Sweet Wife in My Arms

mly in place even as she played with them.

Lu Yi poked her in the forehead, before folding her into his arms.
He patted her back comfortingly, as though she were a little girl.

“Good girl.
You did the right thing.
Don’t forget, I’m not a stranger to you.
I’m your family.
Your closest family.”

“I know.” Yan Huan grabbed Lu Yi’s buttons again as she inwardly said to herself: You’re my family, my closest family.
You’re the person I want to protect in this life.
I’ll be strong, strong enough to get rid of all the threats lurking around you—including that ruthless Lu Qin and his equally ambitious mother.
I can’t stop now.
I have to continue on my journey.
I have to earn a lot more money.

…

Ding Ming had been in a bad mood over the last several days.
He had planned on getting close to Yan Huan’s manager, Yi Ling, but how was he supposed to do that when he could barely even see her? On top of that, he had failed all of his auditions.

He was reasonably sure that his looks and his acting skills were good enough to net him a supporting role.
He already had several shows under his belt, after all.
All his roles so far had been bit parts, true, but then again Yan Huan had started out that way, too.
No, she had started out even lower down the ladder—she had been a background actor.

Why was she now a superstar, with a never-ending stream of movie offers and a paycheck that grew with every passing day, while he, Ding Ming, was still a complete nobody? It was terribly unfair.

No, I refuse to believe that she’s better than me, he sneered to himself.
I refuse to believe that this is my fate.
I’ll leech off Yan Huan if it’s the last thing I do! She’s so famous and successful now.
She has a responsibility to help her Junior Brother out, right?

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts and schemes he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his ass.
No, it wasn’t just on his ass—it was actively groping it.

“What are y—” Ding Ming had been about to yell in anger when he felt something against his stomach.

“Kid, you better not move.
Not unless you want to see your guts on the floor.”

Ding Ming lowered his head.
His pupils dilated with fear when he saw the shiny knife against his stomach.
He began trembling all over like an autumn leaf in the wintry wind.
Large beads of cold sweat rolled off his forehead.

The man kept the knife against Ding Ming’s stomach as he groped the latter’s ass with his other hand.
Ding Ming was so disgusted he felt like puking.
He was straight, not gay!

But he could only stand rooted in place and let the large man molest him.
The man had moved his hand from the back to the front, and was now touching his unmentionables.
Ding Ming’s face flamed with anger and humiliation—he wanted badly to dash his head against the wall.

Ding Ming did not realize that someone was watching.
A small distance away, Yi Ling sat in her car, gawking at the scene unfolding before her.

She had just looked up when she saw two people kissing and fondling each other…

She had not intended to be a voyeur.
She was not a pervert; she did not ogle couples when they made out in public.
But when she had been about to look away, she suddenly realized that the couple was not made up of a man and a woman, but two men.

Tsk tsk, BL…

Her interest had immediately been piqued.
As the saying goes, every woman was secretly a BL fangirl at heart.

She stared harder, in hopes of being able to make out the juicy details.
Under the streetlight, one of the men turned towards her.
Her jaw dropped—that man was definitely Ding Ming.
She suddenly remembered what Yan Huan had told her: Ding Ming was gay.