Qin Qinghan could feel the heat in Ye Fengwu's gaze — so intense it seemed to burn right through her.
Her pulse quickened, a chill crawling up her spine. Clutching her change of clothes to her chest, she darted into the bedroom like a startled bird.
Bang!
The door slammed shut.
But Ye Fengwu noticed something. There was no sound of a lock turning.
His eyes narrowed. Does that mean…?
He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, rose to his feet, and walked toward her room.
Click.
The door opened.
Inside, the dim light fell softly across the bed — where Qinghan and her daughter lay under the covers. Little Jing Si was fast asleep, her small hand resting against her mother's arm.
Qin Qinghan wasn't asleep at all. She was curled up tightly beneath the blanket, wide-eyed, trembling, her face pale and wet with the shimmer of tears.
"Wife," Ye Fengwu whispered, careful not to wake the child, "where do I sleep?"
Qin Qinghan's throat went dry. She knew every bit of his gentleness was fake — that sooner or later, his violence would surface again.
But then he saw it — a blanket already laid out neatly on the floor beside the bed.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. Thoughtful little wife, he mused, and quietly lay down on the makeshift bedding. The floor was hard, but her scent lingered faintly in the air, and somehow, that was enough.
When he looked up again, she was still watching him — eyes filled with fear, her hands clutching the blanket to her chest as though it were armor.
He sighed softly. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I can take the couch instead."
"Fine," she said flatly, the single word cutting through the air like a blade.
He'd expected a flicker of sympathy. Instead, her cold rejection left him hollow.
Grumbling under his breath, he gathered the bedding and trudged out to the living room.
"Damn it," he muttered, tossing himself onto the sofa. "Should've just kept my mouth shut."
Ye Fengwu was always an early riser.
By the time the rest of the family was still lost in sleep, he'd already stretched, gone for a quick run downstairs, and brought back a few bags of breakfast from the corner shop.
Of course, even that effort didn't earn him so much as a smile from Qin Qinghan.
That morning, she wore a pale blue business suit — simple, elegant. Even without makeup, she looked effortlessly fresh, refined.
She skipped breakfast, instead turning to her parents.
"Dad, Mom — please take Jing Si to school. I'll pick her up this afternoon."
Before anyone could say more, she grabbed her briefcase and headed for the door.
Today, she was going to Fenghao Construction to discuss a project — a deal that could bring her company a big profit and maybe, just maybe, earn her a little breathing room.
"I'll go with you," Ye Fengwu called out.
But all he got was the sight of her back disappearing through the door.
Yang Yu crossed her arms and sighed. "If you really plan on staying in this house," she said, "get yourself a proper job. Don't let Qinghan carry everything alone."
Without another glance, she and her husband left to take Jing Si to school.
Ye Fengwu smirked faintly. "Work, huh?" he murmured. "Yeah… it's about time."
But the "work" he meant wasn't the kind you found in classifieds.
It was the mission he'd been waiting to resume — the real reason he was back in the city.
He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and said quietly,
"Lin Qiang — send me the address of Luo Huang Group."
Haihua City — one of China's wealthiest municipal zones — was a battlefield of business giants.
Qin Qinghan's destination that morning was Fenghao Construction's project office, located in the city's rapidly developing district.
Rumor had it that within two years, the area would become a sprawling high-end villa community — thousands of acres, and enough profit to make any company claw for a share.
Dozens of corporations were fighting for a chance to partner with Fenghao, one of Haihua's most powerful real estate empires.
The project headquarters sat in a row of large, two-story prefab buildings overlooking the construction site.
When Qin Qinghan's modest Chevy sedan pulled up in front, the rumble of the engine drew several disdainful looks.
Workers and tattooed young men loitered outside, leaning against motorcycles, smoking.
They snickered at the sight of her cheap car — every other visitor here usually arrived in a luxury vehicle.
But when the driver's door opened and Qin Qinghan stepped out, their expressions changed instantly.
The whistles came next.
It wasn't every day a woman appeared on this site — let alone a woman like her.
Dressed in her fitted blazer and pencil skirt, her figure graceful but restrained, she looked like she'd stepped out of another world.
"Hey, beauty!" one of the tattooed men called out with a grin. "What brings you here?"
Qin Qinghan ignored the stares, forcing a calm smile. "I'm Qin Qinghan from the Qin Group. I'm here to speak with your manager about a potential project."
That caught their attention.
A beautiful woman, talking business? Their smirks widened.
One of them chuckled. "In that case, follow me."
He led her up the stairs to the second floor, stopping in front of a door marked Manager's Office.
"Boss Leopard," he called. "Someone's here about a project!"
"Get lost!" a rough voice roared from inside. "I said no visitors!"
The young man chuckled, giving Qin Qinghan a meaningful grin. "Trust me, he won't be disappointed."
Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to step inside.
"Son of a—"
Behind the desk, a burly man with a buzz cut and a gut big enough to strain his shirt sat up sharply. His angry curse died halfway out of his mouth the moment he saw her.
His bloodshot eyes went wide.
Then, his expression changed — from surprise, to hunger.
"Well now," he said, suddenly smiling. "So you're here to talk business, huh? Please, have a seat, have a seat."
He grabbed a bottle of wine and poured two glasses, his movements oily, eager.
Qin Qinghan's stomach turned. The air reeked of alcohol and stale smoke.
Behind him was a full minibar... and a king-sized bed.
Every instinct screamed at her to leave.
The young man by the door caught his boss's glance, smirked knowingly, and slipped out — closing the door firmly behind him.
Qin Qinghan's heartbeat quickened. Still, she straightened her back and forced herself to speak.
"Mr. Jin," she said evenly, "I'm Qin Qinghan from the Qin Group. We'd like to discuss a partnership with Fenghao Construction. I hope you'll consider giving us this opportunity."
Jin Bao leaned back, his lips curling into a mocking grin.
"Ah... the Qin Group. I've heard of you. Isn't old Qin Guangnan's granddaughter the one who... got herself into trouble when she was sixteen?"
His tone dripped with sleazy amusement. "That was you, wasn't it?"
Her face drained of color.
The words hit her like a knife. That wound — the shame, the nightmare — was something she could never escape.
Every time someone brought it up, it tore open all over again.
Her voice tightened. "Our company is willing to lower our profit margin to the minimum if it means securing this deal. What other conditions do you have, Mr. Jin?"
He grinned wider, spreading his thick fingers across the desk.
"Conditions?" he echoed. "Let's be honest, sweetheart. There are a hundred companies offering the same deal — some even better. So tell me… why should I pick yours?"
He stood, dragging a chair closer to his side and tapping it invitingly.
"Why don't we sit and talk this over properly?"
Qin Qinghan's brows knit tightly. She wasn't stupid — she knew exactly what he wanted.
Every fiber of her wanted to walk out that door.
But then she thought of the mortgage, her parents, her daughter.
If she lost this deal, her grandfather would use it as an excuse to fire her. Then what?
So she forced herself forward, sliding the chair a full meter away before sitting down.
Jin Bao's eyes roamed over her body, frustrated by her conservative outfit. His smirk began to fade.
After a moment, he picked up a wineglass and shoved it toward her.
"Let's cut to the chase," he said, voice low and greasy. "Whether your company gets this contract depends entirely on me. So if you want a piece of the pie…"
He nodded toward the bed behind him.
"…you'll drink that glass, then lie down over there."
He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "Do that, and you'll get your commission — and my personal care, from now on."
Then his hand — thick, sweating, heavy — reached for her thigh.