Mist Over Victoria Harbour, Loving the Wrong Billionaire - Chapter 11

I never intended to tie myself down for the rest of my life, and whenever work pressure got too much, I’d want to find some handsome young men to have a relationship with.

Xu Yi was a new artist at the entertainment company I invested in. He was obedient and good-looking, so I made an exception and let him stay by my side.

When news of my dating got out, Zhong Yichen flew to Shanghai overnight.

He looked very calm, simply commenting, “Pretty boy, all looks and smooth talk.” Then he flew back to Hong Kong.

Xu Yi didn’t show any fear, leaning against my shoulder, all innocence: “He said I’m good-looking and sweet-talking, but darling, you just like me this way~”

He thought everyone else was clueless, only he was clear-headed: “You’re wasting your brains. Twenty-year-old boys are only after your money and resources. Do you really think he’s after true love?”

How should I tell him, that’s actually the best thing that could happen.

I have too little sincerity in me, love has vanished without a trace, and I have nothing but money.

Now, I’m happy to see men talk to me about money and resources, rather than love and romance.

When he flew to Shanghai again, he saw the person standing by my side.

This time he frowned slightly: “Changed again?”

Xu Yi was good in every way, except he wasn’t honest enough.

At first, I thought he came from a clean background, a blank slate with no connections entering the entertainment industry, so it made sense for me to support him.

But later, I accidentally learned that the Xu Family was famous in Old Shanghai, and this young master entering the nightlife scene was just for fun, treating me like a fool. How could I stand that?

The day I sentenced him, he was still very aggrieved, drenched like a drowned rat: “If I’d said I was rich, you wouldn’t have even looked at me.”

That’s not the point. No matter the reason, relationships between people shouldn’t start with lies.

Compared to his agitation and sadness, I was as calm as if I’d missed out on an insignificant investment project.

There are too many handsome, obedient men. Lose one, and there will be thousands more standing up.

I nodded to Zhong Yichen, very generous: “The last one wasn’t obedient, so I changed to a more obedient one this time.”

We could actually talk so calmly, as if divorce and collapse were things from a past life.

Zhong Yichen’s frown eased slightly, still calmly commenting, “All style, no substance.”

It was a look of certainty, as if saying: Wen Song, play if you want, but you’re not really sincere. After what you’ve been through with me, you wouldn’t care for these types anymore.

This time, my relationship lasted quite a while.

Long enough that Zhong Yichen urged me several times: “Why haven’t you broken up yet?”

Still with that air of certainty and superiority, as if my relationship was just a tantrum, something I’d get over soon.

I couldn’t take it anymore: “Are you sick?”

He shamelessly replied, without a hint of guilt: “Yeah, lovesick.”

I didn’t care about his feelings. Still haunting his ex-wife after breaking up-if word got out, it would be a joke.

Sometimes he’d call late at night, disturbing my sleep, just asking over and over: When are you coming back to Hong Kong?

Maybe the night makes people drop their guard; his apologies at night sounded a bit more sincere.

Unlike his insincerity during the day, a few times his voice trembled, and he said word by word, “Wen Song, I regret it.”

But when morning came, he acted like nothing had happened.

A few times, I even got calls from his mother.

Her tone was very flat: “Yichen is hurt. Are you coming to Hong Kong to see him?”

Before I could reply, she continued on her own: “It’s fine if you don’t. He won’t die anyway.”

I don’t care about his life.

My own life is back on track, my company is growing, I have close friends and a lover I like, and I won’t spend sleepless nights worrying anymore.

For a long time after, there was a strange balance between me and Zhong Yichen.

He could fly to Shanghai or return to Hong Kong as he wished; I wouldn’t interfere at all.

I knew what he was waiting for.

Waiting for the day I’d “come to my senses,” turn back, and get back on his pirate ship.

But, Zhong Yichen, no one steps into the same wrong river twice.