Chapter 13 : Stay with me

Ye Qinghe clung to Qi Yuanhan, unrelenting.
Though claiming exhaustion, her grip was fierce.
The cramped single changing room felt ablaze as their bodies pressed together; the more Qi Yuanhan struggled, the tighter Ye Qinghe held.
Human nature craves what slips away—realizing this, Qi Yuanhan stilled.

But Ye Qinghe defied logic, not loosening but brushing her lips against Qi Yuanhan’s neck—soft, searing like fire.
Qi Yuanhan’s resistance was kindling, fueling Ye Qinghe’s heat.
Savoring the moment, Ye Qinghe murmured, “Sweet.”
“Let go,” Qi Yuanhan gritted.

Her tone softened, less commanding; Ye Qinghe complied, standing primly.
Initially, Qi Yuanhan pegged her as a seductive femme fatale, alluring yet cold, like Malèna from Sicilian legends.
Now, she was the Mississippi—torrential, unstoppable.
Enough.

Qi Yuanhan pushed open the changing room door; Ye Qinghe trailed closely, keeping a measured distance.
Irritated, Qi Yuanhan glanced back; Ye Qinghe blinked, feigning fatigue, masking any thrill from the stolen kiss.
She seemed docile.
At the room, Qi Yuanhan said, “You can nap here, a thank-you for yesterday’s help. Leave when you wake.”

Ye Qinghe replied, “Let me sleep in your bed, and I’ll cure your insomnia faster.”
Qi Yuanhan glared, opening the door.
Ye Qinghe stayed silent, heading to the living room’s sprawling gray sofa—long and wide, ample for sleep.
Qi Yuanhan felt invaded, her private space breached again.

She poured juice, sitting at the bar, gazing at the floor-to-ceiling window’s ethereal view.
Her neck burned where Ye Qinghe’s lips had grazed; touching it, her fingertips warmed.
Heading to shower, she passed the sofa—Ye Qinghe was asleep.
The afternoon was tranquil; Qi Yuanhan grabbed a book from the shelf, a dog-eared copy with a sappy bookmark left by a prior guest.

Near dusk, a knock came—Zhou Weichuan’s assistant, Huang.
Qi Yuanhan opened the door, angled toward the shoe cabinet, shielding the room—Zhou Weichuan forbade other men from getting close, and his staff lacked the nerve to pry.
Huang said, “I brought your clothes from the other hotel.”
Zhou Weichuan had learned—snooping in her room angered her, so he sent Huang instead.

Huang pushed over a suitcase, “President Zhou picked these for you—new season, your favorite brands. Hope you like them.”
Relieved Qi Yuanhan accepted, Huang added, “President Zhou asks if you’ll dine with him tonight.”
“I’ll order in,” she said.
Closing the door, she dragged the suitcase to the bedroom, tucking it by the wall.

The sofa’s occupant still slept.
She pulled a chair, waiting.
Seconds later, her phone buzzed—Zhou Weichuan’s messages, probing casually, ensuring she wasn’t mad before calling.
“Honey, checked the suitcase?” he asked softly.

“Why?”
“Well, I had your room cleaned,” he said. “They said it looked ransacked—bed messy, snacks strewn, your lotion bottle smashed on the floor…”
Qi Yuanhan said, “Scary.”
“I’m thinking of checking surveillance for a thief,” he said. “Tell the hotel front desk. My fault for not staying with you.”

His feigned concern was a lie—if her room were truly wrecked, he’d be furious, confronting the hotel, not consulting her.
She knew him too well.
“Talk to the hotel directly,” she said. “Sounds serious.”
“I did,” he growled. “That front desk is stubborn, no service—a shady joint.”

After searching her room, he’d demanded surveillance, but the unyielding clerk refused, insisting Qi Yuanhan request it herself.
“Be civil to the girl,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“I’m not cursing her,” he said. “Just worried you lost something. Check—anything missing?”
“Checked. Nothing’s gone,” she said.

“Really?” he pressed.
“Nothing,” she insisted, eyeing the unopened suitcase.
“Alright, rest early,” he said, voice strained. “I’m at the hotel tonight—come find me if you want.”
His muffled muttering trailed off, incoherent.
She hung up.

Opening the suitcase, she inspected—clothes, jewelry, documents, all intact.
Yet Zhou Weichuan’s tone implied she’d lost something critical.
After a moment, she checked the suitcase’s lining—empty.
Her medication was gone.
Zhou Weichuan had taken it.

His scheme clicked: invent a thief, check surveillance to spy on her, and steal her meds to lure her to his room.
She clutched her arms, kicking the suitcase over.
Today, she’d already offended Qin Jialan; Qin’s text invited her diving tomorrow—dodging again would alienate her further, ruining future project deals.

Zhou Weichuan, that idiot.
She paced the bedroom, itching to smash something, until her eyes fell on the living room’s sleeping figure.
Ye Qinghe slept until seven p.m., Qi Yuanhan ordering three meals from the hotel.
She exhaled, eyes still closed, stirring slowly, murmuring lazily, “Dreamed a tiger was stalking me, ready to devour me. Was it you?”

Qi Yuanhan, on a high stool, swiveled, “Did you throw out my lotion bottle when you left?”
“Huh?” Ye Qinghe, dazed, frowned. “What bottle?”
Qi Yuanhan repeated herself; Ye Qinghe, propping herself up, shook her head, “Nope, wasn’t me.”
Qi Yuanhan knew she was lying.

But dwelling on it was pointless—Ye Qinghe had dropped a bottle during her call with Zhou Weichuan, and Qi Yuanhan had mimicked it.
One for one, even.
The table was laden with food; Ye Qinghe, spotting it, roused, washed her face, and sat on the floor to eat.
The three meals varied—hot and cold dishes, simmering pigeon porridge, small desserts.

Her lips dry, she sipped juice first.
Mid-bite, she frowned, catching Qi Yuanhan’s stare—not lustful, but a raw, predatory hunger to consume her.
“Why so nice all of a sudden?” she asked, wary of the feast, like a last meal.
Qi Yuanhan, eyes half-lowered, scanned her, “Want to sleep in the bed?”

“No,” Ye Qinghe blurted, then backtracked, “Wait, what bed?”
Qi Yuanhan enunciated, “Do you want to sleep in the bed later?”
“Hold on,” Ye Qinghe blinked, chin propped, “If I take the bed, where do you sleep?”
She glanced at the sofa—Qi Yuanhan wouldn’t sleep there.

“I have insomnia,” Qi Yuanhan said. “Zhou Weichuan took my meds. If you don’t want the bed, sleep on the sofa—but you’ll need to call my phone all night. The ringing helps me sleep. Your choice.”
She added, “I’ll pay you, of course.”
“Money’s not the issue,” Ye Qinghe said. “I prefer beds.”
Her fingers slid, pinching her bare thigh, “This is too good to be true…?”