My Wealthy Ex-Girlfriend Knelt and Begged Me to Come Back [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 50

Song Tingyu’s brows furrowed tightly. She lowered her head slightly, her fringe falling with her movement, casting a shadow over her eyes. Her brow bone was high, her eye sockets deep, and with the earth-tone eye shadow, her expression seemed even gloomier.

“Why should it be you sending her home?”

Lin Qiaoxuan’s dark eyes darted left and right, the corners of her lips curling into a faint arc. Beneath her pink lips showed a sharp little tiger tooth. “Miss Song, did you forget? I’m the one who drove here…”

“If Jiayu sits on the back of your motorcycle, she’s this drunk—what if she falls off?”

“Fine, then you send her back.”

—Indeed, letting Jiayu go home alone in a taxi wasn’t very safe. But Lin Qiaoxuan taking her home didn’t seem that safe either…

Song Tingyu hesitated for a moment, then stretched out a hand, waving it in front of Jiayu’s face.

“Jiayu, wake up a bit. Where do you live now? Let Miss Lin take you back.”

Jiayu stirred at the sound, slowly opening her lashes. Her light brown eyes were hazy with mist. Half-murmuring, she gave the name of a residential complex.

The bill was settled, and they left.

Jiayu was placed in the passenger seat.

Lin Qiaoxuan rolled down the window and waved to the person outside. Her head tilted slightly, lips arcing upward, tiger tooth showing, with two small dimples at the corners. The smile made her look smug.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Jiayu and bring her home safely.”

Song Tingyu: “…” Somehow she felt even less reassured.

Jiayu leaned her head against the seat back, sleeping drowsily the entire way.

Forty minutes later, in the western district, near a high-end residential area, a white Cayenne slowly pulled to a stop.

At the brake, Jiayu stirred groggily. Her body tilted back, the back of her head hitting the seat, chest heaving unevenly, breath unsteady.

She suddenly woke up, long curled lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes.

“Are we here?”

“Yes.” Lin Qiaoxuan replied, her dark eyes turning bright as she glanced sideways at Jiayu, unable to hide her excitement.

“Jiejie, which building exactly? I’ll take you upstairs.”

“No need, I’ll go myself.” Jiayu gently refused.

Aside from her manager, no one knew her exact address. An actress’s apartment number could not be casually revealed…

Lin Qiaoxuan pursed her lips, testing again: “But you’re drunk… what if something happens? I should take you.”

“No, our security is very strict.” Jiayu shook her head, turning her clear eyes on the person beside her as if truly sober. Her gaze was crystal clear.

“And I’m not drunk. I’m perfectly clear-headed.”

Her tone was firm.

Lin Qiaoxuan’s lips curved in a helpless smile. “Alright, then. Goodbye.”

From the driver’s seat, she rolled the window down, watching as Jiayu entered the gated community alone, safe and sound.

Following the white Cayenne all the way was a black heavy motorcycle. It too pulled up at the gate.

Song Tingyu lifted her gaze, seeing Jiayu walk inside on her own. Safe.

And Lin Qiaoxuan hadn’t followed.

She exhaled a long breath of relief, turned her bike around in the opposite direction of the Cayenne, and with a roar of the engine, sped away.

Song Tingyu knew in her heart—even if she no longer had the right to stand at Jiayu’s side—she still wished, always, for her Little Fish to be safe and happy. She was willing to guard her forever, silently, in the shadows.

…

Outside, Jiayu could still manage a straight line.

The sake hadn’t been that strong—barely above ten percent—but it matched her taste perfectly. Without realizing it, she had drunk too much.

That pot of sake wasn’t a small amount for her.

Like eating sweet fermented rice: sweet and mellow, but you don’t realize how much alcohol is inside until it’s too late.

Jiayu staggered to her building.

The elevator dinged open.

She stepped in, still able to recall her floor, trembling fingers pressing the button.

Moments later, the door opened again—she had arrived.

She stumbled out, the dull pain at the back of her head worsening, her gait unsteady. She had to use one hand against the wall for support, inching toward her door.

Standing before it, she fumbled for her key, squinting at the blurred keyhole.

She tried several times but couldn’t get it in. She pressed her finger against the lock, but couldn’t recall which finger she had registered for the fingerprint.

The lock kept rejecting her, beeping sharply with each error. Ten failed attempts would trigger the alarm system.

She persisted, the shrill “beep-beep” echoing through the hall—more than noisy, it was downright disturbing.

Just as she was about to continue, someone came up from behind, snatched the key from her hand, and slid it easily into the lock. With a twist—click—the door opened.

The key was handed back to her.

It must be her neighbor…

She had lived here almost half a year, though rarely home, and had never once met this mysterious neighbor.

“Thank you.” Jiayu’s fingers closed around the key. She tilted her face upward, unable to see clearly. “Thank you…”

They weren’t standing too close, but in that short breath’s distance, the faint scent of alcohol on Jiayu’s lips was unmistakable.

The neighbor realized she was drunk.

“How much did you drink?” A woman’s voice, low and husky.

“Not much…” Jiayu shook her head.

Suddenly the person grabbed her wrist. “Not much—and yet you’re drunk like this?”

Jiayu frowned, dizzy. “What does it matter to you?”

The grip was strong, almost painful.

She struggled, trembling fingers losing their grip. The key slipped between them, clattering to the floor with a crisp metallic sound.

That struggle seemed to drain her last strength and shred the last threads of reason.

Her legs buckled, and she slid weakly against the shoe cabinet, sitting on the floor.

“You… who are you? This is my home… get out…”

Her last words faded as her head drooped, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. It seemed she might just fall asleep right there, against the cabinet.

From above, one could see her shirt-dress slipping, neckline askew, exposing one rounded shoulder, the curve of her collarbone. Her skirt hem rumpled, riding up, showing both knees, long pale calves, delicate ankles.

