My Wealthy Ex-Girlfriend Knelt and Begged Me to Come Back [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 8

There was a sound at the door, followed by light footsteps.

Ji Jiayu had just taken a bottle of water from the fridge and turned to glance back. It wasn’t Aunt Chen.
“You’re back so early today?”

Qiu Miaoran slipped off her thin coat. The silk shirt she wore was tucked neatly into tailored dark gray trousers, making her tall, lean figure stand out even more. She folded the coat carefully and placed it on the sofa, waiting for Aunt Chen to collect it for washing.

“Mm, things ended earlier than expected.”

She walked directly toward Ji Jiayu. The cuffs of her shirt were neatly rolled up, exposing a length of forearm—clearly well-trained, slender yet defined, with veins and sharp bone contours faintly visible.

Ji Jiayu stood by the fridge, twisting at the bottle cap with her small hands. Her fingers were too thin and delicate; her knuckles strained white with effort, the soft pink of her fingertips pressing so hard they nearly lost color.

Her eyelashes trembled lightly. She pressed her rosy lips together, her pale face puffing slightly with exertion. That pure little face carried an unexpectedly adorable expression.

She had tried, but couldn’t muster enough strength.

Finally, she slowly lifted her gaze. Those pretty, light hazel eyes met Qiu Miaoran’s figure reflected in them.

“What’s wrong?” Qiu Miaoran asked. She was being stared at so intently that the fingers of her hand by her side rubbed together unconsciously, the tips tingling slightly.

Clearly, she hadn’t understood Ji Jiayu’s intent.

Ji Jiayu blinked and asked softly:
“Do you want some water?”

Qiu Miaoran reflexively answered, “No need, I’ll get my own…”

But she paused halfway. She suddenly understood—the girl’s innocent eyes weren’t offering but pleading: I can’t open it.

“I’ll help you.”

Qiu Miaoran stepped closer, took the bottle from her hands, and with just a light twist, the cap came off. She handed it back.

“Thank you,” Ji Jiayu murmured as she accepted it.

They were standing very close now. Qiu Miaoran could clearly see her thin silk camisole straps, her ink-dark hair tumbling down like spilled ink.

Ji Jiayu looked freshly showered—her damp ends still held tiny droplets that clung and slid down, wetting the fabric over her shoulder.

Her red lips touched the bottle rim as she took sip after sip.

Her fair, slender throat moved with each swallow.

The living room was quiet; even the faint sound of water going down her throat was audible.

Almost without thinking, Qiu Miaoran stepped half a pace closer, drawn in.

From here, she could smell her.

Her eyes couldn’t leave her. Watching this girl drink water somehow seemed endlessly fascinating.

Ink-black hair, snowy skin, red lips—every swallow was charged with feeling.

And that faint scent—bath gel.

Though the late-summer night breeze should have been cool, the air around them grew restless, heated.

Ji Jiayu lowered the bottle after half of it. “I can’t drink too much water at night. Sharing one with you is enough.”

Qiu Miaoran hesitated, hand half-raised. “Mm… I…”

She had intended to refuse.

But the next second, the bottle was pushed into her hand.

Until now, no one had ever dared hand President Qiu a bottle of water already drunk from by another woman.

She stared at the rim. Then, as if compelled, lowered her head and drank.

It was French mineral water—ordinary in taste—yet oddly sweet, as if faintly flavored with the girl’s lip balm. Like strawberries.

Behind her came the soft slap of slippers against the floor.

“I’m heading back,” Ji Jiayu said.

As she passed, she suddenly leaned in, nimble as a little bird. Her delicate nose brushed Qiu Miaoran’s shoulder, her seaweed-like hair sweeping across her chest.

A tingling sensation bloomed near her heart, like a tiny current sparking through.

Before leaving, Ji Jiayu inhaled gently at her shoulder.

“What is it?” Qiu Miaoran asked, still gripping the bottle, the ghost of her touch lingering on her shoulder—soft, ticklish.

“I just wanted to check if you smelled of another woman.”

“And what if I did?” Qiu Miaoran turned to look at her.

“Then I’d take this shirt home and sleep with it for a night,” she lifted her chin, lips curving mischievously, showing small, perfect teeth. “That way, it would only smell like me.”

In her mind, Qiu Miaoran suddenly pictured Ji Jiayu wearing nothing but her shirt, bare-legged, curled up asleep—utterly devastating.

She shut her eyes, shook the thought away, and when she opened them again her voice was cool:
“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ji Jiayu only smiled innocently, sniffing again. The scents of alcohol, smoke, and perfume completely masked Qiu Miaoran’s own faint sandalwood. “I want to smell you… mm.”

“President Qiu has been drinking again.”

Her smile curved her eyes into crescents, her gaze shimmering like translucent amber, damp and alluring.

“Social engagement,” Qiu Miaoran replied. Her head was fuzzy from the alcohol, and staring at the girl stirred a sudden urge—to touch her.

Her hand lifted, reaching tentatively.

Ji Jiayu didn’t flinch.

She caught a strand of her hair, rubbing it gently between her fingers. Damp, soft, not yet fully dry. The texture pleased her—so much that she wanted more.

Still, Ji Jiayu didn’t resist. Encouraged, her hand traveled upward, from the ends to the crown, sweeping aside the fine strands near her ear, the motion light yet intimate.

Ji Jiayu remained obedient. Her hazel eyes were clear, shimmering with a trusting smile, as if she enjoyed this sudden closeness.

Qiu Miaoran suddenly thought—this wasn’t like keeping a mistress. More like she was raising an exquisite decorative vase, brought out rarely, barely touched.

