Mr. Dior : Chapter 6: The President’s Millionaire Bride (6)

Li Yingjun was a “rich second generation.” In his youth and ignorance, he loved to party and frequently spent his time drinking and carousing with “fox friends,” so he knew exactly what the scene before him meant.

He had a friend who loved playing with innocent-looking college girls. These girls were usually poor drinkers, and that was the part his friend enjoyed most. He would pinch the girl’s cheeks, force a glass of red wine down her throat, and watch as she helplessly choked and gagged. The wine would spray from her mouth and nose, soaking her clothes, while his rowdy friends would jeer and roar with laughter.

He never imagined that such a sleazy tactic, usually reserved for hostesses at bars, would be used by Zhang Chenfei to bully Jiao Qi.

Jiao Qi was a legitimate wealthy heir with money and power. And Zhang Chenfei was a self-made rising star in the business world. How could he, how dare he, treat someone like that!

“Zhang Chenfei, what are you doing!” Li Yingjun walked up furiously and yanked Jiao Qi up.

Zhang Chenfei’s eyes turned cold instantly, and his voice sounded as if it were squeezed through his teeth: “Good, very good. Pulling and tugging in front of me, hmm?”

Jiao Qi had a massive headache and patted Li Yingjun’s shoulder: “Yingjun, it’s fine, it’s fine. We were just messing around.”

“What kind of messing around is this!” Mr. Li pointed at the large, wet stain, frustrated that Jiao Qi wouldn’t stand up for himself. “You don’t go out much, you don’t understand these things. Do you know that what he’s doing is…”

“Enough!” The President could no longer endure it. He pulled his “little sweetheart wife” back into his arms and wrapped him tightly in his suit jacket. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his body, revealing the contours of his muscles and the faintly visible nipples. And this person still had the audacity to stand there pointing fingers.

“I choked on my own; it’s not what you think.” Jiao Qi emerged from the suit, his eyes still red from the coughing fit earlier. He looked incredibly pitiful huddled in the tyrant’s arms, yet he was still trying to maintain their public image as a couple.

Li Yingjun gradually calmed down and sighed. They were a legally married couple, after all; it was a domestic matter, and he, as an outsider, shouldn’t interfere. He silently set down the two invitations, shook his head, and left. So, all those rumors in the circle about Zhang Chenfei being henpecked and a “good man” were just illusions created by this scheming man.

The secretary poked his head in to close the door and saw the couple, who looked like Siamese twins. He stole a glance at his President’s face, which was as black as a pot bottom, and his jaw practically hit his collarbone: “I-I’m sorry, President. I thought since Mr. Li had only left for a minute and came back, it would be fine, so I didn’t knock…”

“Get out!” Zhang Chenfei’s voice was full of sparks.

*Thump!* The door closed, and the room grew quiet, leaving only the sound of each other’s breathing.

Another new shirt ruined. Jiao Qi pushed away the man who was clutching him tightly, plucked the soggy fabric at his chest, and felt quite regretful. With high-end materials like this, once it was stained with red wine, it was basically impossible to wash out.

*Ding-dong.* A new message arrived on his neural link. Jiao Qi tapped it open, and the message content appeared on the virtual screen.

【Li Yingjun: If you need help with anything, remember to ask.】

“…” He thinks I’m a battered husband, Jiao Qi twitched his lips.

“Whose message is that?” Zhang Chenfei looked over. The device was connected to the neurons; unless the shared screen was active, only the user could see the content.

“No one.” Jiao Qi didn’t want to talk and turned toward the bathroom. If he brought up Li Yingjun now, the President would explode.

Zhang Chenfei narrowed his eyes, watching his dodging little wife. *As expected, he must be secretly contacting the Wang family.* He closed his eyes, grabbed the little thing trying to escape, and tossed him onto the sofa.

“What now?” Jiao Qi climbed up, only to be hugged by Zhang Chenfei from behind, who began unbuttoning his damp shirt, one button at a time.

“Continuing what we didn’t finish earlier.” The President chuckled suggestively, pulled the sleeves of the shirt down to his elbows, picked up the unfinished red wine, and poured it all over the beautifully curved spine.

“Mmm…” The cool wine flowed down the groove of his back, only to be licked and sucked away by warm lips and a tongue. Jiao Qi went limp, being kneaded and rubbed by Zhang Chenfei. Once finished, he tossed him a clean shirt.

“Wear mine for now.” The President pulled a spare shirt from the breakroom. It was one size larger than Jiao Qi’s; it hung loosely on his body, just long enough to cover his backside.

After their messy antics on the sofa, his trousers had also been stained with wine. Jiao Qi simply took those off too, pulled out his belt, and asked Zhang Chenfei to get him a pair of pants.

“There are no pants here.” The President gave a devilish smile and threw his wife’s trousers out the window.

“Hey! That’s littering from a high-rise, you f***ing…” Jiao Qi hurried to the window to look down. Fortunately, there was a green lawn outside, and since it was work hours, there was no one around. The poor pants drifted down and got stuck in a newly transplanted sweet osmanthus tree.

His rounded assets were partially visible due to his posture leaning against the windowsill. Zhang Chenfei walked over and smacked him: “Come here, help me review these documents.”

