Chapter 9 : Missed you

Qi Yuanhan’s gift of clothes to Ye Qinghe was a simple repayment—she disliked owing anyone, nothing more.
Yet, the two outfits carried an ambiguous weight, tainting the trio’s dynamic.
Over the next two days, Qi Yuanhan visited the design department, each time spotting Ye Qinghe in those clothes.
A white chiffon blouse paired with a black knee-length skirt gave a deceptively innocent, girl-next-door vibe.

But when Ye Qinghe turned, the loosely fastened buttons revealed her collarbone, a necklace resting at its center.
People often said you couldn’t have both a striking collarbone and a full chest—Ye Qinghe defied that, both alluringly sensual.
“Looks good?” she asked, smiling.
Qi Yuanhan sidestepped, “I’m here for data.”

The gift wasn’t a secret, but Ye Qinghe’s delight felt oddly intimate, as if Qi Yuanhan had sent it in private.
Ye Qinghe mused, “I thought you’d send your secretary.”
“She’s busy; I need it urgently,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“Is that so…” Ye Qinghe leaned against her desk, “Did you buy these to my size? They fit perfectly.”

Her teasing tone implied Qi Yuanhan knew her measurements intimately.
Of course, Qi Yuanhan wouldn’t admit she bought them to her own size—women’s clothing sizes were standard enough, and the fit was a fluke.
Ye Qinghe poured her tea, fetching the requested files.
Qi Yuanhan said politely, “As long as they suit you.”

“They’re almost perfect,” Ye Qinghe said, pulling the files back as Qi Yuanhan reached for them, hinting she’d overlooked something.
Qi Yuanhan recalled—she’d worn Ye Qinghe’s outfit inside and out that night.
“I gave you two sets,” she said.
Ye Qinghe laughed, “Good thing, or I couldn’t rotate them.”

Somehow, Qi Yuanhan felt she’d overthought it.
She swiftly took the files, set down the teacup, and prepared to leave.
Ye Qinghe asked, “Not staying a bit?”
“Busy,” Qi Yuanhan replied.

“You’re heading to the island next month?” Ye Qinghe probed.
Qi Yuanhan paused, “You too?”
“Want to, but can’t,” Ye Qinghe said, her expression genuine—Zhou Weichuan hadn’t invited her.
She sighed, “It’ll be dull without you.”

Qi Yuanhan saw no connection between them; by all accounts, they were rivals.
She had no duty to console her husband’s mistress.
Those clothes had muddied their dynamic, a feeling she loathed.
Ye Qinghe stepped closer as Qi Yuanhan opened the door, leaning in, her voice brushing her ear, “What if I miss you?”

Who’d imagine a mistress telling her lover’s wife she’d miss her?
Such a morally twisted plot wouldn’t even make it into a movie.
Qi Yuanhan hurried out, Ye Qinghe not following.
Her finger grazed the files, spotting “Island” before pressing them shut.

Once outside the department, she opened the stack—a master design for the Island Project, marked with meticulous notes.
She didn’t know Ye Qinghe’s source, but it was invaluable to her.
The design department was a talent hub, bustling with staff.
Qi Yuanhan lingered, overhearing corridor chatter from young women, their voices unrestrained.

“President Zhou’s here daily, always closing the blinds.”
“Ye Qinghe’s always sexy, but she tones it down when President Qi’s around.”
“Those ‘conservative’ outfits are just those two sets—same old vibe.”
“What vibe?”
“You know… mistress vibes.”

The words were meant for Qi Yuanhan.
She glanced at the speakers, smiling, “She’s really President Zhou’s cousin.”
“Really?” one girl stammered, embarrassed.
Qi Yuanhan nodded, “Get back to work.”

The group scattered, though doubts lingered.
Gossip about Ye Qinghe wasn’t new; Zhou Weichuan had overheard it, letting it slide, assuming it was tacitly accepted.
Qi Yuanhan’s denial surprised them.
No one dared confront Ye Qinghe, whose “cousin” status was a shield—challenging it was career suicide.

Mid-July: Island Project Launch
The Island Project kicked off, initially set for Zhou Weichuan alone.
But with his and Qi Yuanhan’s relationship cooling, he sensed a crisis.
He couldn’t grasp why his wife and mistress were suddenly close—wives didn’t borrow mistresses’ clothes.
He decided to separate them temporarily.

A week before departure, he secretly booked Qi Yuanhan a ticket, hiding it from his parents, claiming she was vacationing.
The island wasn’t a government bid.
A couple’s company had nearly completed it, but their divorce stalled progress—one held the project, the other the funds, leaving it a ghost island for months.

