Chapter 50: I don’t Agree
In the quiet hallway, Lin Xiaoxiao stared at the ruined cake on the floor, dazed. It took her a while to snap out of it and pick it up.
Looking at the ajar door, she couldn’t bring herself to enter, her heart torn with guilt.
Maybe Xin Wan was right—she didn’t belong here…
Zhou Ting appeared at the door, seeing her standing there with the wrecked cake. Understanding, he said, “Come in.”
She didn’t move, unable to meet his eyes.
As she hesitated, he grabbed her hand, pulling her inside and pinning her against the wall. “Not coming in? Playing door guardian?”
His low voice carried irritation, his demeanor sharp.
She shrank back. “I’m sorry…”
He frowned. “For what?”
Glancing at him, she hesitated. “Zhou Yang… it’s my fault for hiding it…”
His tense expression softened slightly as he sat on the sofa. “It’s not your fault. That kid’s just pissed at me.”
She blinked, warmed by his attempt to comfort her, though she doubted it.
After a pause, she stepped closer, softly suggesting, “Should we find Zhou Yang? I could explain…”
He cut her off. “No need. If he thinks he’s grown, let him wander. Oh, I should cut off his card—let him sleep under a bridge!”
She laughed despite herself. “Don’t say that. You both need to cool off. This started because of me. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
She poured him water and began cleaning the broken glass.
Watching her, Zhou Ting’s heart stirred—she looked more and more pleasing…
Her mind was a mess, far from the calm she projected.
Distracted while picking up shards, a sharp pain hit her fingertip. She gasped, seeing blood bead up, momentarily stunned.
“So careless?” Zhou Ting noticed the dripping blood, his tone a mix of worry and reproach.
She lowered her head, sticking out her tongue. “It’s just a small cut. I’m fine.”
He frowned, grabbing the first aid kit from under the TV cabinet, pulling out supplies to treat her wound.
Seeing his fuss, she was touched but protested, “It’s not a big deal. Just wrap it up.”
Small cuts like this? She’d just use a tissue until it stopped bleeding.
His firm, displeased voice cut through. “Don’t move.”
Helpless, she let him overreact.
Watching him carefully clean her wound with a cotton swab, she was momentarily entranced, as if he possessed some mysterious allure…
When he applied the bandage and looked up, he caught her dazed stare and tapped her head. “Spacing out? It’s done. I’ll clean up here.”
Snapping back, her cheeks flushed unnaturally, and she nodded obediently. “Oh, I’ll serve the soup.”
As she set the dishes on the table, she glanced at Zhou Ting, guiltily saying, “This was supposed to be Zhou Yang’s birthday dinner. Now it’s just us.”
He nodded. “It is what it is. Let’s eat.”
She agreed, reaching for chopsticks but hesitating. “Zhou Ting, maybe I should leave?”
His face darkened, eyes narrowing. “Bringing this up again? Am I too soft on you, Lin Xiaoxiao?”
She flinched, realizing his misunderstanding, and quickly clarified, “Not ending our relationship! I mean moving out. Zhou Yang doesn’t want me here, and I feel… out of place.”
He squinted, voice low. “Really not trying to escape?”
She paused, then nodded firmly, a bit shy. “I’m not ungrateful. If I move out, you can… find me when you want…”
Her voice trailed off, face burning, barely audible.
He chuckled, dragging out, “Is that so…”
But his tone shifted. “I don’t agree.”
“Huh?” She blinked, confused. “Why not?”
He ate calmly, saying, “I just don’t. No reasons needed. Stop overthinking and stay in this house.”
Her heart trembled, but she only pouted, saying nothing, and ate quietly.
That night, with everything that happened, Zhou Ting didn’t tease her, just held her soft body. “Sleep. You’ve got class tomorrow.”
She nodded, closing her eyes but unable to sleep.
Her mind replayed the evening—Zhou Yang’s cold, hateful glare.
Maybe she was shameless.
Even if being Zhou Ting’s mistress was out of necessity, staying in this unwelcoming home so boldly…
The next day, Zhou Ting woke leisurely, checking his phone—past ten.
Surprised, as his internal clock was usually precise, he wondered if holding her caused it. Smirking, he thought, Holding a little vixen feels nice—soft, fragrant, and feisty when pinched…*
After washing up, he expected breakfast ready, but in the living room, things were different.