The RV glided smoothly along the highway leading to the filming site in the suburbs.
The interior was spacious and soundproof, barely letting in any outside noise.
Su Qianqian slept restlessly in the wide leather seat.
Perhaps it was the absence of familiar arms around her, or perhaps it simply wasn’t as comfortable as a bed.
She shifted unconsciously, causing the white cashmere blanket draped over her to slip slightly, revealing a slender, porcelain arm that dangled over the edge of the seat.
Across from her, Ling Wei and Fang Qing remained oblivious, but Amy, seated slightly to the side, found her gaze drawn to that exposed arm.
Her expression shifted from a casual glance to something far more knowing.
On the inner side of that jade-like arm, near the elbow, were faint pink marks—the kind left by repeated kisses—standing out starkly against her snow-white skin.
Amy was no innocent like the other two. Having spent years in the fashion and elite social circles, her private life was anything but restrained.
She recognized those marks all too well.
Her gaze grew bolder as she studied the young woman.
Though the blanket covered most of her body, the face nestled against the pillow was breathtaking—delicate features, each exquisite on its own, but together, nothing short of divine.
Long, thick lashes curled against her cheeks, her sleeping face pure as an angel’s, yet tinged with a lazy vulnerability.
Amy’s eyes trailed down the graceful curve of her neck.
Sure enough, just below the collarbone, another faint pink mark peeked out, seemingly trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric of her clothes…
Amy’s lips curled into a knowing, amused smile.
She wasn’t in any hurry.
Once Miss Su woke up, she’d have plenty of opportunities to admire her up close while helping her change and get ready.
She was curious—beyond that stunning face and that delicate, dewy skin, what else did this girl possess to make Cheng Yu break his own rules, even carrying her onto the RV in his arms?
Four hours later.
A slight jolt made Su Qianqian’s long lashes flutter.
She slowly opened her eyes, her almond-shaped pupils still hazy with sleep, like mist over a lake.
“Mmm…” A soft, husky whimper escaped her lips, carrying the drowsy sweetness of someone just waking.
“Miss Su, you’re awake?” Fang Qing noticed immediately, speaking softly while signaling to Ling Wei.
Ling Wei understood, rising to press a button that silently raised the partition, sealing off the driver’s cabin and ensuring privacy in the back.
“Miss Su, would you like to rinse your mouth? We have warm water ready,” Fang Qing murmured gently.
Still half-asleep, Su Qianqian let Fang Qing assist her.
After rinsing, she took a sip of water, wincing slightly as it soothed her sore throat.
Fang Qing quickly brought over a small breakfast tray from the insulated box—a bowl of tender chicken congee and a few light side dishes.
Su Qianqian had little appetite, managing only a couple of spoonfuls before setting the silver spoon down with a soft shake of her head.
“No more… my throat hurts…” Her voice was noticeably hoarse.
She felt a pang of irritation—no need to play the mute fairy today; her voice was already ruined.
She thought of last night, how she’d called out to him until her voice cracked.
When the glass of water in the room ran out, he’d simply carried her to the bar, not just giving her water but then… well…
Amy, sitting diagonally across, caught the subtle shift in her expression.
She could almost picture it—how Miss Su had yielded so sweetly, how she’d been coaxed into crying out until her voice gave way.
A flicker of envy crossed Amy’s mind. If only her own playthings had half of Cheng Yu’s stamina.
She stole another glance at Su Qianqian now that she was awake.
Fragile. Delicate.
That was the immediate impression.
The drowsy confusion, the slight furrow of her brows from her sore throat, the unconscious air of dependence and petulance—all made her seem like a hothouse flower in need of meticulous care.
Yet beneath that softness was an astonishing purity and refinement.
Her almond eyes were clear as a mountain spring, even now, clouded with sleep, they held no trace of artifice.
Her nose was elegantly straight, her lips naturally rosy, now pressed together in a faint pout.
What truly caught Amy off guard, though, was her poise.
Even the way she held the cup Fang Qing handed her—sipping the warm water with slender, porcelain fingers—exuded an innate grace.
Amy’s initial amusement and scrutiny faded into puzzlement.
The records said she was an orphan from some backwater town, with no connections.
But this girl—from her bone structure to her complexion, from her aura to her manners—where was the slightest hint of provincial awkwardness?
She carried herself with more natural elegance than many blue-blooded heiresses raised in luxury.
No wonder Cheng Yu had chosen her.
Though given how things were unfolding, his mother was in for quite the headache.
This round, Amy decided, she’d bet on Miss Su.
