As a Scummy Omega, I Ran Away with the Baby - Chapter 58.1

That unexpected embrace came like a valve twisted open and impossible to close again, shattering the fragile calm that had barely held between Gu Yining and Bai Qingqiu.

A silent, ambiguous tension began to spread audaciously through the villa’s air. It seeped everywhere—twining itself into every accidental glance between them, dissolving into each meal Gu Yining brought to Bai Qingqiu, and lingering even in the quiet, strangely charged nights spent alone.

That day, Bai Qingqiu had a meeting at the company she couldn’t skip. Inevitably, the two of them found themselves at the large dining table on the first floor of the villa—a table that could seat a dozen people but now held only the three of them.

The table was obviously too spacious for the two of them. With all that empty space, they could have kept their distance, even ignored each other entirely. Yet inexplicably, the tension—the kind that felt almost like a “hidden truth trying not to be noticed”—made Gu Yining restless.

She feigned casualness and stole a glance at Bai Qingqiu across from her, who was scrolling through documents on a tablet.

Bai Qingqiu appeared as always: her back straight, expression composed, radiating that commanding chill that made people hesitant to approach. Her long hair was loosely tied back with a simple band, revealing the delicate, pale curve of her neck. Her fingers traced the tablet screen, eyes focused downward, occasionally knitting her brows ever so slightly at the content.

That calm, measured composure contrasted sharply with the erratic thumping of Gu Yining’s own heartbeat, making her feel both frustrated and defeated.

She sighed inwardly, chastising herself. In this unspoken battle called “heartbeats,” she was always the first to surrender.

Resigned, she turned her attention to her daughter’s small plate. Xia Xia’s plate held nothing more than a simple fried egg and some bacon, yet Gu Yining carefully cut them into bite-sized pieces, using the task to occupy her hands and mind, to mask the nearly overwhelming flurry inside her.

Yet even as she tried to focus, Gu Yining couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting back to the woman across the table, who seemed utterly unruffled.

This time, her gaze landed on the tablet in Bai Qingqiu’s hands.

At first glance, there seemed to be nothing unusual.

The screen displayed what appeared to be a page from a project proposal. Gu Yining unconsciously curled her lips in a faint smile, about to look away—but then something clicked.

When Bai Qingqiu had come down earlier, she had been looking at this very page!

They had entered the dining room one after the other, their paths too close, and the faint, familiar scent of magnolias—fresh, clean, almost imperceptible—had brushed against Gu Yining, making her heart skip. Instinctively, she had averted her eyes from Bai Qingqiu’s impossibly beautiful face, focusing elsewhere instead.

By chance, she had seen the tablet in Bai Qingqiu’s hands. The densely packed text and charts instantly told her that this was a work document. Out of politeness, she had immediately looked away.

She remembered very little of that quick glance—but she had seen one thing clearly: a multicolored pie chart.

And now the chart on the screen before Bai Qingqiu was exactly the same.

Gu Yining froze mid-cut, her knife hovering above the egg.

She could hardly believe her eyes. She blinked, confirming again.

Pretending to reach for a napkin, she leaned forward slightly, covertly refocusing her gaze on the glowing screen across from her.

Yes.

It was the same pie chart—the one showing the proportion of different business sectors. She remembered the colors with just one glance, and now they were still displayed before her.

From the moment Bai Qingqiu had descended the stairs, to when she herself had sat down, to when Aunt Han brought her coffee, at least five minutes had passed.

During those five minutes, the CEO of BaiXing Entertainment—renowned for her decisive decision-making—hadn’t flinched once while staring at that same page.

The discovery hit Gu Yining like a stone dropped into a still lake, rippling through her heart. A thought she scarcely dared to entertain emerged quietly:

Could it be that Bai Qingqiu, just like her, was using work to hide her own nervousness?

Her pulse accelerated again, but this time it wasn’t pure panic. There was a faint, secret thrill, like uncovering treasure. She had to verify it.

Clearing her throat, Gu Yining lifted her glass of milk and casually asked, “Why are you starting work so early today? Is there a particularly important new project?”