She sat curled like a small creature lacking all sense of safety—fragile and stubborn all at once.

The neighbor did not leave. Instead, she closed the door behind them.

It was Qiu Miaoran.

Months ago, when Jiayu first moved here, Qiu had used her connections to find Jiayu’s address—and bought the unit right next door.

But she hadn’t dared live here often. She was afraid.

Afraid of seeing Jiayu’s disappointed eyes again. Afraid Jiayu would once more see her as nothing but a perverse stalker who studied her from the shadows.

But today, by chance, she returned—and happened to see Jiayu drunk, helpless before her own door.

Watching her curled there on the floor, Qiu’s thoughts tumbled.

She didn’t know Jiayu’s birthday.

She had never cared about Jiayu’s feelings.

She had never treated her as an equal.

She never thought Jiayu would actually leave her.

Now, regret gnawed at her. She wanted to change. To start over—from friends, from zero.

She wanted to apologize. But Jiayu had shut her out completely.

Qiu thought again of that scene—Jiayu, like a bird flying home, rushing into Ji Chen’s arms.

On the balcony, Ji Chen and Jiayu embracing, facing the wind and the sunlight.

The memory stabbed at her heart.

She couldn’t bear it. The pain was too sharp.

Saving Jiayu’s pictures from variety shows and dramas was no longer enough.

She had even kept an old selfie Jiayu once posted during their relationship two years ago—eyes red, pale eyes brimming, nose tinged pink as if she had just cried.

Qiu kept that “little crybaby” photo as her phone wallpaper, waking and sleeping to Jiayu’s face.

It was an addiction. She longed for Jiayu’s presence at every moment.

Screens and fan reposts weren’t enough.

She wanted the real Jiayu—not a cold photo.

So she secretly bought the neighboring unit. Just to be close.

Even hearing the click of Jiayu’s door, morning and night, was enough. Knowing she was near, living well—was enough.

Qiu bent down, slipping an arm under Jiayu’s knees and back, lifting her easily.

The girl was light, barely ninety pounds despite her height. Qiu carried her effortlessly into the bedroom.

After so long, she was once again in Jiayu’s room.

It still smelled faintly sweet, girlish, with a trace of sandalwood by the bedside.

The perfume she’d given Jiayu—used.

She laid Jiayu on the bed. Her shoes still dangled weakly off her feet.

Qiu knelt, unbuckling them, slipping off her socks to reveal delicate pink-tinged toes.

Her fingers trembled as she resisted the urge to touch, to play.

She looked down at Jiayu, lips pressed, eyes dark with turmoil.

The girl stirred, curling tighter into the blankets.

Her dark hair fanned across the white pillow, strands sticking to her pale neck, a few falling over her tinted lips. She looked defenseless, unbearably tempting.

Then Qiu realized—her makeup was still on.

She fetched a pack of cleansing wipes from the dresser and returned to carefully wipe her face.

Her trembling fingers pressed the cloth gently across those lips, smudging the lipstick into a faint crimson stain. Then along her brows, her nose, her jawline—every inch of her face, caressed through the damp cloth.

The wipe turned dirty, while Jiayu’s true bare face emerged—porcelain, poreless, soft and translucent. Without makeup, her round eyes looked childish, her lips pale pink, innocent and fragile.

The cool dampness made her stir, lashes quivering as her eyes opened.

Through blurred vision, she saw a face she’d dreamed of endlessly.

Was this a dream?

How else could this person be here, leaning so close?

Qiu saw her awake, cleared her throat in embarrassment, and was about to rise—when a pair of smooth arms suddenly wrapped around her neck.

Jiayu tugged her down, pressing her head lower.

With that force, Jiayu leaned up, closing the distance—

Breaths mingled. Lips met lips. Soft, wet, colliding teeth, a tingling numbness at the gums. Jiayu’s tongue slid gently against her teeth, seeking entrance, tasting.

Qiu’s gums tingled, her chest fluttered. She leaned down, returning the kiss, deeper, hungrier. Fingers traced from Jiayu’s shoulder down her arm, mapping veins and sinews beneath delicate skin.

She knew Jiayu’s body by heart—where she shivered, where she curled like a frightened sparrow.

She could make her melt into a pool of spring water, if only she wished—if only Jiayu wished.

Right now, she wanted Jiayu desperately. Was this not consent?

But as Jiayu leaned closer, she caught the faint smoke beneath Qiu’s sandalwood scent. It stung.

She coughed—“Cough, cough.”

The kiss broke.

Qiu released her, clarity returning, desire fading.

They had broken up. Jiayu was drunk.

No matter how much she wanted her, she could not take advantage.

Before leaving, she tucked the blanket snugly around Jiayu. “Sleep. I’ll go now.”

She had just turned when her wrist was seized.

She looked back. “What is it?”

Jiayu’s hand clung to her wrist. Her light brown eyes swam with moisture, lips parting softly.

“Jiejie… don’t go.”

Her voice was tender, pleading, like a spoiled child.

Jiejie…

The word pierced Qiu’s heart.

She remembered Jiayu at the airport, running into Ji Chen’s arms, clinging, saying:

“Jiejie, I missed you so much…”

She remembered Jiayu’s harsh words—

“Qiu Miaoran, I never loved you. From beginning to end, I never did. I only liked your face.”

Only her face…

Had Jiayu mistaken her again?

From the moment she pulled her close and kissed her—had Jiayu thought she was someone else?

Qiu dared not think further.

It wasn’t about being a “stand-in.”

It was that they were already broken up.

Which meant others could be with Jiayu now.

She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t bear the thought.

The image of Jiayu lying in someone else’s bed—

Qiu squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

When she opened them again, they were bloodshot.

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