Chapter 8: The Coat “Are you hiding a man behind my back?”

Han Rao held the wound in her mouth, tasting the faint metallic sweetness of blood.

She heard Zhao Jichuan’s words, turned her hand away, and looked up in disbelief. When she lowered her head again, blood welled up on her hand like dewdrops, shimmering with a hint of allure under the light.

She couldn’t help but recall how she had accidentally bitten his lip in bed, tasting the metallic tang of his blood.

Zhao Jichuan sensed the deeper meaning in her gaze just now, raised his hand to touch the corner of his lips, and smiled lazily.

He thought her biting him was unintentional—after all, he had pushed her too hard. If she hadn’t bitten him that one time, he might have drained the last bit of strength from her.

Han Rao was quite an interesting person—when it came to getting into bed, she displayed rationality and restraint to the fullest.

Even when she felt the pleasure brought by lovemaking, she stubbornly bit her lip, turned her head away, and closed her eyes, letting him take what he wanted.

She was like a flower clinging to a cliff, stubbornly growing in the crevices of rocks, weathering storms and thriving wildly.

At the mercy of others, unable to resist.

Under his masterful flirtation, she had no choice but to open up, bloom, and wrap her arms around his lean waist.

The bedroom was lit only by a crystal chandelier, hanging directly above them, casting a warm yellow glow.

Under the ambiguous, dappled light, Zhao Jichuan’s sweat dripped one drop after another onto her smooth skin. Stimulated, she tightened around him abruptly, yet he deliberately quickened his pace.

Han Rao clung to his shoulders, her fists clenched, allowing the dull pain to seep into her palms, yet not daring to harm him in the slightest.

But gradually, the ocean of desire engulfed her, and she could only feel the overhead light swaying incessantly.

as if it would fall off the next second, crashing down on him and her.

This must be what it feels like to be torn between life and death.

Han Rao lost all reason, her freshly done French nails digging into his skin. She tilted her head up with desperate hunger, pressing her lips to his, only to bite him with a sob as their tongues entwined.

The two of them simultaneously recalled the scene just now, and Han Rao’s ears turned slightly red.

She lowered her head and continued stitching the last few loops, nodding softly in agreement to Zhao Jichuan’s request to personally drive her home.

She probably thought it was truly beauty that led her astray.

Had it not been for their exceptional compatibility in bed just moments ago, she would never have felt so at ease ordering him around.

Han Rao smoothed out her dress and looked up, finding the man’s expression unchanged, with no intention of leaving whatsoever.

She steeled her heart and, without any pretense, lowered her head to untie her bathrobe, changing clothes right in front of him.

The woman moved swiftly, reaching behind to zip up, then tying the plaid shirt around her waist. Picking up the bag tossed on the sofa, she said to him, “Let’s go.”

Zhao Jichuan’s gaze unabashedly took in her new outfit. She had a good sense of style—he could even envision her posing for high-fashion ads or walking the runway.

Zhao Jichuan’s eyes lingered on her chest. After a brief pause, he casually grabbed one of his own jackets and tossed it to her.

Han Rao raised her hand to catch it, her eyes sparkling with even deeper amusement. “Thanks.”

As she spoke, she casually slipped on the jacket.

The faint scent of agarwood lingering on the jacket belonged to him.

It was exactly the same fragrance she’d inhaled during their intimate moments.

The two of them packed up and took the elevator directly to the parking lot.

Han Rao habitually moved to sit in the back seat but let go when her hand touched the rear door handle.

She circled back around to the passenger seat and fastened her seatbelt.

The fact that he was willing to drive her personally meant he was in a good mood tonight.

But she couldn’t afford to be too spoiled, sitting in the back like a boss and making him seem like a chauffeur.

The car glided smoothly along the road as they engaged in sporadic conversation.

Most of the time, he asked and she answered, their topics limited to trivial daily matters.

It wasn’t that she lacked curiosity about him, but she knew better than to ask inappropriate questions. People like him were naturally guarded, and she didn’t want to turn casual chat into an intrusion of privacy—so she simply refrained from asking.

As long as you don’t speak, there will be no trouble.

Zhao Jichuan wasn’t the type to engage in idle chatter either. Seeing her lack of enthusiasm in responding to him, he stopped asking further.

The car fell into complete silence.

Han Rao felt drowsy but didn’t dare to sleep, so she took out her phone to scroll through social media to pass the time.

What a coincidence—the moment she opened TikTok, a live stream popped up on her recommendation page with over 8,000 viewers.

“Later, I finally learned how to love, but sadly, you had already gone far away, disappearing into the crowd…”

The man in the video wore a casual white T-shirt, strumming a guitar while singing Liu Ruoying’s “Later.”

If not for the shopping cart icon below, one might have mistaken it for some singer doing a late-night singing livestream.

Han Rao stared at the comments section for a few seconds. Aside from fans requesting songs and those praising their idols, there were also lengthy paragraphs reminiscing about youth through this song.

Han Rao let out a light scoff. Before she could swipe away, Zhao Jichuan beside her spoke calmly, “An acquaintance?”

Han Rao’s right eyelid twitched. She casually lied, “No.”

She turned off her phone and pretended to close her eyes for a nap. Noticing his lingering suspicion, she added, “Actually, he once advised me to switch careers like him—live-streaming sales. But I refused.”

“Why refuse? Isn’t making money good?” Zhao Jichuan asked jokingly.

Han Rao lowered her eyelids, “I don’t mind you laughing at me, but I’ve always felt I should still act.”

She turned her head to look at the scenery flashing by outside the window, “As an actor, I think it’s important to maintain some mystery. Overexposure makes it hard for audiences to stay immersed in the roles.”