The words barely left her lips when she saw Bai Qingqiu, who had maintained her composed, focused facade, stiffen imperceptibly.

The air stilled.

In that unbearable silence, Gu Yining could even hear her own heartbeat quicken with tension.

She felt both anxious and secretly delighted. How would Bai Qingqiu respond? Would she say Gu Yining was overstepping? That thought barely surfaced before Gu Yining dismissed it.

A few weeks ago, or months ago, she might have worried about such things. Now she knew—Bai Qingqiu’s mind held something too. Something delicate, unspoken, yet already present between them, like the first fragile ice melting on a spring stream, cracking silently under the sun and setting the water in motion.

As Gu Yining’s thoughts spun endlessly, Bai Qingqiu finally moved.

She lifted her eyes—but not to meet Gu Yining’s. Her gaze remained fixed on the tablet. She tapped lightly on the colorful pie chart, and in a calm, professional tone, as if explaining a point to a subordinate, said,
“There might be a problem with this report. The growth rate for one quarter doesn’t match the input-output ratio of another sector. I’m checking a few key parameters to find the discrepancy.”

Her voice was steady, flawless. She even raised an eyebrow, cold and precise. Any other executive in BaiXing Entertainment would have been sweating bullets and immediately rechecking the documents.

But to Gu Yining—already aware of the truth—this meticulous explanation sounded clumsy compared to any lie.

A smile threatened to burst from her lips. She pressed the glass to her mouth, hiding the almost uncontrollable curve of her smile behind it.

The warm milk slid down her throat, but her heart remained stirred. Even as she restrained herself, her shoulders trembled slightly.

Bai Qingqiu, after delivering her textbook-level excuse, seemed to glance up—perhaps to confirm whether Gu Yining had been convinced.

Almost simultaneously, they both lifted their eyes, stealing a look at the other.

Their gazes met again, without warning.

Across the long dining table, through the curling steam of coffee, they saw in each other’s eyes the same barely concealed amusement.

Suddenly, nothing could be hidden.

It was like a spark had caught them both off guard, like mischievous little animals caught red-handed, and they quickly averted their eyes.

Gu Yining sheepishly returned her gaze to her milk, her cheeks burning as if she was holding the glass against a flame.

Bai Qingqiu, meanwhile, resumed her focus on the tablet—but this time, the illusion of complete composure had slipped.

The room remained quiet.

Yet the tension, that awkward “hidden truth” that had filled the space, quietly dissolved in the shared, unspoken understanding.

In its place came a subtler atmosphere.

The dining room was silent except for the occasional clink of cutlery against plates and the soft rustle of leaves outside. Occasionally, their eyes met, only to dart away again as if shocked by the electricity in the glance.

Even little Xia Xia, still too young to grasp the complexities of adult emotions, sensed the unusual air.

Her cheeks puffed with the fried egg Gu Yining had cut for her. She glanced at her aunt, whose ears were slightly red and silent, and then at her mother, who was clearly distracted while pretending to read documents. Xia Xia’s innocent, wide eyes blinked in confusion as she reached for Gu Yining’s sleeve.

“Aunt!”

“Ah!” Gu Yining startled violently and answered at once, her voice jumping an octave without her realizing it.

Xia Xia’s eyes widened even more, her small face full of confusion. Why was Aunt reacting like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on?

Gu Yining immediately realized how inappropriate her reaction had been. She let out an embarrassed chuckle and gently patted the little girl’s head.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

“Aunt, will you still play with me today?” Xia Xia didn’t understand the lingering flush on Gu Yining’s cheeks, nor the awkwardness she was trying to hide. She simply looked up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Yes,” Gu Yining replied without hesitation. Faced with those innocent, trusting eyes, the chaos stirred up by adult emotions dissolved completely, replaced by a warm rush and a powerful instinct to protect. She bent down and made her promise solemnly.

“All day today, Aunt will stay with Xia Xia.”

Hearing that, Xia Xia immediately broke into a satisfied smile. She turned her head at once, setting her sights on Bai Qingqiu across the table.

