“What should we do then?” the maid asked, her voice tight with anxiety. “The series is about to start filming.”
“What’s the rush?” Yu Yunfei replied, sliding a heavy jade ring onto her finger. “If Lu Zhiling won’t fall for a man’s trap, she’ll fall for a woman’s. Jealousy is a poison that makes even the wisest woman reckless. She’ll have a massive fallout with Bo Wang, and then we won’t have to wait two months for their downfall.”
“But can Chen Xueran truly handle it? She lacks that refined, scholarly air Lu Zhiling has cultivated since childhood,” the maid countered, frowning.
“Elegance is a side dish,” Yu Yunfei sneered. “Men view women like a menu; they crave novelty above all else. Even the finest delicacies become bland if eaten every day. Why else would Bo Zhengrong have fallen for Xia Meiqing—that woman who speaks before she thinks?” She admired the diamond on her ring finger. “Tell me, does this suit me?”
“Madam, you are the epitome of grace; the jewelry is merely the finishing touch,” the maid flattered.
Yu Yunfei’s gentle mask slipped, revealing a raw, jagged ambition. “Once Bo Tang is named the heir, Zhengrong will finally marry me. Then, I will wear a proper wedding ring on this finger.”
Following the audition scandal, SG Entertainment abruptly overhauled its security. The new captain in charge was Li Minghuai. Lu Zhiling knew his presence meant one thing: she was now under Bo Wang’s total surveillance.
She endured it in silence, throwing herself into the production of The Rich and Powerful. And so more than a month passed under the scorching sun. As a scene by the pool wrapped, Lu Zhiling handed iced drinks to the director, Gu Na, and her assistant.
“This production is going so smoothly it feels unnatural,” Jiang Fusheng remarked, taking a long gulp.
“Don’t worry,” Lu Zhiling said with a faint smile. “There are two weeks until the broadcast. The drama behind the scenes always starts right before the curtain rises.”
Gu Na gestured toward a departing van. “Look at Chen Xueran. Most leads sleep in their trailers between scenes, but she rushes back to SG every chance she gets. She’s not even a contracted artist there. Why is she so eager to ‘clock in’ at the corporate office?”
Lu Zhiling watched the van disappear, her eyes pensive.
“Xiao Qi (a term of endearment or nickname), I’ve seen this a thousand times,” Gu Na warned. “She wears clothes that mimic your style and hangs around the office. You’re pregnant and working yourself to the bone. Do you really think Bo Wang has been staying celibate? Men are easily hooked when their wives are… unavailable.”
Lu Zhiling felt a hollow ache. “I can control myself, but I cannot control him.” To appease Gu Na, she promised to check in at the office.
Returning to SG, Lu Zhiling stepped off the elevator only to walk into a storm of whispers.
“That Chen Xueran is persistent,” one staffer giggled. “She always waits until Secretary Lu is at the film set to steal him away. Such a Lianhuajie (‘Lotus Sister’—a slang for a woman who acts innocent but is manipulative and opportunistic).”
“I heard they were seen at a hotel last night. My sister took photos. It was definitely President Bo,” another whispered.
Lu Zhiling froze. Last night. Bo Wang hadn’t returned home. She had bought a box of ice cream cakes to surprise him; they had melted into a sugary puddle by morning.
She walked toward the group, her face a mask of frost. “Gossiping about the President outside his door? Do you have a death wish?”
The women scattered, but Lu Zhiling demanded the phone. The photo was dim, but unmistakable. A man’s back as he entered a hotel suite, Chen Xueran following close behind, adjusting her dress. The man wore a string of Chenxiang (Agarwood) prayer beads on his wrist—Bo Wang’s signature accessory.
She deleted the photo and turned to the trembling staff. “If these rumors spread further, I’ll assume they came from you. And then, it won’t be me you’re answering to—it will be Bo Wang.”
As she turned the corner toward his office, she ran into Chen Xueran. The actress was touching up her makeup. Her dress was disheveled, a shoulder strap slipping to reveal a white shoulder marked with fresh, angry hickeys. Her lipstick was smudged, a stark contrast to the perfect makeup she wore on set.
“Secretary Lu, you’re back,” Chen Xueran smiled, looking like a cat that had just swallowed a canary. She adjusted her strap and breezed past as if nothing had happened.
Lu Zhiling stood before the door, her heart a leaden weight. Should she warn him? Or was she just another fool? She knocked and entered.
Bo Wang was at his desk, but he wasn’t looking at documents. He was practicing calligraphy, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He didn’t look up, his brush moving with a fierce, controlled energy.
She looked at his work. His Running Script (a semi-cursive style of Chinese calligraphy) was becoming masterful. She noticed the deep indentation on his finger from the pressure of the brush. He was working so hard for the Bo family heirship… did a little “entertainment” on the side really matter?
Bo Wang finished a page and looked up, his dark eyes flashing with a predatory smugness. “Well?”
“You’ve practiced well,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I was bored,” he rasped as he stood up, his tall frame looming over her. Before she could react, he grabbed her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the desk. He pressed his body between her knees, burying his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with a jagged hunger.
Lu Zhiling stiffened, her mind flashing to the marks on Chen Xueran’s neck. “You must be tired… let me get you a snack.”
“I don’t want snacks,” he growled. He kissed her—not a gentle greeting, but a bruising, possessive claim. He bit her lip, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth with a heat that tasted of peppermint and unbridled lust.
She couldn’t help but go cold. She feigned shyness, hiding her face in his neck to break the contact.
“Three months is enough,” he whispered, his voice thick with a hoarse, burning desire. He remembered her saying the pregnancy would be stable after the first trimester. His hand slid up her thigh, the heat of his palm searing through her skirt. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“The doctor said… I have anemia. It’s a delicate situation. It’s better if we don’t,” she stammered, her heart racing with a mix of fear and revulsion.
“Are you going to make me starve for ten months?” Bo Wang’s brow darkened.
Her phone vibrated—a reprieve. “It’s Gu Na. Something is wrong on set. I have to go.”
“Again?” He was visibly irritated.
“I only came back because I missed you so much,” she lied, her voice turning sweet and clingy. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Let me go, and I’ll make it up to you.”
The annoyance vanished. He kissed her eye and lifted her off the desk. “Go then.”
Outside the office, Lu Zhiling’s smile vanished. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Li Minghuai was waiting.
“Captain Li,” she said, her voice now professional and cold. “You have many men. I want extra protection for President Bo. Lately, people with ‘ulterior motives’ have been following him, trying to document his private life. Deal with them quietly.”
She knew Li Minghuai would report this directly to Bo Wang. By framing it as “protecting his reputation,” she was telling Bo Wang she knew about Chen Xueran without starting a fight that would make her look like a hysterical wife.
Inside the office, Li Minghuai delivered the news. “She heard the gossip. She saw the actress. She thinks people are following you to ruin your reputation.”
Bo Wang leaned back, a dark, inscrutable smirk playing on his lips. “She didn’t cry? She just asked you to clean up the ‘eyes’ following me?”
“She didn’t cry, sir,” Li Minghuai reported, though he hesitated. “But her eyes were bloodshot… she looked exhausted. She went straight to the restroom after.”
She was crying in private, Bo Wang thought. A surge of dark satisfaction washed over him. She was jealous. She was hurting. And yet, she was still so devastatingly obedient.
“I see,” Bo Wang murmured, his fingers tracing the calligraphy he had just written. “You may leave.”
He looked at the door. She was a “simple-minded fool,” yet her quiet, bleeding dignity was the only thing that could still make his cold blood stir.