Sealed with a Kiss - Chapter 4

Song Wanjuan’s words fell, ruthlessly tearing through the polite facade Nan Ning had tried to maintain.

“Of course, you have a third option. You can walk out right now and let your so-called assistant take you to the hospital, if you don’t mind seeing yourself on the trending topics tomorrow.”

Song Wanjuan’s voice was soft and husky, like a line of poetry flowing across an old musical score.

Nan Ning’s dilated pupils widened, and she looked at Song Wanjuan in disbelief, her eyes filled with panic.

Seeing this, Song Wanjuan sneered, stood up to hang the showerhead over Nan Ning, and then turned to leave.

Just as she took a step, she heard the sound of splashing water behind her, and then a hot, wet hand hooked around her fingers.

Song Wanjuan paused, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at Nan Ning.

Nan Ning looked up imploringly, the long line of her neck tensing. Her consciousness had long since blurred, her eyes hazy and unfocused. Her light eyelashes were clumped together by the water, and a droplet trickled down her lip.

The hand she extended trembled slightly with fear, yet it still held Song Wanjuan’s hand firmly.

Nan Ning propped herself up on the edge of the bathtub, her white shirt soaked and clinging to her skin, revealing the slender line of her waist beneath the water. Her trousers, plastered to her legs, were crossed in the tub.

Her hair, long since undone, fell in wet strands across her skin, shimmering under the bathroom light.

She looked like a stranded mermaid.

“Please,” Nan Ning’s voice trembled, barely audible over the spray of the shower.

Song Wanjuan looked down at her, her gaze cool and detached. She slowly raised her hand, waiting until Nan Ning’s fingers slipped from her grip, exhausted. Then, with deliberate slowness, she stepped into the bathtub, her feet splashing through the shallow water.

Nan Ning rested her head against the tub’s rim, exposing the fragile curve of her neck.

Song Wanjuan’s curled hair brushed against Nan Ning’s face, obscuring her vision. One of her hands slid beneath Nan Ning’s head, while the other traced the line of her shirt upward, settling on her waist.

Nan Ning’s breath hitched, her body tensing as she wrapped her arms around Song Wanjuan’s shoulders.

She felt like she was losing her mind, driven to the brink by Song Wanjuan’s torment.

The sweet, spicy scent of clary sage and lavender unique to Song Wanjuan evaporated with her body heat, filling the bathroom and irresistibly claiming every corner.

Nan Ning trembled as she spoke, “Stop tormenting me.”

Just as the words left her lips, a phone suddenly rang in the bathroom. The processed music from the ringtone overlapped with Song Wanjuan’s own voice.

Nan Ning pushed Song Wanjuan away in a panic, her eyes darting around.

Song Wanjuan knew it wasn’t her own phone, but the familiar melody still made her eyes narrow with pleasure. A fierce surge of possessiveness rose within her. “Your phone is ringing.”

It was Liu Liu. Nan Ning struggled to get up and grab the phone, but Song Wanjuan’s hand pinned her to the edge of the bathtub.

Song Wanjuan reached out, picked up the phone, and answered the call.

Liu Liu’s anxious voice came through, “Nan Ning, why aren’t you out yet? Did something happen?”

Nan Ning tried to comfort Liu Liu, but Song Wanjuan suddenly bit down on her collarbone, her canines grinding lightly against the bone.

It didn’t hurt, but it sent the emotions Nan Ning had just managed to suppress flooding back over her.

“Ngh…” Nan Ning couldn’t help but let out a trembling moan.

Liu Liu heard no response, only the steady patter of water. Her anxiety grew. “Nan Ning, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

Nan Ning forced the word out, her voice strained.

Song Wanjuan’s lips trailed up from Nan Ning’s collarbone, tracing the line of her neck before settling against her ear.

“Tell her you’re not coming back tonight.”

Song Wanjuan’s voice, deliberately lowered, was like a siren’s song, coaxing Nan Ning to speak.

“I… I ran into an old friend. We’re catching up, and I lost track of time.”

Nan Ning instinctively lied, following Song Wanjuan’s lead.

“You should go ahead. I… I won’t be back tonight.”

“Nan Ning, are you sure you’re okay?” Liu Liu’s voice was laced with doubt.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I have to go now.”

The moment Nan Ning finished speaking, Song Wanjuan reached out and ended the call.

“Nan Ning… That’s such an intimate way to address you,” Song Wanjuan murmured, her fingers tightening around the back of Nan Ning’s neck, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“It’s not—” The hand at the back of Nan Ning’s head pressed down firmly, and she had no choice but to close her eyes and endure the woman’s own capricious whims.

The night deepened.

Three in the morning.

