Chapter Seventeen: Hojiyu After Getting Jealous (2)

Listening to Mo Qinghan’s words, He Zheyu’s brows furrowed tightly. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, then exhaled slowly. The faint smoke curled between them before He Zheyu sneered coldly, “So this urgent matter of yours was hugging and embracing another man at the hotel entrance, was it?”

Mo Qinghan’s lips moved, and after a long pause she replied in a small voice, “You’ve misunderstood.”

He Zheyu suddenly stood up, his icy gaze as sharp as a blade, his voice full of anger. “Zhao Qingwu isn’t he the man you’ve always longed for? Isn’t he the one you claim you’re destined to grow old with? Mo Qinghan, don’t forget who you sold your future to. At the very least, try to show some professional integrity.”

Every word stabbed into Mo Qinghan’s ears like thorns, sending waves of pain through her mind. She stood there, expressionless, a touch of self-mockery at the corner of her lips. Her tightly clenched fists dug sharp nails deep into her palms, causing a piercing pain.

Mo Qinghan let out a bitter smile, her gaze unfocused, her tone cold. “As you say, the man I’ve always loved is Zhao Qingwu. The man I wish to spend my life with is also Zhao Qingwu. Are you satisfied with this answer?”

No sooner had she finished speaking than He Zheyu pulled her forcefully into his arms. He took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it aside. Lowering his head abruptly, he pressed his lips to hers, forcing all the smoke he’d inhaled into her mouth. Their lips were sealed tightly together, the acrid taste of smoke filling both their mouths. Mo Qinghan, panicking and unsure what to do, swallowed the smoke in her confusion. She pushed at He Zheyu with all her strength, and only then did he release her. She coughed violently, tears springing to her eyes from the choking sensation.

Perhaps realizing he had gone too far, He Zheyu patted her back gently, the hostility in his voice gone. “Are you alright?”

Mo Qinghan took a while to recover, her eyes still glistening with tears, a desolate look in her gaze. Still held in He Zheyu’s arms, she asked, “Do you still want to hold a woman who’s been in another man’s arms?”

He Zheyu frowned, pondering for a moment before lowering his head to kiss her stubborn lips. The instant Mo Qinghan opened her mouth, his tongue slipped inside, cutting off her hesitant protests. After a brief struggle, she yielded, her resistance fading away.

Guided by He Zheyu, they stumbled into the bedroom. Soon, their clothes lay scattered in every corner of the room, and only the sound of their ragged breaths filled the air. What followed was a natural progression, inevitable and unstoppable.

The next morning, Mo Qinghan was awakened by the sound of the alarm clock. She squinted in the morning light, fumbling for the clock before finally turning it off. She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to move, and reached out to touch the now-cool bedsheet beside her. Evidently, He Zheyu had already left some time ago.

Slowly, Mo Qinghan sat up, feeling as if her body had been crushed, the pain more than a little. She could still clearly remember that both times last night, He Zheyu’s actions had been fueled by anger.

Getting out of bed, she noticed a note pinned beneath the alarm clock. “Breakfast is in the microwave, heat it up yourself.” The handwriting was as unruly and spirited as the man himself.

Mo Qinghan put the note back where she found it. She didn’t bother heating up the food in the microwave. Instead, she opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of milk.