. “Meng Jiaojiao, what are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just saving you from a fall.” Meng Xuran wriggled free, circling Bo Mingyan’s waist. Resting her head on Bo Mingyan’s shoulder, she turned slightly, lips grazing Bo Mingyan’s ear as she whispered, “Why? Did you want me to do something?”

The warm breath sent shivers down Bo Mingyan’s spine. Her throat bobbed. “Not at all.”

Meng Xuran chuckled. “Really?”

The whisper curled into Bo Mingyan’s ear, numbing half her face. “Really.”

Meng Xuran pinched her waist. “Are you a nun?! How are you this immune?”

“Who was it that said I’m too easy to tease earlier?” Bo Mingyan countered.

Fuming, Meng Xuran silenced her with a kiss—just as fierce yet tender as the one in the office, stealing Bo Mingyan’s breath and sanity.

Her arms locked around Bo Mingyan’s waist as her lips trailed from mouth to jaw to throat, teeth catching the button of Bo Mingyan’s pajama top, tugging hard.

The button popped off, landing at Xiao Man’s paws. The cat batted it like a toy.

Another button’s ping startled Xiao Man, who meowed before resuming his game.

On the table, the kettle hissed, steam swirling as water bubbled, blending with the sound of rolling buttons.

The charged atmosphere thickened like a simmering brew, rich and heady.

Meng Xuran didn’t take it further. At the last button, she stopped.

Bo Mingyan looked up, meeting Meng Xuran’s glistening eyes—soft and vulnerable, squeezing her heart.

Meng Xuran’s lashes fluttered. Burying her face in Bo Mingyan’s chest, she murmured, “Manman, believe me. I’ll grow stronger.”

Strong enough that no one would dare use me—or mine—as a pawn again.

“Mm. I believe you.” Bo Mingyan’s voice was calm, steadying.

Meng Xuran nuzzled closer.

Bo Mingyan ruffled her hair. “You’re already strong.”

“Not at all.” Meng Xuran’s nose stung, fists clenching Bo Mingyan’s shirt. “I’m so weak. So useless.”

“Says who?” Bo Mingyan soothed. “To me, you’ve always been strong. So strong I feel I still have so much more to do just to stand beside you.”

“Ugh…” Meng Xuran’s voice cracked. “That’s cheating.”

Bo Mingyan laughed. “How?”

“Making me want to cry.”

“Then if I make you cry another way, is it fair game?”

Meng Xuran coiled her legs around Bo Mingyan like a koala, biting her lip. “Let’s go back to the room. This sofa’s expensive. Can’t get it wet.”

“I’d ruin it.” Shyly, she hid her face in Bo Mingyan’s neck.

A low chuckle escaped Bo Mingyan. “You’re the one who’s too easy to tease.”

“…”

Back in the bedroom, Meng Xuran recalled how Bo Mingyan had wrecked her last night while drunk and changed her mind. Tugging Bo Mingyan’s collar, she whined, “I feel so defeated right now. I need to regain some sense of accomplishment in certain areas.”

“Such as?” Bo Mingyan played dumb.

Meng Xuran looped her arms around Bo Mingyan’s neck, kissing her.

She scaled snowy peaks.

Bo Mingyan fisted Meng Xuran’s hair, torn between drowning in cool water and melting in scorching flames.

……

Late that night, Meng Xuran was roused by her phone’s vibration. In the dark, a strand of Bo Mingyan’s hair draped over her palm. She flexed her fingers, a faint ache in her arms and fingertips surfacing.

She smiled, thinking back to hours earlier—and how ruthless she’d been.

The foreplay had dragged on too long. Bo Mingyan was so hard to get wet that the moment things progressed, she’d winced. “It hurts.”

And so, they’d stopped.

A fresh wave of defeat crashed over Meng Xuran. Bursting into tears, she’d curled into a ball. “If you’re this hard to get wet, don’t blame my skills!”

“I licked you till my tongue went numb, and the second I use my hands, you dry up. Whose fault is that? Mine?!”

“My tongue is exhausted, and my hands are useless!”

“Strong? What a joke. I can’t even give my wife the most basic pleasure!”

“Wahhhhh… What’s even the point of me?!”

Bo Mingyan, torn between exasperation and amusement, had no choice but to guide her hand. “Just… go slower.”

Between sobs, Meng Xuran had obeyed—at half-speed—grumbling, “…I think my enjoyment just died. Are you even enjoying this?”

“…” Bo Mingyan had thought, Enjoyment my ass.

Then, inspiration struck. “Hey… back in the living room, and that time in the car—how’d you get so wet so fast?”

“Hey” went deaf.

“Manman… do you just have a kink for that?” Meng Xuran had mused aloud, reaching a conclusion.

“Manman” went mute.

“Wifey~” Meng Xuran had grinned like a fox, retrieving a black cat costume—complete with ear headband and tail—from the closet. “Wear this for me?”

“Wifey” went blind.

“Waaaah, I knew it. I can’t do anything right.” Meng Xuran had instantly switched to waterworks. “Bo Mingyan, you big liar.”

Defeated by the tears, Bo Mingyan had changed into the outfit. Meng Xuran, now armed with a feather, had—

That long tail brushed countless times over the spider lily tattoo on her back.

Then, leaning down, she replaced the tail with something softer.

Bo Mingyan clenched her hands, utterly undone.

……

Bo Mingyan was deep asleep. Moonlight—or perhaps streetlamp glow—streamed through the window, casting a soft light into the room. Meng Xuran watched her quietly for a long while, her gaze filled with a tenderness as deep as the Milky Way.

Meng Xuran gently brushed away the stray hairs on Bo Mingyan’s cheek, wanting to kiss her but afraid of waking her. In the end, she restrained herself and withdrew her hand.

Picking up the robe from the floor and draping it over her shoulders, Meng Xuran grabbed her phone from the pillow and tiptoed out barefoot, moving as lightly and slowly as possible.

On the balcony, she poured herself a glass of water.

The water she’d boiled earlier had been left unattended and had switched to keep-warm mode. It was still lukewarm. Sipping it to soothe her throat, she dialed the missed call from earlier.

When the call connected, Sun Haoqi immediately began apologizing profusely: “I’m so sorry, Director Meng! It just suddenly came to me, and I got so excited I didn’t even check the time before calling. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest, I truly apologize—”

Meng Xuran cut him off flatly. “Get to the point.”

“I remembered—my phone accidentally fell into the toilet once. After fishing it out, it wouldn’t turn on, so I planned to get it repaired. But work was so busy that day, I couldn’t find the time, so I asked him to help me with it.” Sun Haoqi explained. “I’ve never shown my phone to anyone, and I never sent those pictures to anyone—I was terrified they’d leak. Thinking back, that was the only time it could’ve happened. Maybe when he handled my phone, he snooped through it. That damn—”

Meng Xuran impatiently interrupted. “Who?”

Sun Haoqi said, “That model who used to work at the company—He Chencheng.”