Chapter 47 Part 2

Just sitting here felt like a dream.

Until Wen Zenian tossed aside the last page. “Exhausted.”

She rarely abandoned her usual upright posture, leaning back against the sofa amid the rhythmic crash of waves, and closed her eyes. She tossed the last page of her document lightly aside. Caught by a breeze, it fluttered up, grazing her calf before settling against her high-heeled shoe.

She seemed genuinely exhausted and paid it no mind.

Meng Ning stood, bent at the waist to retrieve the page, and neatly organized it with the others on the table.

She always took care to avoid reading the contents of those confidential documents, but as her fingers pinched the edge of another sheet, her gaze sharpened.

Partially hidden beneath the papers on the low table sat a piece of chocolate.

It had dwindled to a mere fragment. It resembled the kind Wen Zenian had bitten into for her during one of her hypoglycemic spells.

Later, when Meng Ning had visited Wen Zenian’s room, she found that Wen Zenian had taken another nibble, her lipstick mark overlaying Meng Ning’s own tooth marks.

Meng Ning had secretly bitten it too, her impressions covering half the lipstick stain.

She knew Wen Zenian preferred a sip of wine when deep in thought and had no sweet tooth to speak of.

And yet here was another sliver of the same chocolate, its bite mark smudged with Wen Zenian’s lipstick.

For an instant, Meng Ning felt utterly disoriented.

Time seemed to snap back to the moment of their reunion—they never spoke of such things, relying solely on intuition. Wen Zenian never invited her to her room outright, so perhaps every time the impulse arose, she would sit right here instead, taking a tiny bite of chocolate as a proxy.

Even now, nothing had changed. They remained unspoken, everything left to guesswork.

Wen Zenian, still reclined against the sofa back, opened her eyes. “Meng Ning, you’ve always been so thoughtful, haven’t you?”

She meant Meng Ning tidying up the documents.

She must have noticed Meng Ning spotting the chocolate, but her voice remained utterly neutral, offering no comment on it.

“Have a seat,” she called from behind Meng Ning.

Meng Ning settled back onto the sofa and watched as Wen Zenian approached in her high heels.

With a flick, Wen Zenian kicked them off, her leg brushing lightly against Meng Ning’s knee.

She hiked up the hem of her pencil skirt—just as she had that night in her slacks, straddling Meng Ning’s lap—and mounted her once more.

The fabric clung to her thighs, etching faint creases into her skin. Meng Ning stared at those marks.

Then her gaze drifted slowly upward.

Past the metal waist chain. Past the tailored suit jacket. Past the crisp collar of her shirt. Finally settling on her elegant updo.

Her upper body exuded such refined poise, a stark contrast to her current position. That very contradiction was her weapon, leaving one helplessly enthralled every time.

Meng Ning’s hands found her slender waist, fingertips tracing the cool metal of the chain.

This might have been the first time Meng Ning peered so boldly into her eyes.

She wanted to peer into those eyes, nearly shimmering with a rose-purple hue, and uncover what lay hidden within.

Was there affection? Longing?

But Wen Zenian merely lifted the corner of her mouth, meeting Meng Ning’s stare without flinching.

Meng Ning discerned nothing.

Her hands pressed inward slightly. How many inches around was that waist? Barely a handful.

Wen Zenian unfastened her metal waist chain and slipped it free from Meng Ning’s grasp.

From the first time Meng Ning had tugged at it—only to be pulled into the sea by Wen Zenian—that chain had left an indelible impression.

Slender yet unyielding. It accentuated her delicate waistline while lending an air of stern elegance.

Now, Wen Zenian held it in her own hand.

She bound Meng Ning’s wrists behind her back, then looped the chain around.

It pressed against her Buddha beads, cinching her slim arms tightly.

Even as Wen Zenian did this, her voice came soft and praising: “Such a good girl.”

She rose and stepped out of the sitting area, returning moments later with the small blue box in hand.

Straddling Meng Ning’s thighs again, she hadn’t even undone the buttons of her suit jacket.

Only the metal waist chain—once fastened around her own waist—was now binding Meng Ning’s wrists, gradually warming to her body heat.

Wen Zenian was the type to hold a grudge and settle every score.

Last time, Meng Ning had refused to let her undress; this time, Wen Zenian returned the favor.

Her sweatpants were looser than slacks, but caught midway up her thighs, they created the tantalizing illusion of stolen moments in a classroom, a cinema, a library—anywhere not wholly private.

Thrilling.

It made Meng Ning instinctively crave more speed, even as reason urged restraint.

Wen Zenian held her close, nuzzling her earlobe with the gentlest suction, praising her obedience, reminding her to breathe.

Struggling came naturally. Meng Ning could feel the chain chafing repeatedly against her Buddha beads.

Wen Zenian had always been dominant with her, and Meng Ning had long since realized she didn’t mind.

Having someone so commanding to lead, affirm, and praise her—it felt like shedding all responsibility. Meng Ning hadn’t felt this safe in ages, but she had to admit that every time they did this, security enveloped her.

Secure enough to unclench her jaw, letting those mortifying sounds spill free.

Wen Zenian kissed her earlobe softly, soothing her. “Meng Ning, don’t cry. It’s on me.”

