Chapter 2: Aren't We Friends Too?

Footsteps drew closer. He Nanxian’s silhouette was already faintly visible.

He Sichen pressed his palm against her shoulder, about to push her away.

“Shh, don’t move.”

The tip of Si Yimian’s tongue timidly licked the seam of his lips.

Just once.

The moral string in He Sichen’s brain snapped.

Reason told him to push her away, but his body was terrifyingly honest.

That soft touch on his lips was like opium.

“Brother? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He Nanxian’s voice grew closer and closer, right outside the screen.

“Let him wait.”

She breathed the words out, brushing them against the seam of his lips.

He Sichen closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them again, he’d made his choice.

“Wait outside. It’s not appropriate to watch.”

He Nanxian’s footsteps halted.

“Not appropriate?”

His tone carried confusion, but his feet didn’t take another step forward.

He Sichen grabbed the partition curtain with one hand and yanked it shut with a swish.

The fabric swayed, blocking off the last sliver of a gap.

He gripped Si Yimian’s waist, lifted her entire body up, and crushed her into his chest.

This little thing was crazy, and so was he.

Si Yimian was kissed until she couldn’t breathe, unconsciously clamping her legs tighter around his waist.

The last shred of restraint in He Sichen’s eyes exploded, and he slammed her back down onto the examination bed.

He tasted the sweetness on the tip of her tongue.

And that pull from her body that made him lose control.

She had a small frame, yet she was soft everywhere.

Even her tongue was absurdly soft.

Every time he saw her, he wondered what it would feel like to kiss those dewy, cherry-pink little lips.

Now he knew. It was addictive.

One taste, and he wanted to go deeper, to take harder.

He closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically.

Inside and outside the curtain, two different worlds.

Outside was his younger brother. Inside was taboo.

And she just happened to pick the worst possible moment to give him exactly what he wanted most.

The sense of transgression shot through his spine like an electric current.

She wore the identity of his brother’s fiancée, yet right now she was beneath him, kissed by him until her breath shattered.

The kiss was too fierce. Si Yimian was getting a little short on oxygen.

This kiss also tested out that this eldest brother’s self-control was made of paper.

Abstinent, yet full of desire.

This man was worth keeping. When he reacted, he really went for it.

Good. This face, this status—they were exactly what she needed.

Three days ago, she was still in a stretch Lincoln, acting spoiled with her mom to buy that pink diamond, while her dad laughed and called her a little money-grubber.

The next second, a truck smashed into them.

When she opened her eyes again, she’d become the unlucky female lead in an angst novel.

Biased parents, a green-tea adopted daughter, a fiancé who turned into her brother-in-law, inheritance rights handed over for free.

Tortured in body and soul, donated a kidney, got her body ruined, then jumped off a building.

Once she died, the whole world started loving her.

Her parents regretted it, the scumbag went crazy, the readers got their kicks.

Si Yimian wanted to laugh.

What kind of underworld script was this?

Torturing the female lead so viciously.

The author must’ve been a foot-binding cloth turned spirit, brain stuffed with feudal garbage.

Making the female lead use death to punish the scumbag and her family, leaving them to live out their long remaining years in regret.

And people actually bought into this nonsense.

Dead is dead.

They cry for two years, and who’s going to remember how tall the grass on your grave grows?

Only when you live gloriously will they regret it until their guts turn green.

In her original world, her parents had doted on her like she was the apple of their eye for twenty-three years. She never wronged herself to accommodate anyone.

Her own pleasure came first.

Love was optional.

But the family fortune she deserved—not a single cent could be missing.

He Sichen was the eldest son of the He family, holding the core resources, few words, cold personality.

Not much ink was spent on him; just a few strokes sketched out a formidable character.

Since He Nanxian in the original novel always tried to push her toward his eldest brother He Sichen, she’d just climb that pole.

With the Si family’s power and the He family’s influence, she’d be able to hook them with a reach of her hand.

Taking a shortcut via He Sichen—wasn’t that better than grinding away on her own?

She was a capitalist’s little princess, exquisitely self-serving, with a very flexible moral baseline.

Tonight, she’d purely come to inspect his looks.

If He Sichen turned out ugly, she’d bolt immediately and switch plans.

She was a lust-blinded face-fetishist; on matters of principle, she never compromised.

But when she saw him pull off his mask…

Tsk. Her heart got sniped.

She admitted it—she was just a vulgar person moved by a pretty face.

With this face and this waist, investing wouldn’t be a loss.

Not sleeping with him would make this transmigration a waste.

The force on her lips grew fiercer, and He Sichen’s breathing completely fell apart.

In the gap between breaths, she tilted her head away, her hot, damp breath spraying beside his ear.

“Big Brother, that’s enough.”

Her voice was so soft it sounded like begging, drilling straight into his ear.

“Brother Nanxian is still outside.”

He Sichen’s lips landed on the side of her neck, pausing for a beat.

That “Big Brother,” in this exact scene, was top-tier provocation.

Wearing the purest face while doing the most seductive things.

And somehow still looking like she was the one being bullied.

“Now you know he’s outside?”

He stared at her, his voice low, hoarse, and broken.

“Why didn’t you think about that earlier?”

Si Yimian looked perfectly serious as she answered him softly.

“You were the one who asked me if I knew what that meant.”

“I’m just answering you with actions.”

“Did I answer wrong?”

She tilted her face up, expression entirely innocent and harmless.

Anyone looking would think she was a clueless little lamb.

He Sichen scoffed coldly, laughing out of sheer exasperation.

Fine.

Really fine.

He’d lived thirty years, and this was the first time a little girl schemed him until his belt was practically undone.

Saying the most innocent words while doing things that pushed a man to his death.

He suddenly realized this little thing wasn’t dense at all—she was actually very good at this.

Good at controlling the pace, knowing when to advance and retreat, reading a man’s mind inside out.

At that moment, outside the curtain, He Nanxian had grown impatient.

“Brother? What’s going on in there?”

“Why do I hear sounds that don’t seem quite right?”

“Can I come in?”

He Sichen closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the surging lust in his gaze was forcibly shoved back into the depths.

He released his grip on her, took a step back, and put distance between them.

“It’s not appropriate.”

He spoke toward the outside of the curtain, his voice clear and cold.

“The patient’s injury is in a sensitive location. Privacy is required. It’s not appropriate to watch.”

He Nanxian paused.

“It’s a woman?”

“Mm.”

He raised a hand to fix his loosened tie, then straightened his crooked glasses.

Si Yimian slowly sat up, smoothing out her rumpled white dress.

Outside the curtain, He Nanxian’s shadow leaned closer and closer.

“Don’t tell me it’s my future sister-in-law?”

He Nanxian reached out to flip the curtain aside.

He Sichen raised his arm to block him.

Si Yimian beat him to it, reaching out first to actively pull the curtain open.

“Brother Nanxian.”

Her voice was soft, carrying a nasal twang.

“It’s me.”

The curtain parted.

The instant He Nanxian saw Si Yimian, he visibly froze.

“Mianmian?”

His gaze lingered on the bloodstains on her white dress, his brows twisting tight.

“Why are you here?”