The Fallen Film Queen’s Possessive Alpha - Chapter 39

Love sees through rose-colored glasses, and for Song Haoyin, this meant being “kidnapped” by the exuberant Zhou Qiwei into joining the Mile High Club.

The flight attendants would surely be embarrassed if they found out tomorrow. Struggling to prop herself up on the bed, Song Haoyin mustered the energy to protest. But the mischievous woman behind her only covered her eyes with a blindfold, heightening her senses, and pulled her back into the depths of desire.

Bright light streamed through the cabin window onto the bed as Song Haoyin slowly opened her eyes. The window was half-covered, so the light wasn’t too harsh. The bedroom was quiet, with a neatly folded robe placed beside the bed. There were faint noises outside before the door creaked open, revealing Zhou Qiwei’s grinning face. “Good morning!”

Song Haoyin firmly barred Zhou Qiwei from entering the bathroom no amount of whining or mischief would change her mind. She hardened her heart and shut the door on that pitiful expression, though she knew it was just an act. Still, she couldn’t help but soften. Gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she touched her scent gland and suddenly remembered their “holiday” at the Caesar Hotel last week.

That morning, they had watched the sunrise together, lingered in the shower, then dozed off until noon. Zhou Qiwei had stayed by her side the entire time, never leaving after the temporary mark. Though unspoken, Song Haoyin understood Zhou Qiwei was making up for their first encounter at the Caesar.

She always had this need to compensate, overthinking things. But Song Haoyin didn’t dislike that about her.

“The plane will arrive at York International Airport in just over two hours. The crew has already contacted the airport it’s currently raining in York, but visibility remains unaffected.”

The flight attendant briefed Zhou Qiwei on the conditions at York Airport. Though the rain wasn’t expected to disrupt landing, the crew had prepared a backup plan: if necessary, they would divert to Neuist Airport north of York.

“Understood. I trust the crew’s expertise if any issues arise, follow their professional judgment.”

Zhou Qiwei was relaxed and playful when discussing matters with Song Haoyin, even serious ones once awkward, now open. But with others, she transformed into an untouchable ice queen. Dressed in a black turtleneck and brown wool coat, her expression was stern and formal, every inch the imposing CEO.

This was the true face of Rubik’s Cube’s president. The clingy, sulky version that only Song Haoyin saw was Zhou Qiwei’s private side. Both were endearing. If not for the third person present, Song Haoyin would have kissed her just to tease her, to see that stern mask melt into exasperation.

Alone in the cabin now, Zhou Qiwei sipped orange juice while reviewing documents. She was busy even before the research conference began, she needed to familiarize herself with key topics and the latest findings from attending experts. Then there were the mandatory corporate restructuring documents requiring her review and signature. Thankfully, Rubik’s Cube wasn’t publicly traded; they only answered to the board.

A soft sensation brushed against Zhou Qiwei’s calf, the tingling sensation creeping upward as she held her orange juice, glancing at Song Haoyin. Freed from her anxieties, this elder sister revealed her playful, mischievous nature one that could even get jealous and actively tease her.

Zhou Qiwei averted her gaze, feigning seriousness as she returned to her laptop, but her left hand slipped beneath the table. Song Haoyin, catching her smirk, sensed trouble and tried to pull her foot back only to feel a sudden chill as Zhou Qiwei swiftly peeled off her stocking!

Song nearly yelped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she glared at Zhou Qiwei: Give it back! Ignoring her, Zhou Qiwei deliberately, slowly slid the stocking onto her own foot right in front of her.

The flight attendant reappeared to announce their descent in thirty minutes. But Miss Zhou wore a smug, knowing grin, while Miss Song across from her flushed crimson.

Song Haoyin, who had meant to tease, found herself thoroughly outplayed. That stocking on Zhou Qiwei’s foot was like…

She covered her face, refusing to look at Zhou Qiwei this infuriating woman was basking in triumph. And worse, it was so embarrassing.

York, situated at 40°N latitude, was a coastal city, but this time of year, with rain lashing down, temperatures had dropped to around 10°C. Song Haoyin bundled tighter into her coat as Zhou Qiwei walked beside her, an arm around her waist shielding her from the biting wind.

Following the CEO’s instructions, Rubik’s York office had prepared a Volvo SUV. Zhou Qiwei drove personally, taking Song Haoyin to The Park Hotel she wanted to give her Song the perfect getaway. The suite’s aesthetic, she figured, would suit Song’s tastes.

