Volume 1, Chapter 3: No Need to Play the Innocent Maiden with Your Brother

Jiang Yihuan lay on the bed, listening as the noise downstairs gradually subsided. The farce was over.

She had never understood the meaning of such hypocritical family dinners. Everyone was forced to sit there, staring at the sumptuous dishes, wearing masks while exchanging flattering words. It was truly tedious.

But watching Shen Qiming and the others get embarrassed was, at least, some amusement.

Jiang Yihuan turned her head toward the window. Since she was forcibly sent abroad at the age of twelve, she hadn’t returned home for ten years.

Those ten years in New York had not been bad, but far from good. They said a golden or silver nest was no match for one’s own little doghouse.

Although this city left no beautiful memories in the river of her life, she still liked it here, because here there was—

—Ding dong.

Her phone suddenly chimed with a WeChat notification.

Without thinking, Jiang Yihuan knew exactly who it was from.

She picked up the phone and opened the message.

Two brief words: “Open the door.”

Jiang Yihuan closed the chat as if she hadn’t seen it.

Then, expressionless, she reached for the medicine box on the bedside table, squeezed out two diazepam tablets, and swallowed them.

The pills scraped her dry throat, bitterness spreading through her mouth. Difficult to swallow, yet it was something that granted her brief sleep.

Zhou Jingmo sent another message: “Good sister, please open the door. Let’s talk.”

Jiang Yihuan remained unmoved, tossing the phone aside as if unaware.

She understood Zhou Jingmo, yet did not.

She knew he was a bastard, but sometimes couldn’t comprehend the logic behind his madness.

Like now.

She simply couldn’t fathom why Zhou Jingmo would insist on her opening the bedroom door in the dead of night in this den of wolves.

Zhou Jingmo sent yet another message: “If you don’t open the door, you’ll bear the consequences.”

Then she wouldn’t open it. After all, she was hardly a responsible person.

—Ding dong, ding dong.

Page 2

The phone rang twice again, and Jiang Yihuan, feeling helpless, opened the chat once more.

Zhou Jingmo: “You can choose to open the door.”

Zhou Jingmo: “Or I could go chat with Uncle Shen, but my mouth…”

Damn it, crazy fool!

This was no joke; Jiang Yihuan knew that madman was capable of anything.

Because he had never had a shred of shame.

She cursed under her breath, threw back the covers, slipped on her slippers, and quickly opened the door.

Zhou Jingmo stood leaning against the doorframe, one arm draped over his suit jacket, still wearing the wine-stained shirt.

But the shirt, which should have been tucked into his suit pants, now hung loose halfway out.

Three buttons at the collar were undone, revealing a small patch of his toned chest and faintly visible collarbones.

Who was he trying to seduce? Really.

Zhou Jingmo’s expression was lazy as he raised a hand to tenderly brush Jiang Yihuan’s fine bangs on her forehead. “Going to sleep?”

“Yes.”

Jiang Yihuan brushed his hand away, warily stepping into the hallway.

Seeing the servants had all gone to rest and the place was quiet, she finally relaxed.

Zhou Jingmo saw through her thoughts and smiled, licking his lips. “Not inviting me in?”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate. We can talk here,” Jiang Yihuan straightened up, blocking most of the doorway, clearly refusing.

She silently hoped Zhou Jingmo would show some sense and realize this was no place for his antics.

But Zhou Jingmo clearly didn’t get the hint—or simply didn’t want to.

He raised his hand and swaggered inside.

Jiang Yihuan rolled her eyes and sent him a full mental greeting.

Zhou Jingmo casually tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa, then strolled over to the bedside table.

He picked up the medicine box Jiang Yihuan had left there and feigned brotherly concern.

“Why taking medicine again? Can’t you sleep properly on your own?”

Jiang Yihuan forced a smile without warmth. “That hardly concerns you.”

Zhou Jingmo chuckled softly. “How could it not? I care about my sister.”

Jiang Yihuan lost patience and spoke bluntly, “Your father was just fostered by the Jiang family when he was little. You can spare me the ‘sister’ bit in private.”

She snatched the medicine box from his hand, tossed it into the drawer, then walked to the balcony, took a cigarette, and lit it.

Zhou Jingmo followed casually, naturally taking the cigarette from her hand, biting it between his lips, half leaning on the railing, eyes half-closed watching her.

Page 3

Amid the swirling smoke, a teasing smile played on his lips.

Jiang Yihuan took a deep breath, unwilling to argue with this mischievous devil, and silently drew another cigarette from the pack.

Just as she was about to light it, Zhou Jingmo suddenly reached out, his long fingers curling around the back of her head, gently pulling her closer.

His thin lips curled, the cigarette between them carrying endless tenderness and provocation, inching toward her unlit one.

Their eyes met in the haze, emotions swirling like fine cobwebs.

Under the gentle caress of smoke, the atmosphere thickened, strands entwining and tangling.

Jiang Yihuan smiled silently.

She had to admit, Zhou Jingmo was a master of flirtation—every breath charged with hormones.

A simple act of lighting a cigarette, yet he insisted on turning it into something indecent.

Jiang Yihuan plucked the cigarette from her lips with two fingers, exhaling the smoke directly into Zhou Jingmo’s face, her tone playful, “A wife who’s addicted to smoke.”

Zhou Jingmo chuckled low in his chest, then in a husky voice said, “Good sister, don’t curse yourself like that. Your brother hopes you live a long life.”

Jiang Yihuan stared at him, speechless, unable to find a reply, so she awkwardly changed the subject.

“Speak. What do you want to talk about?”

“Let’s talk—” Zhou Jingmo tapped the cigarette in his hand against the edge of the crystal ashtray on the small table, dragging his words, “Which one do you want to deal with first?”

Jiang Yihuan remained calm. “Brother, you’re overthinking. I don’t plan to deal with anyone.”

Seeing her innocent, calm demeanor, Zhou Jingmo smiled, licking his lips.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, then wrapped an arm around Jiang Yihuan’s waist, pulling her into his embrace.

Startled, Jiang Yihuan lost grip of her cigarette, which fell onto Zhou Jingmo’s arm.

He jerked away, hissing, “Murder?”

Jiang Yihuan quickly flicked off the ashes, but the shirt was scorched, leaving a small black hole.

Like a mischievous child, she poked at the hole with her finger. “Oh dear… your shirt has finally met its end.”

Zhou Jingmo didn’t care at all. A smile curled his lips as he resumed their earlier conversation.

“Pretending to be innocent with me? If you don’t want to deal with them, why did you come back to the country? Could it be to see your brother?”

“Not at all. We’ve always been honest with each other.”

Jiang Yihuan deliberately emphasized the word "honest."

Suddenly, Zhou Jingmo spun her around, pressing her against the railing, his face closing in—only a breath away from hers.