Chapter 12: Jerry? Parker? Andrew?

He Jingyue’s gaze suddenly froze as he looked down at the hand gripping his arm.

“Just one more drink…” Lu Qiuyi mumbled drowsily, her half-closed, drunken eyes hazy.

She tried to focus, but her vision blurred, only able to make out a tall, imposing silhouette.

Though Lu Qiuyi couldn’t see the face clearly, the figure felt strangely familiar yet intimidating.

She closed her eyes and unconsciously squeezed the firm, powerful muscles beneath her hand, murmuring drunkenly, “Jerry? Or Parker? The feel is pretty good…”

No sooner had she spoken than a large hand clamped down fiercely on her wrist, the grip laced with offended anger.

“Ah!” The sharp pain brought a flicker of faint awareness back to Lu Qiuyi. She winced in pain, her blurred, watery eyes gradually opening.

The crystal chandelier above dazzled, its brilliant light stinging her eyes.

She sensed the space beside her suddenly grow heavy as a tall, overwhelmingly dominant figure bent over, blocking most of her view.

Her wrist was firmly restrained beside her pillow, the humiliating position prompting an instinctive struggle.

“Who am I?” The deep, cold voice sounded directly above her, a storm of accusation brewing in every word, striking her confused nerves.

That voice… so familiar… and terrifying…

Lu Qiuyi’s head swam dizzily; her wrist ached unbearably, and the position was uncomfortable.

Instinctively, she turned her face to the side, her cheek brushing against the back of the large hand supporting her head. The cool, rough texture made her nuzzle it again, like a kitten seeking comfort. “My hand… it hurts so much.”

“Andrew, don’t do this,” Lu Qiuyi’s mind was muddled. “Let me go.”

He Jingyue’s expression darkened completely. “I’m not Jerry, not Parker, and certainly not Andrew.”

The oppressive aura radiating from him was enough to silence anyone in the company.

Only this drunken fool dared to be so reckless before him.

Lu Qiuyi seemed intimidated by his tone, or perhaps the pain in her wrist made her more distressed. Her other hand, free from restraint, lifted weakly and groped around.

First, it touched He Jingyue’s sharply chiseled jawline, then slid downward, brushing over the fine fabric of his shirt to the distinctly defined contours of his abs, even unconsciously grasping them, as if trying to confirm something.

Her drunken eyes glazed over, attempting to discern, “Is that Ron? Or Kevin?”

The vein on He Jingyue’s temple twitched violently.

Without hesitation, he swiftly withdrew the hand she had ‘molested.’

If he stayed any longer, he feared he might lose control and throw this drunken cat out the window.

He turned and strode out of the guest room, his cold voice tossed to Chen, the butler, standing at the door, “Watch her closely. Don’t let her vomit on the bed.”

* * *

A lifetime filled with regret and little joy, yet willing to cherish a single smile worth a fortune.

A fortune could buy a night of pleasure; Lu Qiuyi woke from her dream with a smile.

Her hangover throbbed painfully as she struggled to open her heavy eyelids.

Above her was an unfamiliar yet luxurious ceiling; the elaborate crystal chandelier cast soft, refracted light.

Beneath her was an unbelievably soft mattress, covered with a silk velvet quilt of the finest quality.

Where was this?

Did bars even have such well-appointed private rooms?

Her muddled mind slowly began to turn.

Fragments of memories crashed like fierce waves, overwhelming her in an instant.

Lu Qiuyi suddenly sat up on the bed, the dizziness from the hangover nearly causing her to black out again.

She glanced around in panic — enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive artworks, understated yet lavish decor.

This was He Jingyue’s apartment on the Champs-Élysées! Had he brought her home last night?

A thunderclap exploded in her mind.

She trembled as she threw off the quilt. She was still wearing the same wrinkled dress from yesterday, wrapped in He Jingyue’s exquisitely textured suit jacket.

Fortunately, aside from a splitting headache and the pervasive smell of alcohol, nothing irreparable seemed to have happened.

Yet, this realization was more despairing than any worst outcome.

Frantically, Lu Qiuyi fumbled for her phone. As soon as the screen unlocked, she saw a call log:

[Call connected – The King of Hell – Duration: 02:47]

Below it was a notification confirming a successful location share.

She opened the call details, and the time was exactly when she had been most intoxicated last night.

“Ah—”

* * *

Time rewound to last night — she would never, ever set foot in that damned bar again!

Just as she desperately covered her head with the quilt, trying to bury herself like an ostrich, there was a soft knock at the bedroom door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three deliberate, measured knocks, heavy with undeniable weight.

“Assistant Lu, if you’re awake, come out for breakfast.” He Jingyue’s calm, emotionless voice came from outside the door, sounding more terrifying than any shout.

It was over, over, over.

Lu Qiuyi hastily smoothed her wrinkled dress and carefully folded He Jingyue’s expensive suit jacket. Then she quickly wiped her face in the bathroom mirror, trying to make her swollen eyes and pale complexion appear more pitiful.

Clutching the jacket, she staggered out of the guest room.

Morning light streamed through the vast windows of the dining room, casting a soft golden rim over the immaculately clean space.

He Jingyue was already seated at the head of the long dining table, wearing a simple black cashmere turtleneck that emphasized his broad shoulders and long legs, his aura cold and sharp.

A cup of black coffee sat before him, and he held a tablet, engrossed in whatever he was reading. The sunlight cast a small shadow beneath his thick eyelashes, highlighting the defined lines of his profile.

Hearing footsteps, he didn’t look up but nodded toward the seat opposite him with his chin. “Sit.”

Lu Qiuyi carefully pulled out a chair and sat down, gently placing the folded jacket on the empty chair beside her. She folded her hands neatly on her lap.

At just the right moment, Chen brought over a delicate breakfast: warm milk oatmeal, perfectly fried sunny-side-up eggs, a few slices of fragrant toasted bread, and a small plate of fresh fruit.

The aroma of the food churned her stomach.

A suffocating silence filled the dining room, broken only by the occasional faint sound of He Jingyue swiping his tablet screen.

Lu Qiuyi felt like she was sitting on pins and needles; every second stretched out like an eternity.

She secretly glanced at He Jingyue, who remained focused on his tablet, as if she didn’t exist.

No, she couldn’t just sit and wait helplessly. She had to take the initiative and seek leniency.

“Mr. He,” Lu Qiuyi finally mustered courage, her voice deliberately softened and tinged with a tearful, congested tone, sounding utterly pitiful, “I’m sorry, truly sorry!”

She abruptly lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly as she fought to squeeze out the last few tears, “I drank too much last night, and I don’t remember anything… If I offended you in any way, I beg your magnanimity to forgive me just this once.”