Jiang Miao had no time to think. Her body moved before her brain did—one hand shot back to grab the man’s hair and yank it hard, while the other drove an elbow into his back.
He let out a muffled grunt.
The hand gripping her waist loosened for an instant.
That instant! She seized the opening, flipped over, reversed their positions, and slammed him down onto the bed.
She enjoyed the advantage for less than a second.
His legs clamped together, precisely catching the edge of the blanket, and twisted hard—the entire blanket folded shut, wrapping Jiang Miao up like a cocoon.
Then he rolled over, pinning both blanket and person beneath him. His arms tightened around her like iron bands, locking her and the bedding together.
Jiang Miao struggled desperately. The blanket was wrapped too tight, her arms bound firmly against her sides, completely unable to exert any strength.
She couldn’t move.
Then a hand reached over and pulled off her face mask.
Face to face, Jiang Miao recognized him.
Though the light was dim, this man was far too close to her.
She could smell the strong scent of alcohol on his breath, mixed with a cloying sweetness. She could also vaguely make out his features.
A long, sharply defined face with striking, deep-set features.
And with that insane level of combat skill, this-this-this… this was Ji Baishang!
Jiang Miao stopped struggling, wondering whether she should say something to test if he’d recognized her.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door, which was pushed open, and the lights came on.
Both of them turned toward the door at the same time. A girl stood there, wearing a polished smile and an evening gown—clearly some noble.
Then she saw the scene on the bed.
Ji Baishang had a woman wrapped in a blanket pinned beneath him. The woman’s face was hidden, but the way the two bodies were pressed together—anyone could tell exactly what was going on.
The girl’s smile froze on her lips, and she paused for a moment.
Then disgust flashed through her eyes. She reached out, turned off the light, and the door was shut again.
Darkness fell once more.
Lying inside the blanket, Jiang Miao wondered if she had ruined a date between the two of them. So she asked tentatively, “Aren’t you going to chase after her?”
“Who?”
“That girl.”
“Who.” Ji Baishang’s hand suddenly rose and covered her mouth.
His palm was hot, carrying the warmth of alcohol. His rough fingertips pressed against her lips, the sensation vividly distinct.
He lowered his head, his voice slurred with drunkenness: “Don’t move. Help me.”
Then his face pressed down, and he kissed Jiang Miao directly on the lips.
Jiang Miao’s pupils quaked.—She was genuinely stunned.
In the moment she was frozen, Ji Baishang’s palm cradled the back of her head, drawing her face toward his again and again. The kiss was completely without rhythm, his breathing ragged, his skin frighteningly hot.
Wait… a year without seeing each other, and he was this excited to see her? Shouldn’t they catch up first?
She tried to push him away, only to find his eyes glazed, his pupils unfocused.
This state… something wasn’t right…
This was… had he been drugged?
Though this kind of thing was common in noble circles, Ji Baishang was still a top-tier aristocrat—who would dare pull something like this on him?
Tsk tsk. Someone with ill intentions must have known about his broken engagement and deliberately targeted him.
So that girl just now had been a specially arranged player? Not someone he was actually dating?
“Should I call a doctor for you?”
“Don’t call the doctor. Help me.” Ji Baishang repeated hoarsely, his hands already tearing at the blanket wrapped around her. He pulled her out of it, grabbed her hand, and pressed it against his chest.
Beneath her palm, his heart was pounding so hard that Jiang Miao’s fingertips went numb, the vibrations racing up her arm and straight into her own chest.
His other hand slipped under the hem of her clothes from behind. His fingertips, rough with calluses, traveled up along her spine, the coarse sensation trailing across her skin like a current of electricity.
He reached her collar, then yanked back hard.
The sound of buttons popping echoed a few times in the darkness as her clothes fell open.
Jiang Miao’s body jerked involuntarily. The next second, Ji Baishang pressed her down into the bed.
His body heat seeped through her skin, scalding. He was burning all over, like a piece of red-hot iron—the abnormal heat radiating through even the fabric.
Ji Baishang’s kisses slid down from the corner of her mouth, brushed past her chin, and landed on her neck. No technique at all, pure instinct, urgent and heavy. His breath hit her collarbone, so hot she flinched.
His hands weren’t idle either. The one cradling the back of her head slid down, gripped her waist, and hauled her hard against him. The last sliver of space between them vanished completely.
Jiang Miao could feel the violent rise and fall of his chest, could feel the taut contours of his abdominal muscles, could feel the full weight of him pressing down—heavy, yet somehow intoxicating.
His fingers fumbled to strip off his own clothes, so frantic he missed his mark several times before finally just tearing them open. The fabric gave a fragile ripping sound.
In the shifting light and shadow, his powerfully built physique appeared and disappeared from view—his chest was even broader than hers.
Jiang Miao lay with her eyes open in the dark, biting her lip. What a great body~ No wonder—he was the Marshal’s son, raised from childhood in military camps~
She made up her mind: she’d help him.
It wasn’t about taking advantage of him in a moment of weakness. The main thing was, Ji Baishang refused to call a doctor, which meant he had his own concerns. She was simply being a good Samaritan.
Jiang Miao raised her arms and hooked them around his neck. Her fingers slid into the hair at the back of his head and pulled him down.
Ji Baishang, as if granted some kind of permission, let out a muffled groan and pressed his lips back onto hers. This time harder, his breathing more ragged, his heartbeat slamming against her through his chest, fast enough to explode.
In the darkness, there was only the sound of their tangled breathing and the soft rustle of rumpled bedding.
Early the next morning, half-asleep, Jiang Miao heard her own name.
Her brain hadn’t woken up yet, but her ears had.
Ji Baishang was on a call, his voice cold and hard: “Jiang Mu came to the school? What does that have to do with me? I’ll say it one more time—she and I have nothing to do with each other anymore. I don’t even remember what she looks like. Don’t mention her to me again.”
Jiang Miao: “…”
Great.
First thing in the morning, a knife straight through the skull.
She remembered the engagement banquet a year ago. Ji Baishang had worn sunglasses the entire time because of his eye injury. Forget seeing her face clearly—he probably had no idea even what color her gown was.
And afterward? He certainly never asked about her, never looked into how she was doing, much less seen a photo of her.
If he’d had even the slightest curiosity about this “Jiang Mu” person, he wouldn’t have said something like “I don’t even remember what she looks like” at a time like this.
She hadn’t been sure before whether the decision to break off the engagement had been made by the Ji family, or was Ji Baishang’s own idea.
Now she knew.
It was his own idea.
“Liking” her wasn’t even close to describing how he felt about her. It was outright disgust.
That realization hit hard, and Jiang Miao’s feelings were a little complicated. To be honest, she’d been quite satisfied with Ji Baishang. His height, looks, family background, combat prowess—every aspect hit exactly her aesthetic sweet spot.
She’d thought that after last night’s good deed, her odds of winning him back would go up a few percentage points.
But when she woke up, reality slapped her right across the face.
The little flame in her heart went out on its own. She felt gloomy, a little choked up.
Forget it. Time to go.
She had barely moved when Ji Baishang ended his call.
He leaned against the headboard and lowered his head to look at her.
Morning light leaked in through the gap in the curtains, gilding half his face with a honey-colored glow.
The bloodshot traces of his hangover hadn’t faded yet, and instead they lent those eyes an indescribable something.