Zhao Jichuan said nothing more. Han Rao took a light breath, using her exhausted expression to mask the turmoil within.

Actually, the person livestreaming is named Xie Yaochen, who belonged to the same entertainment company as Han Rao in earlier years.

He didn’t enjoy acting and preferred singing during livestreams, eventually transitioning into the influencer sphere to sell products through livestreaming.

She is considered one of the early successful cases of transitioning from celebrity to influencer in the domestic entertainment industry.

As for whether people were familiar with her or not, Han Rao could only say that big data truly understood targeted recommendations.

“Precision push” is no exaggeration.

The car ride was long, and it was already 3 a.m. when we stopped in front of her house.

Han Rao drifted in and out of sleep in the car, her mind hazy and confused

The singing of Xie Yaochen had been drifting all along.

It wasn’t until Zhao Jichuan spoke that she snapped back to reality as if waking from a dream.

“You live so far away,” he said.

This could be considered a gesture of understanding for her tardiness last night.

Han Rao glanced at him fleetingly, then immediately curled her lips into a smile and answered honestly, “The housing prices here are cheaper.”

She spoke while taking off his suit jacket, but he grabbed her wrist.

The man’s voice was like winter’s rime, he said: “Put it on.”

Han Rao’s hand paused, her gaze fixed intently on him. She tried to detect a trace of pity or tenderness in his eyes, but ultimately failed.

She lowered her eyes with self-mockery—they had only slept together, a purely physical exchange, without any spiritual resonance.

He lent her a coat when he saw she was underdressed—a gesture of gentlemanly kindness. What more was she foolishly hoping for?

Indeed, women and men are completely different creatures.

A man can clearly separate desire from love, while a woman is easily confused and carried away by passion.

Han Rao wrapped her arms around his waist, telling herself she didn’t want to be that kind of woman.

She could indulge in vanity and start an illicit affair with him, but she would never be foolish enough to fall in love.

How does the saying go? In this line of work, falling for a client is strictly forbidden.

Han Rao thought the ancestors’ words were right.

After a moment of inner struggle, the woman’s gaze gradually cleared.

With a hint of flattery, she said, “Thank you, President Zhao.”

Zhao Jichuan scoffed lightly, lifting her chin.

He was conflicted—he enjoyed seeing her go to great lengths to please him, yet he detested her utterly insincere demeanor.

He thought about it and realized it was probably just possessiveness at play—his things had to belong to him entirely, inside and out.

Arrogant, unreasonable, and tyrannical.

But this is just the beginning.

He glanced at her.

He was in no hurry.

Han Rao could only feel his breath brushing against her face. Judging by the look in his eyes, she thought he was waiting for her to kiss him first.

Han Rao leaned forward slightly, tilting her head to kiss his lips.

But he stopped her by gripping her chin.

Zhao Jichuan reached out to help her drape the coat that had slipped off due to her excessive movements back over her shoulders. “Let’s go back.”

Han Rao couldn’t figure out whether his earlier refusal to let her kiss him was part of some coy play-hard-to-get act. In any case, since he was letting her leave now, she had to get away quickly.

She spent the entire evening maneuvering around him, treading carefully as if on thin ice—exhausted not just physically, but even more so mentally.

She held herself together all night, but when she heard him let her go, her true self was revealed.

Zhao Jichuan saw this point with crystal clarity.

Han Rao had just pushed open the car door, one foot on the ground, when he asked her, “Aren’t you going to invite me up for a while?”

Han Rao turned around in disbelief, a flicker of panic flashing through her eyes.

“What, are you hiding a man behind my back?” he asked.

Han Rao certainly couldn’t be hiding a man. While sex could indeed bring physical and mental pleasure, it didn’t mean she was someone who only thought about such things.

She is just highly guarded, with a strong sense of territory, unwilling to let anyone step into her private space.

This may be a common affliction of modern people.

He had spoken to this extent, with a hint of suspicion in his tone. Her best strategy was to go along with his words—if he didn’t believe her, he could just go upstairs and check for himself.

This is the best way to prove one’s innocence.

But she didn’t.

She really didn’t want to get too entangled with him, so she stiffened her neck and said, “How could that be?”

“Didn’t you find out tonight whether I was hiding a man or not?”

Zhao Jichuan chuckled—her reactions in bed tonight really didn’t seem like someone who’d ever hidden a man before.

Seeing her back still tense, Zhao Jichuan decided not to push her further and generously let her leave.

The car’s headlights were on, illuminating her slender figure from behind.

Han Rao seemed to sense something, deliberately turned around to wave at him, then left without looking back.

Zhao Jichuan saw her off, not in a hurry to leave. He leisurely lit a cigarette.

Recalling her every move tonight in detail.

He admitted that she indeed had some tricks up her sleeve, and he was now very interested in her.

As for going to her place, he was actually just saying it casually to tease her.

This old residential area has only one advantage—cheap rent—while everything else about it is completely out of place in Beicheng.

Born at the pinnacle of the social pyramid, his innate arrogance made such places beneath his notice.

He didn’t doubt that there was really a man in her house.

Yet, because of her rejection, he was intensely compelled to invade her space.

How perverse.

He flicked the ash off his cigarette and laughed.

Han Rao didn’t know Zhao Jichuan lingered outside her building for the duration of one more cigarette.

She collapsed onto the bed exhausted as soon as she got home.

She didn’t bother turning on the light, staring at the ceiling in the dark, thinking she’d try to complete the contract termination process tomorrow and join the film crew as soon as possible.

Zhao Jichuan narcissistically assumed that a woman like her would surely replay the night in detail upon returning home, pondering how to deal with him at their next meeting.

He had no idea how terrifyingly ambitious she was—the moment he turned his back, she had already forgotten him completely.