Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire

JUNJIE

"I’m telling you, this couch isn’t coming with us," I declare, staring down at Yiren, who is glued to that ridiculous monstrosity of a couch she calls her ’favorite.’ I call it what it is—a sex couch.

"And I’m telling you, I’m not going anywhere without it!" She’s sprawled out on it like a queen, legs kicking in the air, defiantly holding court while movers and packers buzz around us like we’re not in the middle of this domestic war.

I glare at her, arms crossed, but it’s hard to stay mad when she’s lying on her stomach, ass in the air, practically begging the universe to bless that perfectly spankable behind. I’ve never wanted to smack something so bad. I shake my head, trying to focus. Come on, Jun. Get it together.

"Don’t make me drag you off that thing," I warn, barely able to keep the growl out of my voice. Does she really think I’m going to let that couch ruin the perfectly curated interior of my place?

"The fuck you will," she snaps, lifting her head just enough to give me a glare that, if I didn’t know her better, I’d actually find intimidating.

God, she’s such a brat.

"What the hell are you two fighting over now?" Zian strides in like he owns the place, heading straight for the fridge. Of course, I know exactly what he’s after—the last slice of the apple pie Yiren baked for us yesterday. The one I specifically saved for myself.

And yep, there it goes, straight into his mouth.

"That was mine," I growl, pointing at him like it’s going to change anything.

Zian doesn’t even flinch. "Should’ve hidden it better."

Asshole.

Yiren’s voice drags my attention back to our impending couch war. "He’s not letting me take my favorite couch with us," she whines dramatically, kicking her legs in the air, the tight stretch of her athleisure making me lose my train of thought.

Zian rounds the bubble-wrapped chaos of the room, spotting the couch. He squints, giving it a once-over. Then he mouths at me, That’s a sex couch, right?

"Yeah, I know. Don’t say it," I grit out, already annoyed.

Before I can finish my mental rant about that godforsaken couch, the chaos level in the house skyrockets as the three musketeers—Yuyu, Lan, and Honey—burst in, with Bear chasing them. Okay, four musketeers, if you count the dog. They’re running around like the mini-tornadoes they are, causing absolute havoc.

"Where are you guys going?" I ask, more out of habit than actual concern.

"Hogwarts Castle!" Honey’s voice echoes from somewhere down the hall.

Yuyu and Lan don’t even bother with explanations—they head straight for the fridge. Two little heads pop inside, rummaging for something.

"What are you two looking for?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Apple pie," Yuyu replies, muffled, as his head practically disappears inside the fridge. Lan nods in agreement, half her body inside as well.

I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my lips. This is about to get interesting.

Zian pauses mid-bite, the half-eaten pie still in his hand. He looks at me, then at the pie, and instantly shoves the rest into his mouth, trying to act like nothing’s wrong. His cheeks are stuffed, and he’s struggling to chew, but the guilt in his eyes says it all.

I grin wickedly, unable to resist. "It’s in Uncle Z’s mouth."

Yuyu and Lan pull their heads out of the fridge, staring at Zian with a look that’s about to unleash the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

"Iwooknghaatu," Zian mumbles through a mouthful of pie.

Translation? I fucking hate you.

"Same pinch," I whisper, bracing for the kid tornado that’s about to tear Zian apart.

Yuyu, and Lan – grab the nearest kitchen weapon which happen to be sauce pans, raise it over head, and shrieking, "Off with his head!" they launch at Zian, chasing him wherever he runs.

Zian, looking defeated with his shirt now smeared with pie remnants, dramatically calls out, "I’m an innocent man! The pie was a gift from the gods!"

The kids are having none of it, swarming around him like tiny wolves on a hunt.

"I’ll—I’ll get you another pie!" Zian promises, trying to save himself.

"Then go get it," Yuyu demands.

"Aunty Yiren made it," he pleads. "She’ll make more, right, Yiren?"

The girls drop the pans and rush to Yiren’s side, each planting a kiss on her cheeks like little con artists.

Yiren’s smile slowly widens into something devilish, her gaze sliding from girls, to Zian and zeroing on me, knowing she’s won the day.

I throw my hands up in defeat. "I asked for mental peace, but God gave me a mental piece instead."

And just like that, I know I’ve lost. The couch is coming. Yiren has outplayed me yet again. Damn that woman—and her impossibly spankable ass.

******

"This isn’t the way to the airport," she says, her voice filled with confusion as she glances out the window.

"That’s because we’re going somewhere else," I reply, keeping my eyes on the road. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

"Jun, are you kidnapping me?"

"Maybe," I respond casually. She’d been secretly trying to arrange this on her own. Too stubborn to ask for help again. Jeez this woman and her problem with asking for help. Luckily, I overheard her conversation last night.

She scoffs, "HA! You won’t get a single dime--" the familiar structure comes into view, and the words dies in her throat. Her shoulders slump.

I pull up in front of the run-down house, the once vibrant place now overtaken by weeds and loneliness.

"I already made all the arrangements," she says, her voice smaller than usual. "The nearest store will deliver food and necessities every week. Cleaning services will keep it in shape. I won’t let it fall apart more than it already has."

Her eyes refuse to meet mine.

"Go meet him once."

"No."

"You sure?"

I waited, counting to three-- two--one. CLICK. And she’s already half way out of the door.

"I hate you, juju." she throws the words, storming to the house.

*****