Chapter 7 : Wild horse

Ye Qinghe’s scent was intoxicatingly fragrant.
Qi Yuanhan turned her face aside, but Ye Qinghe, merely teasing, didn’t touch her or steal a kiss.
She pivoted, “Anything you want for breakfast? I’ll whip something up.”
It was late—ten o’clock, past work hours.

Qi Yuanhan, a stickler for punctuality, felt uneasy at her first-ever tardiness.
“Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.
The apartment’s design placed the bathroom off the master bedroom, so Qi Yuanhan followed Ye Qinghe there.
Ye Qinghe handed her a fresh set of toiletries.

“With this torrential rain, plenty of employees will be late,” Ye Qinghe said. “One slip is excusable. You’re not a robot.”
Her logic was sound, but it didn’t soothe Qi Yuanhan’s irritation.
She mumbled a grudging agreement, her structured life derailed, sparking anxiety.
Ye Qinghe pressed, “Since you’re already late, why not embrace it? Eat first—don’t punish your body.”

Qi Yuanhan, mouth full of mouthwash, shot her a stern glance, signaling no.
Ye Qinghe passed her a towel, not pushing further.
After freshening up, Qi Yuanhan said, “You’re quite gentle.”
“Should I thank you for the compliment?” Ye Qinghe quipped.

Her weak joke drew a fleeting smile from Qi Yuanhan, but it faded instantly.
Ye Qinghe’s gaze swept over her, “You can’t go to work like that.”
Qi Yuanhan looked down—she was still in Ye Qinghe’s black camisole dress, held up by thin straps, the rabbit-tail puff at the back irksome.
Last night, exhausted post-shower, she hadn’t noticed its revealing cut.

Facing the mirror, with Ye Qinghe behind her, Qi Yuanhan felt a prickle—as if Ye Qinghe’s fingers might graze her shoulder.
Given Ye Qinghe’s boldness, it seemed likely, but she only leaned against the door, “Want to borrow my clothes?”
Qi Yuanhan countered, “Do I have a choice?”
“You do—my worn ones or unworn,” Ye Qinghe said, her own camisole looser, a strap slipping off her shoulder, her wild edge fully exposed.

She led Qi Yuanhan to her master bedroom, the most private space in the house.
Qi Yuanhan never let others into her own room; Ye Qinghe seemed unfazed, flinging open her wardrobe.
Qi Yuanhan eyed the array of cheongsams and sultry dresses, uneasy, and said, “Unworn, please.”
“What about underwear? Yours from yesterday’s still wet,” Ye Qinghe said, holding up a piece, adding, “We’re the same size, right?”

Qi Yuanhan’s cheeks flushed faintly, her gaze darting to the wall, then the pink-white curtains—a girlish touch for Ye Qinghe’s brazen persona.
“Rest assured, I washed everything after buying,” Ye Qinghe said, handing over the clothes.
Qi Yuanhan stared, “You’re not leaving?”
“I thought you’d change in the guest room,” Ye Qinghe teased, shutting the door with a smile.

Her clothes were distinctive—sexy, as if designers skimped on fabric, leaving exposed patches.
A slanted-neck blouse paired with long pants clashed with Qi Yuanhan’s usual style, but their similar builds made it work.
Dressed, Qi Yuanhan said, “Thanks.”
Ye Qinghe’s gaze was appreciative, like a stylist admiring a model, her smile satisfied, “You look stunning.”

Ye Qinghe was the boldest mistress imaginable—bringing her lover’s wife home, brazenly hanging her clothes on the balcony, dressing her in her own wardrobe, inside and out.
Qi Yuanhan’s rain-soaked clothes, hand-washed by Ye Qinghe last night, were a detail she pretended not to notice.
This woman was untamed.
The rain persisted, the sky dreary.

Puddles lined the roads, tires splashing water high.
Qi Yuanhan sat in the back, eyes half-closed, feeling listless, uninterested in the scenery.
Ye Qinghe glanced at the rearview mirror, “Didn’t sleep well?”
Qi Yuanhan hummed affirmatively.

“Sorry,” Ye Qinghe said.
True insomniacs rarely sleep over elsewhere—novels’ claims of someone’s presence as a sleep aid were fiction.
Without pills, sleep eluded Qi Yuanhan.
She rubbed her throbbing temples, “No need to apologize.”

The night had been thrilling.
Though sleepless, her mind buzzed with excitement.
Lying in bed, she inhaled foreign scents, alien notes stirring her senses.

At the Company
They entered the company building, Qi Yuanhan trailing Ye Qinghe.
Staff, recognizing Qi Yuanhan’s status, greeted her warmly.
In the elevator, onlookers sensed something off, though they couldn’t pinpoint why.
They chalked it up to Qi Yuanhan’s unprecedented tardiness—she was famously punctual.

Ye Qinghe exited at the twentieth floor; Qi Yuanhan rode to the thirtieth.
Xiao Zhu, clutching files, stared at her for a long moment.
“President Qi, you’re here?” Xiao Zhu ventured.
Qi Yuanhan nodded.