Nan Ning lay curled up in a deep, quiet sleep. Her hair, dried by Song Wanjuan, rested softly against her back, rising and falling with each breath.

Song Wanjuan reached down, slipped the hair tie from Nan Ning’s wrist, and tied her hair up. After tidying the messy bathroom, she picked up her phone and dialed a number. “Room 888. I need some ice and anti-inflammatory medication. Thank you.”

After hanging up with the night staff, Song Wanjuan made another call. It rang for ten seconds before a man’s voice, thick with sleep, answered. “Sister, my dear sister, do you know what time it is? Can’t this wait until later?”

Song Wanjuan’s voice was lazy, laced with a post-coital huskiness that sounded undeniably sexy. Yet, her eyes, upturned and cold, betrayed no warmth. “Run a check on Chu Feng.”

The man choked on his words. “Seriously? You’re calling me in the middle of the night for this? What did Chu Feng even do to you?”

Song Wanjuan leaned against the doorframe, her gaze falling on Nan Ning. The other woman seemed to be sleeping uncomfortably, shifting and burrowing deeper into the covers.

“Mm.”

The young man clicked his tongue and hung up.

A knock sounded at the door. Song Wanjuan rose to open it. The server, eyes fixed straight ahead, handed over the items, bowed politely, and then thoughtfully closed the door.

She was new, and had only heard about the guest in Room 888 from her senior.

Her senior had said that Room 888 was designed specifically to serve one person. Seeing the guest in person today, the server was struck by the room’s stunning decor, but not so much that she missed the obvious scratch marks on the woman’s neck.

But that was none of her business as a mere room service attendant.

Song Wanjuan took the ice to the bathroom, found a fresh towel, and wrapped the ice in it. She then sat by Nan Ning’s bed, steadying Nan Ning’s face with her fingers and slowly applying the cold compress to her eyes and lips, her movements gentle and focused.

Outside the window, the city’s eternal lights shimmered, while inside the room, only Nan Ning’s light and slow breathing could be heard.

When Nan Ning woke up the next day, it was already past six in the evening. Song Wanjuan wasn’t in the room.

Her clothes from the night before had been changed. She was now wearing an oversized cotton short-sleeved shirt that smelled faintly of fabric softener. On the side table sat a small plate of light side dishes and a sticky note. Nan Ning reached out to grab it, but her body felt as if it had been crushed and reshaped.

She managed to tear the note away. On it was Song Wanjuan’s bold handwriting: “Eat when you wake up. I’ve already contacted your assistant. You’re in no condition to go out right now.”

Nan Ning picked up the chopsticks and ate quietly.

Just as she set them down to clear the dishes, she heard the door lock turn.

Nan Ning froze. She silently withdrew her hand and sat on the bed, head bowed, remaining perfectly still.

When Song Wanjuan walked in, she was met with Nan Ning’s placid expression. She set the large bag she was carrying on a side table, then, without waiting for Nan Ning’s consent, sat down right beside her.

She reached out and tilted Nan Ning’s face up to examine her. Nan Ning’s eyelids were half-closed, her long lashes casting shadows on her lower lids, revealing only a dull, lifeless glimmer in her eyes.

It looked like she was recovering well. The bloodshot veins in her eyes had faded, and only the corner of her lower lip, where Song Wanjuan had bitten it, was still scabbed over.

Everything else seemed to be fine.

Song Wanjuan withdrew her fingers and stood up to clear the tableware. She called housekeeping to come collect it, then settled into the rattan chair by the window alone. Throughout the entire process, she hadn’t spoken a single word to Nan Ning.

The afternoon sunlight was soft and bright. A bird occasionally fluttered past the window. The only sound in the room was the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

Finally, Nan Ning was the one to break the silence. Her voice was thick with a heavy rasp. “Thank you for last night.”

Song Wanjuan sat in the rattan chair, idly poking at the spider plant on the windowsill. She held her phone in one hand, scrolling through it with a casual flick of her thumb. Her long, seaweed-like hair cascaded down the side of her face, creating a barrier between their meeting gazes.

Song Wanjuan irritably tucked her hair behind her ear. Nan Ning wisely refrained from asking why her own hair tie was now on Song Wanjuan’s wrist.

“No need for thanks,” Song Wanjuan said, her tone light and mocking. She crossed her arms and looked Nan Ning straight in the eye. “But you owe me an explanation.”

Nan Ning paused, then began to recount the events from the beginning. “Last night, I accidentally drank the spiked wine…”

To be honest, she couldn’t even blame Chu Feng. He had already been called away by then. She had picked up the glass and drunk it herself, without being forced. She had no right to blame anyone else.

Song Wanjuan let out an impatient “Tsk,” her brow furrowing. She cut in bluntly, “I’m talking about three years ago.”

“Three years ago, why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

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