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Qi Yuanhan held Zhou Weichuan’s gaze steadily.
He faltered, his guilty eyes retreating.
She didn’t spare him another glance—this man was beneath her, unworthy of ruining her buoyant mood.
Zhou Weichuan, dazed, reeled from her words: “I slept at your cousin’s place.”
The phrase was a veiled bombshell—practically “I stayed with your mistress”—snuffing out his accusatory bravado.
He sat, stunned, then ventured, “Which cousin, exactly?” clinging to the hope it was a genuine relative.
Qi Yuanhan, flipping through files, countered coolly, “How many cousins do you have?”
Her flat tone landed like a jab: “How many mistresses do you have?”
Zhou Weichuan, on the defensive, found her unreadable today.
He couldn’t fathom her thoughts or dare guess if she knew of his infidelity.
Scrutinizing her expression, he said, “You know our family’s huge—tons of relatives, cousins galore… You didn’t stay at Ye Qinghe’s, did you?”
“I did,” Qi Yuanhan replied, nonchalant.
His gaze burned into her, intrusive as she worked.
She exhaled, irritated, “If you don’t believe me, check if these clothes are your cousin’s.”
Normally, she avoided stirring trouble, would’ve skipped yesterday’s events.
But his probing unleashed her retort, and it felt exhilarating, liberating.
Zhou Weichuan raked his hair, as if drunk, head pounding, “So… what did you two do?”
“We watched a movie, ate, got caught in heavy rain,” Qi Yuanhan said. “My clothes were soaked, so I stayed at her place, borrowed her outfit.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, recounting her day as she often did for him.
Her piercing stare screamed: What right do you have to question me?
Her words stung Zhou Weichuan—he had no ground to stand on.
His “wife” label was a shameless crutch; if she stopped allowing it, he’d be nothing.
He dreaded her anger, her calling him “ex-husband” again.
Guilt silenced him.
He mumbled inane deflections, “Babe, I’m still jet-lagged. I’ll rest and see you later.”
Qi Yuanhan hummed, “Close the door.”
He lingered, eyeing her clothes—his mistress’s outfit on his wife should’ve been thrilling, yet it stirred only a murky unease.
He shut the door.
Qi Yuanhan looked up, a scornful smirk curling her lips, finding him pathetic.
Zhou Weichuan’s Pursuit
Those minutes left Zhou Weichuan floundering.
Bringing Ye Qinghe into the company was for thrills, but now he felt the sting.
Perplexed, he stormed to the twentieth floor to confront Ye Qinghe.
Ye Qinghe, in the interior design department, crafted housing layouts.
Despite workload quotas and occasional fieldwork, her status shielded her from overbearing bosses.
She held a ceremonial chief designer title, complete with a private office—a cushy gig.
Her role tied to Zhou Weichuan’s office, requiring regular reports, but she rarely visited him—he came to her.
Some envied her perks, whispering:
“Even if she’s a cousin, President Zhou visits too often. Looks like a mistress.”
“A mistress would be his secretary, no?”
“Too obvious—President Qi would notice instantly.”
“You’re all guessing. Has Ye Qinghe ever sought him out? Maybe they’re just close cousins.”
“Close cousins draw the blinds to talk?”
Ye Qinghe, watering her desk plants, glanced at Zhou Weichuan’s entrance, pausing briefly before resuming, “Back early.”
He grunted, weary, loosening his tie.
With her, he was blunter than with Qi Yuanhan, “You watched a movie with Yuanhan yesterday?”
Ye Qinghe nodded, “Ran into her.”
“What movie?” he pressed.
“A Woman’s Murder,” she answered.
“What kind of title is that?” Zhou Weichuan frowned, sensing trouble.
Irked, he slumped into her chair, staring as she ignored him.
He coughed; she met his eyes, offering a smile.
“What’s the movie about?” he asked.
“A wife and mistress’s murder,” Ye Qinghe said.
Zhou Weichuan’s brow knotted, “Why would Yuanhan watch that?”
