MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

Hua Jing found Hua Ling’s words deeply strange. The tone, the choice of words—it was as if there was someone else standing in the shadows behind Hua Ling, someone far more dangerous, someone whose will Hua Ling herself might be obeying. The thought left a faint chill at the back of Hua Jing’s neck.

But at this moment, she knew there was no way Hua Ling would reveal anything. She was enjoying the game far too much, relishing every second of Hua Jing’s uncertainty. Hua Ling’s lips had curled into that taunting little smile that never quite reached her eyes, the one she always wore when she thought she was in control.

Just then, the door to the private lounge creaked open. A waiter stepped in, balancing a small tray with two tall glasses on it. The soft clinking of the ice cubes inside the glasses was the only sound that dared to interrupt the tense silence between the two women.

Hua Jing had not ordered any drink.

The waiter, with a polite bow, placed one glass in front of her and the other in front of Hua Ling. He withdrew quickly, almost as if he could feel the strange, sharp energy between the two and wanted nothing to do with it.

Hua Ling reached out first, her fingers curling gracefully around the stem of the glass as if she were at a garden party instead of a duel. She raised it to her lips and took a delicate sip before lowering her lashes and saying in a light, almost casual voice,

> "Try it. You should at least drink something while we talk."

Her tone was deceptively soft, but there was a glint in her eyes that made the invitation feel more like a challenge than an offer.

Hua Jing did not move. Her gaze lingered on the drink—amber liquid glistening in the glass like captured sunlight—but her expression remained impassive.

She knew Hua Ling’s ways far too well to be fooled by something as simple as a drink. There was no way Hua Ling would sit across from her with such calmness unless she had prepared another layer to this encounter. Even that seemingly harmless glass of liquor didn’t feel as simple as it looked.

Hua Ling tilted her head slightly, her smile sharpening.

> "You think I’ve put something in it, don’t you?"

There was an amused lilt to her voice, as though Hua Jing’s caution was something to be mocked.

Hua Jing still didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on Hua Ling, her silence speaking louder than words.

A small, low laugh slipped from Hua Ling’s lips. Without breaking eye contact, she reached out, picked up the glass that had been placed in front of Hua Jing, and—slowly, almost theatrically—brought it to her own lips.

She took a long, deliberate mouthful, the sound of the liquid sliding past her throat oddly loud in the silence of the room. Then she set the glass back down right where it had been before, now marked by the faint, subtle stain of her deep red lipstick.

> "There. I’ve drunk it first," she said, her smile widening with a cruel sort of charm.

"You see? Nothing happened to me. You can drink it now."

Hua Jing’s gaze flicked down at the glass and then back up at Hua Ling. Her eyes were as calm as a still lake, but there was a sharp glint hiding beneath the surface.

Her lips parted slightly, and she spoke in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper, yet it cut like a blade:

> "I don’t like things other people have touched." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

The words were simple, but they carried a quiet weight that made Hua Ling’s smile falter for a fleeting second.

Hua Ling’s eyes flickered—something like malice, something like annoyance passing quickly through them—before her smile returned, sharper, more venomous than before.

"Oh? Still as arrogant as ever, I see."

She leaned slightly forward, her tone dropping lower, the playfulness in it thinning into something darker.

"Do you think that if I truly wanted something to happen to you, you would still be sitting here, looking at me so calmly? Hua Jing... even without Fu Jingrong standing behind you, I have countless ways to make you kneel before me and grovel like the servant you were always meant to be."

The words hung in the air like a knife poised over a tender throat.

Hua Jing did not flinch. Her eyes softened instead, as if Hua Ling’s threat were merely an echo of something long expected.

She knew very well that the thing Hua Ling hated most about her was not her existence, but her bloodline—her birth. She had always been the daughter of the woman who had once served as a maid in the Hua family mansion. That maid had later become the second wife of the Hua patriarch, stealing a place in the family that Hua Ling had always believed belonged solely to her own mother.

It was this truth, this unchangeable fact of birth, that Hua Ling had never been able to forgive. And now, Hua Ling wielded it like a blade, hoping to draw blood.

But Hua Jing only smiled, slow and almost amused, as though she were indulging a child’s tantrum.

She could see that Hua Ling wanted to provoke her, to drag her into a fit of rage or humiliation. But she would not give her that satisfaction.

Instead, she slowly pushed her chair back, the faint scrape of the legs against the polished floor sounding unusually loud in the heavy air. She rose to her feet with the same grace she always carried, as if Hua Ling’s words had not touched her at all.

"After you’re done making a fool of yourself," Hua Jing said lightly, her voice as cool as a breeze,

"you can leave. I’ve heard enough for today. I’m leaving first."

She turned as if to go, but before she could take a step, Hua Ling’s hand shot out like a striking snake and caught her wrist in a tight, almost desperate grip.

Hua Ling’s face, usually a mask of cold arrogance, twisted into something darker, more unrestrained—her eyes gleaming with something that bordered on madness.

"You should be careful, Hua Jing," she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.

"I have so many things prepared for you. Just wait. Just wait and see."

Hua Jing looked down at the hand gripping her wrist, then slowly raised her eyes to meet Hua Ling’s. For a brief moment, she thought she could almost see threads inside those eyes—threads twisted and knotted together like a tangled web, threads that led somewhere far beyond Hua Ling herself.

It was not just hatred that lived there. There was something else, something deeper, something darker.

A small, almost imperceptible smile curved Hua Jing’s lips.

"I’m also curious," she said softly, her tone laced with a calm that felt like a warning.

"I want to see exactly what you think you can do to me."

She gently but firmly pried Hua Ling’s fingers off her wrist, then turned and walked away with steady steps that never once faltered.

The sound of Hua Jing’s heels clicking against the polished floor grew softer and softer as she moved farther down the hallway. Hua Ling sat unmoving in her seat, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap beneath the tablecloth.

Her face, still fixed in the perfect smile she always wore, twisted slightly, her jaw tightening as though she were grinding her teeth. The calm mask cracked just enough for the storm inside her to show.

For several long breaths she remained there, seething in silence, her eyes locked on the door through which Hua Jing had disappeared.

But then, as the echoes of Hua Jing’s departure finally faded into nothing, Hua Ling’s lips slowly curved upward. A small, almost serene smile bloomed across her face—one that carried no warmth at all.

Her eyes glinted with a quiet, cold satisfaction as she murmured to herself, almost as if she were speaking to the empty air:

> "No matter how arrogant you act, your fate is still your fate. Let’s see where you’ll hide when everything starts to fall into place."

Her smile deepened slightly, and she gave a soft, disdainful hum—almost a scoff—before pushing back her chair and rising to her feet.

Without another glance at the lipstick-stained glass still sitting on the table, she turned and walked toward the side exit of the lounge.

She did not leave through the same door as Hua Jing. Instead, she moved unhurriedly to the other side of the hallway where a series of private rooms were located, her steps measured and elegant despite the storm raging within her.

Stopping before one of the doors, Hua Ling raised her hand and knocked gently. The sound was soft, but it carried a strange sense of purpose—like the faint tap of a blade against a sheath.

A moment later, the door swung open.

Inside, seated comfortably on a plush sofa with one arm resting lazily on the armrest, was Businessman Zhou. The man looked up at her, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement.

His face was oily and shiny and his glinting eyes spread across his face making one want to pluck them out.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips as his gaze lingered on her.

"Beautiful," he drawled, his voice low and smooth, almost like a purr.

"Truly beautiful. So... what did she say?"