The President sat in his wide executive chair, patted his solid thighs, and gestured for his “little wife” to sit on his lap.

“Didn’t you want to steal secrets? Sit up here, move it yourself, and I’ll give you everything you want to see.”

“…”

Jiao Qi couldn’t be bothered with him. He went into the breakroom, found a pair of Zhang Chenfei’s pants to wear, and called Yu Yuan, telling him to bring a full set of clothes when he came to pick him up.

At one in the afternoon, Zhang Chenfei watched with his own eyes as his “little wife” took a mysterious phone call and rushed off in a hurry. Standing at the window, he watched him get into a black business car, looking around guiltily before entering.

Damn the Wang family!

Jiao Qi was a person of status, after all; it would be embarrassing if someone saw him leaving his husband’s building in ill-fitting clothes. He scrambled into the car with lightning speed, changed into his own clothes inside, and finally relaxed.

The meeting lasted from two to five, and after dealing with some other affairs, the workday was over.

“Goodbye, President Jiao!”

“See you tomorrow, President Jiao!”

As he walked out of the Bajiao office building amidst the staff’s greetings, Jiao Qi remembered his car was still at the Shifei building, so he prepared to have Yu Yuan take him there.

Vroom—The roar of an engine approached from afar. A silver Maserati pulled up in front of him with a sharp drift. The window rolled down slowly, revealing Zhang Chenfei’s incredibly handsome face. The sky had already darkened, and the streetlights turned on one by one, making his features, which were already more striking than an average person’s, look even more three-dimensional.

He had to admit, this face was truly good-looking. Over the years, this man had irritated him from time to time, but whenever he saw this face, half his anger would vanish.

Jiao Qi was pleasantly surprised: “Why are you here to pick me up?” He remembered his company address—was his brain finally recovering?

Zhang Chenfei chuckled, opened the door, and stepped out. He braced one hand against the roof of the car, trapping his “little wife” between his chest and the vehicle: “My man can only be picked up by me, of course. I won’t allow you to ride in anyone else’s car. Remember, you are ‘my’ man!”

“…”

Employees passing by after work looked on with curiosity.

“Wow, who is that? He’s doing a ‘car-don’ [pinning someone against a car]!”

“Shh—didn’t you see that’s President Jiao’s car?”

“Eh? That, that…”

“Isn’t that President Zhang? Tsk tsk, they’ve been married forever and he’s still so romantic. Sigh, I wish my husband was that romantic.”

In fact, the person in question did not feel it was romantic at all; he felt like his scalp was about to explode. These clunky, rote lines, the dramatic vocal fluctuations with weird emphasis it was a nightmare.

The car pulled out of the parking space and onto the main road.

“Where are you going?” At a red light, Jiao Qi saw the car was in the left-turn lane and hurriedly stopped him: “Don’t go back to the villa, I have to work tomorrow, it’s too far. Go here instead.” As he spoke, he connected his neural link to the car’s navigation and pointed to the location of their downtown apartment on the virtual screen.

“Hehe,” the President leaned over with a smile and nipped at his “little wife’s” chin: “Baby, wanting to go home so early? Are you dying to fulfill your wifely duties?”

Jiao Qi blushed: “Then where are you going?”

“Somewhere to have some fun.” The President raised his eyebrows mysteriously, turned the steering wheel, and headed in the opposite direction of their home.

Just then, Jiao Qi’s phone rang. The caller ID said “Dad,” so he had no choice but to pick up.

“Yanyan, are you off work?” Yanyan was Jiao Qi’s nickname; he had been called Jiao Yan until high school. Back then, he was quite thin, so nosy classmates gave him the nickname “Salt and Pepper Ribs,” which made Jiao Qi very unhappy. Jiao’s father had changed his son’s name in a fit of rage.

“Yeah.” Jiao Qi responded, looking at the route, and realized it was neither the path to the villa nor the apartment, which confused him.

“And that boy?” When Jiao’s father mentioned Zhang Chenfei, his tone was not as gentle as before.

“He’s driving.” Jiao Qi’s eyebrows jumped.

When they first got together, his father didn’t like Zhang Chenfei. Of course, the main reason was that he couldn’t accept that his son liked men, so he didn’t like anyone Jiao Qi brought home. Over the years, Zhang Chenfei had performed well, his career was booming, and he was exceptionally good at winning people over, so he had long since bought over the old man. He stopped saying “that boy” or “this guy” and started saying things like “Chen-Chen” or “good son.”

For his tone to change so suddenly, something must have happened.

“Fine. An old buddy sent me some lobsters from deep-sea fishing; you two should come home this weekend.”

Home? Jiao Qi looked at his husband, who was currently immersed in the persona of paying off his debts and saving his father-in-law: “We have to attend a press conference this weekend. Let’s talk about it then.”

After hanging up, Jiao Qi looked at the scenery outside the window, and his expression changed: “This is…”

The lights were brilliant, the music was deafening—this was a very famous nightclub, with music, alcohol, and beauties.

Zhang Chenfei smiled and pulled him out of the car, casually tipping the valet a few bills.

Watching his husband’s practiced, familiar demeanor, Jiao Qi clenched his fists. As a CEO, Zhang Chenfei often came home late, but he would always report where he was going beforehand. However, those locations never included this nightclub.