The villa-style suite opened to a symmetrical rose garden centered around an ornate Baroque-style angel fountain from the 18th century. The sculpture’s dynamic pose, water playfully spouting from its palms, lent the fountain a whimsical charm a true spectacle.

Inside, the foyer boasted gilded and bronze statuettes alongside exquisite wall murals. The dining room dazzled with gilded chandeliers and tableware. Song didn’t need to explore further to recognize the lavish Gilded Age opulence saturating every detail.

“This was a Gilded Age villa,” Zhou Qiwei explained, pausing at the staircase. “The Park Hotel preserved it during development, keeping most of the original decor and layout.” She grinned. “Want to see upstairs?”

In that era’s style, bedrooms were separate modeled after European aristocracy, with only a shared sitting room connecting them. This woman Song shook her head, tossing back two crisp syllables: “No!”

Foiled in her scheme, Zhou Qiwei bounded to her side. “Then do you like it here?”

Her expression was casual, but her ears pinked, hands hidden behind her back.

Song hugged her. “Of course I do.” Zhou Qiwei relaxed, returning the embrace. Yet Song’s mind drifted back to that night at her place, when Zhou Qiwei admitted having no one to confide in about important matters. The memory left an indescribable ache in Song’s chest.

Although Zhou Qiwei had chosen the hotel and volunteered to be Song Haoyin’s personal chauffeur, how they would spend their autumn holiday was entirely up to Song. Because Zhou Qiwei knew next to nothing about York despite having visited several times before, it was always for meetings, never for leisure.

“Let’s go try York’s best bread!”

Starting with afternoon tea choices, Song Haoyin led Zhou Qiwei on a leisurely exploration of York. Shedding their identities as a corporate CEO and an award-winning actress, they wandered like two college students, relying on their own feet and bicycles to traverse the city’s streets and alleys.

They passed by bakeries, browsed flea markets, strolled through art districts, took photos in front of graffiti walls, and listened to Song Haoyin mercilessly critique postmodern abstract art. Zhou Qiwei even pedaled her bicycle with Song on the back, cutting through a basketball court to take a shortcut, drawing shouts from the young players preparing for a game “Hey, this is a court!”

“Sorry, our bad!”

They rode through the court, laughing mischievously as the autumn wind scattered yellow leaves and carried their laughter far into the distance.

Zhou Qiwei accompanied Song Haoyin to the cemetery, where they laid white tulips at the graves of great artists while Song recounted their lives and works. She also took Zhou to the York Grand Art Gallery to see the masterpieces left behind by these artists. “You don’t have to force yourself to appreciate every piece. Look for what resonates with you, what moves you that’s the best art for you.”

“All art, all works, ultimately seek an emotional connection between the artist and the audience. Art is about expression, about forging that link. Sculpture, painting, music, film it’s all the same.”

Standing before a Renaissance painting, Song Haoyin shared her dream with Zhou Qiwei: “I hope to create works that move the majority of people.”

“If it’s you, I believe you can do it.” Zhou intertwined their fingers, speaking from the heart. “I’ve never seriously appreciated art before, but I’ve attended plenty of auctions where the elite treat masterpieces as trophies. Even some from the art and entertainment worlds they don’t care about creation, just quick profits.”

Song Haoyin didn’t say thank you. Instead, she unconsciously leaned into Zhou, nearly resting against her.

Hand in hand, they wandered through galleries and museums, and for Zhou Qiwei, it was like discovering a new world. As a research-oriented homebody, aside from work-related trips, she only traveled when dragged along by friends. And even then, she mostly just followed their lead, preferring seaside stays where she could hide in her room and watch the ocean.

This was the first time in her life she had truly enjoyed traveling. Come to think of it, many of her first experiences had been with Miss Song. Holding a bag of fries, Zhou Qiwei wore a strange smile one that made Song quickly step back, sensing mischief brewing.

“Wow, you’re eating fries too!”

Song Haoyin shamelessly helped herself to the fries and even took a bite of Zhou’s hot dog. Zhou watched her eat, mouth slightly agape, looking utterly foolish.

She only dared to treat Miss Song to fish, worried she might be concerned about her weight: “I thought you had to be extra careful with food. Yuanbao mentioned many female celebrities avoid eating out, afraid of unflattering photos.”

“No one would take pictures of me. There were very few before, and now even less.” Song Haoyin wiped her hands, speaking with ease: “After all, I’m past my prime now.”

Was this a joke? Surely it must be a joke? Zhou Qiwei couldn’t comprehend at all how Song Haoyin could possibly be past her prime.

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