Their stalemate bankrupted their firm, creating an opportunity.
Whoever claimed it now would profit massively.
Zhou Wenbo, eyeing the prize, sent Zhou Weichuan to negotiate quietly, ensuring only they benefited.
Zhou Weichuan brought a team to grease palms, the main hurdle being government regulations on private land sales, especially for tourism, requiring legal transfers.

He boasted, “See this land? Once I seal the deal, it’s ours. I brought you early—even my parents don’t know. Touched?”
Qi Yuanhan asked, “Just us two?”
“Who else?” he said, confident.
He wouldn’t lie here—Ye Qinghe’s presence would expose him.

A man’s repeated lies bred suspicion, a lesson Zhou Weichuan knew from his serial cheating.
Qi Yuanhan hummed.
“You don’t seem thrilled,” he noted.
She glanced at the scenery, flatly, “Just bored.”

The island was nearly developed, needing only final funds—why Zhou Weichuan rushed to claim it solo.
He reminisced about their first beach trip post-exams as teens, “You were so clingy then, trailing me everywhere, scampering to keep up. So cute…”
“Stop,” Qi Yuanhan’s voice sharpened, hoarse, her gaze cutting like ice.
“What’s wrong?” Zhou Weichuan blinked, his nostalgia interrupted.

She ignored him, staring out the car window.
Sultry figures dotted the beach—women in beach dresses and white sun hats, toes in the sand.
The island, in half-open mode, drew vacationers.
At the hotel, Zhou Weichuan played chivalrous, carrying her luggage, “Honey, since it’s a honeymoon, one room?”

Qi Yuanhan handed her ID to the desk, “Please, a single room.”
The word “single” slammed his hopes.
“So heartless?” he persisted, “Let me stay with you—pity me.”
He’d deliberately booked one room, aiming to coax her into his.

The clerk, quicker, processed her request, “Sorry, she booked a single.”
“Book me next door,” Zhou Weichuan said, glaring at the clerk’s obliviousness.
“No can do—her room’s the last in the hall, all adjacent ones are pre-booked online.”
Qi Yuanhan headed upstairs, following her keycard.

She scanned nearby rooms, entered hers, and unpacked briefly.
Zhou Weichuan soon knocked, “Honey, I’m upstairs. Cancel yours, book next to me—it’s easier for me to look after you.”
She ignored him, not opening the door, sliding her suitcase aside, washing up, and collapsing onto the bed.
Forgetting her meds, she dreamed.

In the nightmare, someone pushed her into a black sea.
Her eyes stung, throat constricted, her cries mute.
She called out names, but no one came to save her.
Her body sank, water choking her, the suffocating dread making her yield.

She thought, Why die like this? Better to slip away unnoticed…
The dream was chaotic, her discomfort vivid.
Waking, she was clammy, the room stifling, suffocation creeping back.
She flicked on the lamp, its dim orange glow banishing the sea.

Popping a pill, she gulped bottled water.
Her phone buzzed with Zhou Weichuan’s messages: he was meeting island contacts, suggesting she order food or join him via a driver.
Before replying, she saw a new Instagram post:
Ye Qinghe: [Photo] Ocean view.

Zhou Weichuan had liked it.
The image showed a sea strikingly similar to the one outside her window, where waves crashed against rocks under the darkening night.
She slipped on shoes and stepped out, phone in hand, strolling as the tide rose.
Tourists avoided deep waters; the beach was quiet, save for a couple walking and stargazers with telescopes.

Qi Yuanhan glanced up—twinkling stars, a lovely sight.
Perhaps Ye Qinghe was playing her role, luring Zhou Weichuan.
She pocketed her phone, turning back, when a hand tapped her shoulder twice.
Facing the figure, she froze.

Ye Qinghe, in a white dress, her hair fluttering in the sea breeze, gazed at her, eyes mirroring the blue waves—a moment so surreal Qi Yuanhan thought it a mirage.
She looked away, “Zhou Weichuan’s checking the resort’s progress.”
Ye Qinghe said, “This isn’t about him. I came secretly.”
Qi Yuanhan’s throat tightened, “Huh?”

She couldn’t parse Ye Qinghe’s “secretly”—did Zhou Weichuan sneak her here, or…
“He didn’t plan to bring me,” Ye Qinghe clarified, stepping closer, voice low, “But that didn’t stop me from sneaking over.”
“For a surprise?” Qi Yuanhan asked.
She hadn’t pegged mistresses as working this hard, crafting surprises for their patrons.

“Would that move you?” Ye Qinghe asked.
“Probably,” Qi Yuanhan said.
“Good,” Ye Qinghe replied, “I figured I’d miss you after so long apart, so I came quietly.”
Qi Yuanhan fell silent, the sea breeze masking her racing thoughts.

Her ears burned, unsoothed by the wind.
Ye Qinghe leaned closer, whispering, “Keep me hidden. Don’t let anyone spot me.”