After all, Qiu Miaoran hardly ever felt… human desire. But now—she wanted. She wanted this woman. Wanted her now.

She told herself it was just the alcohol.

She cleared her throat, gripped the bottle harder, swallowed again, then casually set it down on the counter.

Her free hand slid to the girl’s waist, the other cupping her cheek. She bent lower, lips inching nearer.

Her gold-rimmed glasses were pushed off, set down gently. The chain tapped against marble with a crisp ring.

Ji Jiayu tilted her face up obediently, small hands rising to touch her collar. Her lashes quivered, lips parting slightly in welcome. But Qiu Miaoran wasn’t gentle tonight—she claimed her lips directly, loud “slips” of water echoing through the quiet room.

Her breath was stolen, leaving Ji Jiayu dizzy.

【Life Extension Value +1】

The system’s voice chimed in her ear again.

The next moment, Ji Jiayu pushed Qiu Miaoran back slightly, brushed a quick kiss against her chin, signaling enough.

“That’s enough.” Her breathing was uneven, words catching. “President Qiu must’ve had many female companions before.”

“Mm,” Qiu Miaoran admitted, “for work.”

She had indeed brought many women to banquets—but so many that she couldn’t recall their faces.

But none had stirred this urge—to kiss, to touch.

Her hand caressed Ji Jiayu’s hair again. “Jealous?”

“Of course I’m jealous…” Ji Jiayu muttered softly, “no wonder your technique is so good.”

Qiu Miaoran’s fingers continued threading through her hair. She realized this girl trusted her completely, like a tame little goldfish that swam up willingly to nibble its owner’s fingers.

“A little inexperienced,” Qiu Miaoran murmured, dark eyes watching closely. “Never had a girlfriend before?”

Ji Jiayu’s cheeks flushed pink, making her look even more charming. She smiled slyly. “Want to know?”

“Then President Qiu can guess…”

Her eyes sparkled like a mischievous fox spirit.

Qiu Miaoran didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned an arm on the marble behind her, caging her in. “From now on, with me, you’re not allowed girlfriends. Tonight I can—”

“Not tonight.” Ji Jiayu cut in, brow twitching.

President Qiu never touched her at night—so why so direct after drinking?

Desire’s gate had been nudged open. Give too much now, and she might not cherish it later. Especially while drunk.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Ji Jiayu added. “Rong-jie booked me a meeting with a director. An audition… I need to stay in good form.”

“I keep you,” came a quiet scoff above her head, Qiu Miaoran’s voice cool and sharp, “so why bother with work? If you want to play around, fine. As long as you stay within my sight.”

Arrogant, dismissive—reducing careers and dreams to toys within her control.

Drunken honesty.

Stripped of her cultivated facade, her words were contemptuous, far from refined.

Offensive.

Ji Jiayu frowned briefly, but the displeasure vanished quickly. She smiled again, gentle.
“You wait here. Aunt Chen hasn’t slept—I’ll call her.”

“Mm.”

And so she stayed still, obedient for once.

Drunk, President Qiu was oddly compliant.

Ji Jiayu called Aunt Chen, who helped her upstairs, removed shoes and socks, and wiped her down.

From the hallway, the switch clicked off.

Ji Jiayu turned, her face half-shadowed in the dark as the cream-colored light extinguished. Her lips pressed down in silence.

“I’m going back. Rest early.”

“Big sister.”

She whispered it into the darkness.

The next day, Ji Jiayu drew number 003, third in line for auditions.

In the waiting hall, rows of seats were sparsely filled with actors.

Someone stopped at the aisle. “Is this seat taken?”

Ji Jiayu glanced up, then shook her head.

A young man in his early twenties sat beside her. His fox-like eyes slanted upward, giving him a sly, restless air.

“What number are you?” he asked.

“Three.”

“I’m thirteen. Guess I’ll finish way after you.”

“Mm.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice:
“Did you hear? This role’s already decided. The first lead’s backed by capital—Q Group’s starlet. Our auditions? Just for show. We’re basically clowns here…”

Half complaint, half bait, trying to stir discontent.

He leaned too close, making her uncomfortable.

Ji Jiayu shifted slightly away, her eyes misty, confused. “I… I don’t know about that.”

“Want to add me on WeChat?” he pressed. “We can keep track of the results together.”

Her lips curved politely as she declined. “No need.”

He chuckled awkwardly and left.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sit by another person two rows up.

Soon, voices rose—
“Where’d you hear that? If it’s all rigged, why are we even here!?”

Staff rushed to separate them as the man stammered vaguely.

Somewhere, a camera clicked, flashes going off.

Others gathered, murmuring.

Ji Jiayu sat still, eyes calm.

Clearly, something was brewing.

Some crews planted scandals during auditions. That boy might’ve been staff, stirring drama for hype. Or maybe a competitor sent him to cause trouble.

Either way, the man who shouted was finished—disqualified, made into a stepping stone.

And the boy’s first target had been her.

Bad luck today.

Before long, staff escorted both men out.

Soon, it was Ji Jiayu’s turn.

“All right, step closer. Show us your front, profile, and back.”

She nodded and slowly turned a circle.

“Contestant 003, here’s your prompt card. You’ll have five minutes to perform an improvised scene—no props, solo. One minute to read. Begin.”

【She looks like a nightingale kept by others’ hands, but in truth she’s a cruel predator. A femme fatale who delights in toying with others’ emotions.】

【Her lover’s betrayal drives her mad.】

Two seemingly unrelated lines.

“One minute is up. Contestant 003, begin your performance.”

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