“Mommy!” she called brightly, full of anticipation. “Will you play with me today too?”

“I have to go to work,” Bai Qingqiu replied calmly, looking over.

The words had barely left her mouth when she seemed to realize how harsh they sounded to a child filled with expectation. She paused, then added awkwardly, in a stiff, unnatural tone, “I’ll be back tonight.”

Gu Yining watched as the brilliance on Xia Xia’s face dimmed visibly, bit by bit. Still, Xia Xia was more used to her mother going to work than staying home with her, so it wasn’t exactly heartbreak—just a quiet lowering of her head. Her long, curled lashes fell, hiding whatever emotion lingered beneath.

Even though Xia Xia had already learned, like Bai Qingqiu, to tuck her feelings away, she was still only four years old. Gu Yining watched her poke at the bacon on her plate with her fork, feeling both amused and aching for her.

There was nothing to be done. Gu Yining sighed softly.

She didn’t blame Bai Qingqiu for not staying home. In fact, this was the moment she understood her the most. Because of her injury, Bai Qingqiu had been away from the company for nearly a week. No matter how diligent remote work was, some matters simply required her presence. And with BaiXing Entertainment at its current scale, even half a day’s delay was significant—let alone several days’ worth of backlog.

Breakfast had gone on for nearly half an hour, and Xia Xia was clearly full. Gu Yining stood, bent down, and lifted the little girl from her chair, grabbing a napkin to wipe the crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

“How about we go watch some cartoons?” Gu Yining coaxed gently, sending a subtle look toward Bai Qingqiu as she spoke.

That wordless glance caught Bai Qingqiu off guard. She froze for a moment, then looked back in confusion.

In Gu Yining’s arms, Xia Xia erupted with excitement at the mention of cartoons, kicking her short legs happily and wrapping her chubby arms around Gu Yining’s neck.

“Yay! I want to watch Piggy Squad!” she cheered impatiently.

Gu Yining laughed and agreed, carrying her toward the living room. As she passed Bai Qingqiu, she slowed slightly and leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“Go ahead. Go to the office. Xia Xia won’t sulk now.”

She didn’t wait for a response, nor did she look back to see Bai Qingqiu’s expression. She quickened her pace, disappearing around the corner with a happily chattering Xia Xia.

The dining room was left with only Bai Qingqiu. Gu Yining’s words seemed to linger in the air, echoing softly.

Bai Qingqiu set down the tablet she’d been holding without truly reading. She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t oblivious to the adult subtext woven into Gu Yining’s words.

Gu Yining understood her—and more than that, she had shown her support through action. She had soothed their daughter, cleared away Bai Qingqiu’s worries, and created a space where she could leave without guilt.

Genuinely. Without being asked.

She hadn’t even left Bai Qingqiu the chance to say thank you.

Bai Qingqiu lowered her gaze slowly, looking at the tablet screen that had already gone dark. Her blurred reflection stared back at her—somehow unfamiliar.

For years, she had grown accustomed to facing everything alone.

Accustomed to decisive battles in business, to yielding not an inch at negotiation tables, to absorbing pressure and loneliness by herself late at night. She had never imagined that one day, someone could see through her façade so easily, quietly lifting the weight she believed she had to bear alone.

The feeling was unfamiliar.

And warm.

So warm that her heart—long used to solitude—couldn’t stop a wave of aching heat from welling up inside.

Some time later, Aunt Han entered to clear the dishes. Seeing Bai Qingqiu still sitting there, unmoving, she hesitated.

“Miss Bai, you—”

“Aunt Han,” Bai Qingqiu interrupted. “Make a few extra dishes tonight—the ones she and the child like. I’ll be home for dinner.”

As she spoke, her gaze drifted toward the living room, where faint sounds of cartoons mixed with a child’s carefree laughter.

At dusk, Aunt Dong drove Bai Qingqiu back into the villa courtyard. After parking, she got out and unfolded the wheelchair from the trunk.

With Aunt Dong’s help, Bai Qingqiu endured the discomfort in her ankle and shifted into the wheelchair. The day’s high-intensity work had left her physically and mentally exhausted, but the moment she was wheeled into the living room and saw the figure lifting her head from the carpet, the irritation inside her eased for no apparent reason.