She murmured Meng Ning’s name again and again: Meng Ning, Meng Ning.

Meng Ning couldn’t tell if the tears were physiological or emotional—not from overwhelming pleasure, but sticky trails clinging to her lash line, reddening her eyes.

Until Wen Zenian finally loosened the chain.

Meng Ning rose unsteadily, her sweatpants sagging loosely at the waist.

Wen Zenian’s clothes remained impeccably in place, though her chest heaved far more dramatically.

Meng Ning could sense Wen Zenian’s possessiveness toward her—and the profound satisfaction she drew from it.

“I need to use the restroom,” Meng Ning said.

“Mm, go ahead.”

Wen Zenian cleaned her hands and sank back onto the sofa, struggling to steady her breathing.

When Meng Ning emerged from the restroom, Wen Zenian was smoking a cigarette, the final document page back in her hand.

Hearing her, Wen Zenian set it aside and gazed at her through curls of smoke.

Meng Ning curled her fingers.

She desperately needed to know if Wen Zenian harbored even a sliver of affection for her.

Should she ask outright?

Would that smack of narcissism? She dreaded that light, dismissive chuckle.

Physical intimacy was simply a choice adults made freely. If Wen Zenian found her appealing, so be it.

The birthday wish might have been nothing more—simply because she was the one who knew Wen Zenian’s birthdate.

A flurry of thoughts raced through her mind in half a minute, each discarded in turn.

Wen Zenian spoke first: “You haven’t taken today’s sci-fi story yet.”

“Oh? Right.”

Meng Ning’s English had improved, at least.

Occasionally, when Wen Zenian didn’t read it aloud, Meng Ning could decipher it on her own.

The story was nearing its end.

Wen Zenian then placed an envelope emblazoned with a cursive “C” on the low table and slid it toward Meng Ning.

Meng Ning picked it up, puzzled. “Thank you.”

Wen Zenian let out a soft laugh.

She took a drag, exhaling languidly. “That’s the last page of the story.”

Meng Ning froze.

Wen Zenian retrieved another identical envelope—white, stamped with the cursive “C”—and placed it neatly beside the first. “This one? You’d owe me even more thanks.”

Meng Ning opened it before Wen Zenian could explain. “It’s your resignation letter. I’ve already entered it into the system for you, so when I leave in a week, you can go at the same time.”

Meng Ning fell silent for a long moment. This time, no thanks came.

Wen Zenian picked up the document again. Ash had built up on her cigarette, scattering across the page in the breeze like a sea of silver cinders.

Her earthy lipstick—once more devoured by Meng Ning’s kisses—revealed lips tinged with natural rosy pink.

Her expression, though, was as pale as the early spring moon beyond the window. “Meng Ning, goodbye.”

Meng Ning left the hotel’s main building under a double blow.

Only when moonlight seared her back did she realize she hadn’t asked what Wen Zenian’s final “goodbye” truly meant.

Wen Zenian had given her the last page of the sci-fi story and the approved resignation letter. With a week left on C Sea Island, did that mean they wouldn’t see each other again?

Yet she hadn’t asked for the room key back.

Back in her room, Meng Ning pulled the final page from its envelope and stared.

Wen Zenian’s faint perfume lingered on the specialty paper.

But the page was blank.

The next morning, Qi Xiao kept stealing glances at Meng Ning from her bed.

Meng Ning raised an eyebrow. ?

Finally, Qi Xiao asked, “How’d it go last night when you went to see her?”

Meng Ning recalled the metal waist chain, a faint chafing sensation ghosting her wrists.

Qi Xiao clapped her hands over her eyes. “Stop, don’t give me that look. We single dogs can’t handle it.”

Meng Ning curved her lips in a smile.

Until breakfast, when Wen Zenian entered the staff cafeteria with Chen Luzi at her side. Anyone could see Wen Zenian deliberately keeping distance from her. Qi Xiao watched from afar, pondering if Wen Zenian might truly like Meng Ning after all.

Though their statuses were worlds apart now.

Still, some people’s chuunibyou phases lasted a lifetime.

Meng Ning tapped her knuckles lightly on the table, drawing Qi Xiao’s attention.

“She gave me the approved resignation report.”

“What?”

“In a week, when she leaves, I can quit too.”

Qi Xiao startled.

So Wen Zenian didn’t like Meng Ning after all?

Who let go of someone they truly cared for so lightly?

Qi Xiao massaged her temple, her head throbbing, but no answers came.

Leaving the restaurant, they ran into the investor from the banquet.

Spotting Meng Ning, he asked, “Is Gwyneth inside?”

He was clearly impatient; Wen Zenian had likely been in a meeting with the general manager, and with no prompt phone reply, he’d come rushing over.

No wonder Wen Zenian occasionally cursed under her breath—Meng Ning stifled a laugh at the thought.

The man handed over his business card. “I didn’t introduce myself last time. Could you pass along that I have urgent business with her?”

Meng Ning glanced at Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao muttered under her breath, “Don’t look at me. You handle it.”

Meng Ning took the card and headed inside.

At the table, Wen Zenian was arguing with the Italian general manager over some issue. Her voice was low, but her slender fingers rapped the table—not hard, yet her aura was intimidating.

Her gaze flicked up to Meng Ning, softening as her tone evened out. “What is it?”