Wen Ji (GL) · Chat

The neon lights of the summer night city filtered through the privacy glass, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow across the spacious back seat of the Maybach. A faint fragrance lingered in the cabin, mingled with the subtle headiness of red wine. You leaned back against the soft leather seat, your heartbeat so fast it felt like it might leap from your chest. Beside you, Wen Ji had her eyes gently closed. She had just finished a drawn-out M&A meeting, a trace of fatigue between her brows, yet still breathtakingly beautiful—her dark, slightly curled long hair cascaded over a violet semi-sheer deep V-neck blouse, the collar slightly open, her stunning curves flickering in and out of sight in the dim light. Beneath the hem of her skirt, her crossed legs were wrapped in black lace-trimmed stockings, and with the car's subtle jostling, the pointed tips of her high heels occasionally tapped lightly against the floor. "Had enough of staring?" Wen Ji didn't open her eyes. Her languid, husky voice suddenly broke the silence of the cabin. Your whole body went rigid, but you didn't want to retreat anymore. Emboldened by the bit of wine you'd had at dinner, you tore open the feelings you'd buried deep in your heart: "Auntie… I don't want to just be a child in your eyes anymore. I like you. The kind of like where… I want to be with you for the rest of my life." The air froze. Wen Ji slowly opened her eyes, and those normally gentle eyes became fathomlessly deep. She raised her hand, her cool fingertips pinching your chin, her voice so soft it was like coaxing a child: "Sweetheart, you're just mistaking dependence for love. I'm your elder, your legal guardian on your household register. Stop this nonsense, okay?" Your pride was ground to dust by those words. She released your chin and leaned back against the seat again: "What was said tonight—your auntie will pretend she never heard it." You sat in the corner, watching that lofty, in-control demeanor of hers, and the defiance in your heart spread like wildfire. Why should you always be the caged canary playing by her rules? If she thought you were too young, then you'd find a more mature woman—someone who understood adult affairs better than her—and prove it to her face. Over the next few days, you put your plan into action. You deliberately got to know a woman named Lin Man, older even than Wen Ji, the owner of a private club, always carrying the faint scent of tobacco—the very smell Wen Ji despised most. You spent every day with Lin Man and even posted on your social media feed set to be visible only to Wen Ji. On the fifth evening, at a top-tier French restaurant in the city center. You and Lin Man sat at a window table in the main hall. The meal was tasteless to you, though Lin Man was quite enthusiastic. After dinner, you walked side by side to the reception area at the restaurant entrance. Lin Man casually fished a slim ladies' cigarette from her bag, lit it with a sharp "click," exhaled a plume of thick smoke, and slipped her other arm around your waist: "Little darling, why don't you come hang out at my club with me after this?" You were about to speak when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a group of people emerging from the VIP private dining area deep inside the restaurant. The woman at the front was none other than Wen Ji. She was still wearing that deep violet semi-sheer blouse today, her tassel earrings swaying gently with each step. She had her head tilted slightly, saying something to the business associate beside her, wearing that flawless yet unapproachably polished smile. Then her gaze swept past the crowd and landed precisely on you—and on Lin Man, whose arm was around your waist. In that instant, the smile on Wen Ji's face didn't disappear, but her eyes turned to ice, like the surface of a lake in the dead of winter, freezing over in a heartbeat. She composed herself, shook hands with her business partners, and dismissed them with a few words. Then, she walked toward you, step by step, in her high heels. The sound of those couture leather shoes striking the marble floor was like each click landing right on the tip of your heart. Lin Man clearly recognized this illustrious CEO Wen of the business world. The hand holding her cigarette stiffened slightly, and her expression turned somewhat sheepish. Wen Ji stopped in front of you both. She completely ignored Lin Man, those fathomless eyes locked dead onto your face. "CEO Wen, what a coincidence…" Lin Man forced an awkward laugh, trying to smooth things over, the cigarette in her hand still burning. Wen Ji tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling on the cigarette between Lin Man's fingers. Her smile was razor-thin, yet bone-chilling: "Ms. Lin, I don't care for the smell of smoke, and I care even less for… other people touching what's mine." Lin Man's face went white. She glanced at you, then at Wen Ji, and immediately let go of your waist, stammering out a stiff "Misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding." She didn't even bother to put out her cigarette before turning and walking briskly away. Only the two of you remained at the restaurant entrance. Wen Ji didn't make a scene in public. She merely gave you a single, measured look, her tone terrifyingly calm: "Get in the car." --- Back in the penthouse apartment, the moment the door shut behind you, Wen Ji tossed the car keys onto the entryway console with a cold clatter. You instinctively tried to flee, but she seized your wrist and yanked you back hard. Wen Ji pinned you firmly against the entryway wall, her silhouette backlit, engulfing you entirely. That normally cool, refined fragrance of hers now carried a fierce, aggressive edge. "What's the matter? Think your auntie is too dirty, or too old for you?" Her voice was no longer gentle, trembling with restraint pushed to its absolute limit. She suddenly reached out and gripped your chin, forcing you to look straight at her. You saw the rims of her eyes redder than usual, and in those eyes there was no longer lofty composure—only the madness and jealousy of someone you had pushed past the breaking point. The next second, she crushed you into her arms, with a force so fierce it was as if she wanted to press you into her very bones and blood. Her face pressed against the side of your neck, her scalding breath spilling across your skin, and in that voice—that unhinged, bewitching voice that made your scalp tingle—she interrogated you, word by deliberate word, right against your ear: "Is there anything she can give you that your auntie can't?" She was holding you so tight it hurt. Tears fell from your eyes despite yourself, and you bit your lip without answering. Seeing your silence, the darkness in her eyes deepened until it was impenetrable. She bit down hard on your earlobe, her tone dangerous beyond measure: "Sweetheart? Speak."