Xiao Zhu’s eyes sparkled, “President Qi, new style today? Even sexier than Miss Ye!”
Qi Yuanhan thought, Of course, the outfit screaming Ye Qinghe’s influence.
“I overslept, grabbed something random,” she said. “Later, get me a set from the store—my usual style.”
“No way!” Xiao Zhu, files in arm, gushed, “This look’s gorgeous! You should snap a photo for President Zhou.”

Qi Yuanhan declined—she wasn’t about to ask Zhou Weichuan, How do I look in your mistress’s clothes?
She took Xiao Zhu’s files, spotting a proposal, “Switched to the Island Project?”
Xiao Zhu explained, “You missed the morning meeting. The West District project went to Big President Zhou.”
Big President Zhou was Zhou Weichuan’s cousin.

Qi Yuanhan remarked, “He got a steal.”
“Exactly! You and President Zhou slaved for that project, and he swoops in,” Xiao Zhu huffed, then whispered, “Don’t be too upset, President Qi. The Island Project’s bigger—Chairman kept it under wraps for President Zhou. West District was just a stepping stone.”
Qi Yuanhan flipped through the Island Project proposal, eyeing its prime location and data, a smile spreading.
Zhou Wenbo was generous to his son.

The West District was limited to a hotel, a basic venture.
The island, however, was a goldmine—ripe for entertainment ventures, leagues beyond West District’s value.
Xiao Zhu grinned, “Excited? President Zhou sent this to avoid you getting mad over West District. Oh, his office says he’s back today.”
Zhou Weichuan’s “business trip” was cover for securing the Island Project, a secret even from Qi Yuanhan, underscoring its worth.

Qi Yuanhan nodded, “I love it.”
More than West District, by far.
She pulled out her phone to thank Zhou Weichuan, but her screen flooded with notifications and missed calls.
Xiao Zhu gasped, “President Qi, was your phone off last night?”

Qi Yuanhan muted her phone at night, ignoring messages.
She checked Shen Yaoyu’s texts first:
[Shen Yaoyu: Ancestor, how can I cover for you? I’m in Wu City for an event, miles away!]
[Pick up! Where are you?!]
[I was trending yesterday—everyone knows I’m in Wu City. How’d you miss that? I had my agent pull the post. You owe me a trend—get Zhou’s company to sponsor me!]
[Ancestor, why so quiet? Did you finally snap and go wild?]

During the movie, Zhou Weichuan had sent a check-in text.
Deep in the plot’s climax, Qi Yuanhan, unwilling to engage, messaged Shen Yaoyu to say she was with her if Zhou Weichuan asked.
She called Shen Yaoyu, whose voice was hoarse from a sleepless night, “What were you doing? I looked for you all night! Your message freaked me out! Forget Zhou Weichuan—I need an explanation!”

To everyone, Qi Yuanhan was principled, almost old-fashioned, a woman who’d endure Zhou Weichuan’s cheating silently, staying under his protection.
Her night away was shocking, noteworthy.
She hesitated, then chose silence.
Reflecting, she couldn’t believe a single umbrella led her to Ye Qinghe’s home.

“I saw you last night,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“You’re in Wu City?” Shen Yaoyu perked up, “Why didn’t you say? With this rain, I’ll pick you up—send your location!”
Qi Yuanhan sent it; Shen Yaoyu glanced and deflated, “Get lost! Toying with me!”
“I saw you at the theater. Your acting was stellar—you’re about to blow up.”

The movie Ye Qinghe took her to starred Shen Yaoyu as the wife.
Shen Yaoyu, half-grumbling, said, “Guess I owe you thanks. I drew from you—stabbing a cheating scumbag felt great. Dinner’s on me when I’m back!”
Qi Yuanhan replied, “Get me a signature from your co-star.”
Shen Yaoyu exploded, “Liar! You said I was great, now you want her autograph?”

“Yours too—your popularity tops hers,” Qi Yuanhan said.
Shen Yaoyu preened, humming smugly, until her agent called her away.
“I’ll get you a sexy photobook when I’m back,” she said, hanging up.
Qi Yuanhan had read reviews praising Shen Yaoyu’s explosive performance, bringing the wife to life.

As a friend, Qi Yuanhan was proud—her turn to shine was due.
She dove into the Island Project, forgetting to thank Zhou Weichuan.
Hours later, she noticed someone on her office sofa.
Zhou Weichuan, sipping coffee, grinned, “So obsessed you didn’t see me?”

Qi Yuanhan nodded—she was hooked.
He leaned back, stretching, “Last night, drinking with those guys nearly killed me, just to land this project to make you happy…” Casually, he added, “Slept well last night?”
She hummed, then caught his loaded smile.
His gaze sharpened, tone cooling, “So, wife, where’d you sleep last night?”

His tone grated her.
Meeting his eyes, she said calmly, “At your cousin’s place.”