He assumed the plot was a wife killing her husband’s lover, sparking worry, “Did you say anything to her?”
“Just asked which character she liked,” Ye Qinghe replied.
“Who’d she pick?” he probed.
She shook her head, “Didn’t say.”
Zhou Weichuan mused, “I need to spend more time with Yuanhan.”
“Up to you,” Ye Qinghe said, her tone cool.
Sensing her chill, he teased, “What, jealous?”
“Why would I be? I watched the movie with your wife, not you,” she said, her gentle smile unsettling him.
Ye Qinghe’s allure was singular—not like clingy women.
She was untouchable, a luminous moon in the night, always out of reach.
Even as his mistress, she remained elusive.
Winning her fed his ego, a trophy to flaunt, why he kept her close among his flings.
He admired her seductive beauty, yet fretted over Qi Yuanhan’s demeanor, “She went to the theater alone?”
Ye Qinghe, done watering, sat on the sofa, distancing herself, legs crossed, “You’re obsessed with your wife, always digging.”
Zhou Weichuan micromanaged Qi Yuanhan’s social circle, claiming, “We’re childhood sweethearts. She grew up under my wing. She’s too naive—a few sweet words, and she’s fooled. I have to watch her.”
His excuse rang hollow, even to him, so he added, “Take Shen Yaoyu—she’s shady, using Yuanhan.”
Ye Qinghe’s “oh” was noncommittal.
Hoping for affection, Zhou Weichuan saw her frosty demeanor and knew he’d overstepped.
Showing too much love for his wife to a mistress was a blunder.
He tried to coax her but, exhausted, said, “I’ll visit later with a gift.”
Ye Qinghe stayed seated, not seeing him out.
He left, deflated, musing that women vying for him was intriguing but draining to appease.
Back in his office, he snapped at his assistant, venting some frustration, yet something felt off.
If they watched a movie, why not tell him?
Were they hiding something?
He searched the movie online.
Seeing Shen Yaoyu’s name in the cast, he scowled.
Scrolling to the synopsis: That night, the wife, pushed to her limit, stabbed her cheating husband. Helping her escape justice was, shockingly, his mistress…
His hand trembled on the mouse.
Days Later
The trio worked diligently in their offices for days, business as usual.
Haunted by the movie’s plot, Zhou Weichuan resolved to mend things with Qi Yuanhan.
At quitting time, he waited in her office to leave together.
Qi Yuanhan carried two gift bags, clearly for someone, piquing his curiosity.
They entered the elevator, employees steering clear due to their status, leaving it empty.
At the twentieth floor, Ye Qinghe glanced in and stepped inside.
This was their first meeting since Zhou Weichuan’s return—a potential powder keg.
He braced, plotting to keep his affair with Ye Qinghe hidden.
He trusted Ye Qinghe, a considerate mistress, to avoid exposing him.
She didn’t disappoint, standing beside Qi Yuanhan.
Ye Qinghe called out politely, “Sister.”
As the doors closed, Qi Yuanhan handed her a gift bag.
Ye Qinghe, surprised, raised a brow, her expression delighted.
Zhou Weichuan, equally stunned, had eyed the bags, assuming one was for him, a gesture to patch things up.
Qi Yuanhan said, “A thank-you for borrowing your new clothes last time.”
Ye Qinghe, beaming, took it, “Thanks, sister. I’ll try them tomorrow.”
Qi Yuanhan nodded, “There’s a gift card inside—use it to shop for clothes.”
The gift—two designer outfits plus a card—far outvalued Ye Qinghe’s loaned dress.
Ye Qinghe smiled, “I feel bad taking two sets. Keep the dress if you don’t mind.”
Qi Yuanhan hummed, chatting casually about clothes with her.
Zhou Weichuan, sidelined, was irrelevant to them.
The adventure continues! If you loved this chapter, I Became a Fake Insane Character is a must-read. Click here to start!
Read : I Became a Fake Insane Character
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