Gu Yining stood up, her gaze lingering on the wheelchair with a complexity Bai Qingqiu couldn’t quite decipher. Xia Xia, on the other hand, ran toward her joyfully.

“Mommy! You’re back!”

Bai Qingqiu forced herself into a faint smile and reached out to pat her daughter’s head. Her eyes, however, slipped uncontrollably past the child’s crown, briefly meeting Gu Yining’s gaze before darting away.

“Go on,” she said softly. “Go sit in the dining room. Dinner’s ready.”

Xia Xia responded obediently and hopped off toward the dining room.

The smell of food filled the air. Even from the living room, it was tempting.

In the dining room, Aunt Han was placing the final dishes on the table. Bai Qingqiu was about to wheel herself forward when a figure approached quietly from behind.

It was Gu Yining.

Without a word, she placed her hands on the handles and pushed the wheelchair toward the dining room.

By the time they arrived, Xia Xia had already been seated in her special chair, and the last dish had been served.

Sweet-and-sour mandarin fish.

Bai Qingqiu kept her expression neutral, though her heart lifted involuntarily.

She had specifically called at noon to request it—remembering that it had once been Gu Yining’s favorite. Five years had passed; she didn’t know if her tastes had changed.

She watched Gu Yining discreetly from the corner of her eye.

When the dish was set down, Gu Yining paused. Her gaze fixed on it for a few seconds, her expression unreadable.

Bai Qingqiu’s heart sank. Perhaps she’d misjudged.

But just as she was about to look away, Gu Yining lifted her eyes. They were misted over, startlingly bright. Their gazes met precisely. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but in the end, she simply pressed them together, lowered her head, and began picking food for Xia Xia.

The corners of Bai Qingqiu’s lips curved faintly.

Dinner passed in a warmth that felt almost unreal.

Xia Xia chattered endlessly between them. Bai Qingqiu mostly listened in silence. At one point, her eyes met Gu Yining’s again. This time, she summoned the courage not to look away, offering a small smile instead.

Gu Yining returned it—just as gently.

After dinner, Aunt Han took Xia Xia upstairs to wash up and tell her stories. The spacious dining room fell quiet, leaving only the two of them.

“I’ll do it.”

As Bai Qingqiu prepared to wheel herself away, Gu Yining’s voice sounded behind her. Familiar hands settled naturally on the wheelchair handles.

“Going back to your room to rest?” Gu Yining asked, casually.

“No,” Bai Qingqiu answered reflexively. She cleared her throat, trying to sound relaxed. “Not sleepy yet.”

She regretted it immediately. Unsure whether she should be alone with Gu Yining—or what she could even say—she added, “You don’t need to stay. Go rest.”

Gu Yining had never disobeyed her before. Bai Qingqiu assumed this time would be no different.

But unexpectedly, the hands behind her didn’t loosen.

Bai Qingqiu couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t understand why Gu Yining didn’t leave. She wanted to ask, but feared the question might sound wrong—so she stayed silent.

After a while, Gu Yining spoke, awkwardly.

“I, I don’t want to sleep yet either.”

“Then—”

“Then—”

They spoke at the same time, freezing as soon as they heard each other.

The awkwardness thickened, made heavier by this accidental synchronicity.

Gu Yining seemed to realize the stalemate couldn’t continue. She stepped around to the front, then surprised Bai Qingqiu by crouching down so they were eye to eye.

“Then, want to watch some TV in the living room?” she asked. It was an ordinary suggestion, yet delivered with careful restraint, like a tentative invitation.

Bai Qingqiu nodded.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Gu Yining’s shoulders relaxing, a long breath slipping free.

The small detail softened something inside her.

Gu Yining returned to the wheelchair and pushed her into the living room, positioning her by the sofa. She then sat on a single chair nearby and turned on the TV.

A late-night financial talk show was playing. Under normal circumstances, Bai Qingqiu would have listened attentively—but now, not a word registered.