Lục Vãn Lăng came over and asked for an empty bowl.
“That’s right. Have some with us. I ordered a few dishes Giang Chỉ likes. I don’t know if you’ll like them too.”
Giang Chỉ suddenly asked, “Doesn’t Triều have a shoot?”
Lục Vãn Lăng paused and said that Triều had to take promotional photos for the movie Giữ Quân Hành.
Giang Chỉ said coldly, “Then what are you still doing here?”
Lục Vãn Lăng hesitated before turning toward the door. Giang Chỉ added, “Giác, go close the door.”
The girl’s retreating figure looked utterly dejected. I felt a little guilty and asked, “Are you always this harsh with other people’s daughters?” Remembering the receptionist’s words, I continued, “Or are you only this harsh with them when they’re in front of me?”
Giang Chỉ’s eyes swept around, his brows lifting as he asked, “Jealous already?”
His tone was so utterly certain that he clearly thought I was jealous simply because so many people liked him. I lightly smacked his hateful face, then pulled out my phone and said, “I just think your player tricks are impressive and want to learn a few, okay? By ‘player,’ I mean a man who dates multiple women at once.”
I opened my photo album and showed him. “Look at this. How am I supposed to balance all my boyfriends? How do I get them to coexist peacefully without making a scene and demanding a breakup?”
Right then, Mom Giang called, conveniently cutting off the explosion in his voice.
She said over the phone, “Nguyệt Nguyệt, are you two free to come home for dinner tonight? Mom made mung bean pork rib soup.”
That was my favorite dish. Giang Chỉ’s favorite, on the other hand, was the pork trotter soup my mom made. Preparing for the college entrance exams had been incredibly stressful. Every day, both our parents simmered one of those two soups. Mom Giang would bring hers to me, while my mom would bring hers to Giang Chỉ.
Every time he drank the soup, Giang Chỉ would nag beside me, “Once I get a girlfriend, you won’t get to drink this soup anymore.”
My mom would say, “I only make this soup for your girlfriend. Unless you marry him.”
Otherwise, I would pout and say, “Dream on.”
Giang Chỉ would choke, his face turning red as he argued, “Who would ever want to marry you?”
Now, whether it was a dream or not, whether he wanted to or not, I had actually married him.
I shot Giang Chỉ a glance. He smiled, no longer looking serious about work, and obediently nodded over and over as he told Mom Giang, “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be home soon.”
After hanging up, he lightly tapped my nose and said in an indulgently sweet voice, “Ugly wife, tonight I’m taking you home to meet your in-laws.”
The sudden intimacy startled me. I sat there dumbly, unable to react. The air seemed to freeze, and a wave of heat rose through me until even breathing became difficult.
Giang Chỉ bent down, lowering his head. His voice was full of confidence, but his eyes dropped to my ear, and my cheeks gradually flushed.
He whispered, “Why aren’t you saying anything? Have I bewitched you?”
Maybe it was because he was standing so close. My head felt as if a fly were buzzing around inside it, endlessly annoying me.
Before, even when I pinched his butt, I hadn’t felt anything suggestive. But now, all it took was a light touch on the nose for my whole body to grow bashful.
His gaze gradually darkened. His hot breath brushed my lips.
This wasn’t right. He wanted to kiss me.
Just as the alarm bells in my head began ringing, that handsome face suddenly tilted toward me—followed by a loud yelp.
Giang Chỉ toppled forward, his head landing in my lap. Clack! His cane hit the floor.
Giang Chỉ trembled as he gripped the armrest, dropping to one knee while trying to lift his sprained ankle off the ground.
Assistant Lưu suddenly opened the door, then immediately covered his eyes with both hands. “Sorry to interrupt!”
Giang Chỉ gritted his teeth and forced out each word. “Help me up.”
After I helped him up, his face was as red as a ripe persimmon.
I enthusiastically watched him for a long while before clicking my tongue and asking, “You were trying to kiss me just now, weren’t you?”
Giang Chỉ’s eyes darted away, but even a dead duck refuses to admit defeat. He stubbornly denied it. “This young master would never stoop to kissing you.”
I burst out laughing, took aim at his lips, and lunged forward. I pushed him down onto the sofa, holding his chin with one hand.
Giang Chỉ asked, “What are you doing?”
I replied