Volume Introduction: The Boss And Her White Little Lotus
Become a scumbag in dog blood [Quick Transmigration]
Evening light spilled through the tall windows, soft and milky, painting the room in a lazy glow. On a sofa that looked far too big for one person, she lay sprawled, body curved in ways that suggested both grace and rebellion.
Hair tumbled like liquid silk, brushing over pale shoulders and spilling to the cushions, catching the light in gentle waves. Her skirt, soft and warm in a peachy - gold hue, clung to curves just enough to tease the imagination. Every little movement — fingers curling around fabric, toes flexing against slippers — felt intentional, a quiet invitation to the world to notice, to linger, to wonder.
She frowned slightly, as if burdened by thoughts that weren't entirely her own. Knowledge she hadn't earned pressed against her mind like waves, demanding attention and strategy, and yet she responded not with panic but with the faintest smirk of amusement, as though mocking the very idea of being controlled. Even forced into roles not meant for her, she retained one thing: the power to make it fun.
Footsteps echoed faintly in the hall, slow and deliberate. She tilted her head, watching the shadows lengthen as someone approached. There was a rhythm in the steps, hesitant and curious, a quiet counterpoint to her languid confidence.
She let her fingers toy with the ribbon at her waist, a small, almost meaningless motion — but the glint in her eyes hinted otherwise. Every tiny gesture was a test: a tease, a challenge, a playful tug at the invisible strings of control.
A task had been given, a mission whispered somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Prevent a certain pairing, stop a budding connection, tip the scales of fate in unpredictable ways. Simple enough on paper. Laughably simple. Yet the fun was in the execution. There was delight in mischief, pleasure in teasing, thrill in watching someone else stumble through a game whose rules she wrote on a whim.
Because there was a delicious power in knowing the story before it unfolded, in stepping ahead of the expected, in bending circumstances without breaking them. She did not merely exist in the world around her — she was the pulse that made it race, the spark that made it burn, the shadow that made others pause.
Then, the other appeared. Every step down the hall was precise, deliberate, but softened with quiet curiosity. Silk pajamas rustled, a gentle whisper of fabric against skin. Barely - there white slippers hinted at vulnerability, yet the aura she carried made hesitation impossible. One look in her eyes, and the first figure froze — a subtle, involuntary shiver that said more than words ever could. The air became thick with anticipation: playful, dangerous, and intimate all at once.
Their proximity became a silent conversation. A tilt of a head, a soft intake of breath, a feather - light brush of fingertips — each gesture a challenge, a tease, a promise. Not one word was wasted, yet meaning dripped from every action. The line between dominance and surrender blurred effortlessly, each movement a flirtation, a quiet seduction that hinted at desires unspoken and games unwon.
And yet, amidst the tension, there was laughter — quiet, mischievous, teasing. It curled around corners, lingered in shadows, caught in the sway of fabric and the flicker of eyelids.
Humor, danger, and seduction danced together, impossible to separate, impossible to resist. The task she had been given could wait. Rules, schedules, expectations — none of it mattered here. Only the thrill of being noticed, the pleasure of stirring desire, the subtle war of wits and warmth.
A question floated in the quiet spaces between them, unspoken yet crystal clear. Every glance, every brush of skin, every accidental — or not — touch of hair against shoulder was a test of boundaries, a game of courage and delight. And she played it expertly, half - innocent, half - calculated, letting the other chase glimpses of her attention while she held the true power: the choice of whether, when, and how to be won.
Even as her mind cataloged every detail of the mission she had been given, her body betrayed her amusement. She stretched, curled, shifted, letting light and shadow and fabric do the talking while her thoughts stayed half - hidden behind playful smirks. She had learned long ago that control was best wielded with laughter, that seduction was most potent when wrapped in humor, and that teasing could be the fiercest weapon of all.
And so the evening unfolded. A slow game of presence and absence, touch and glance, flirtation and challenge. Hearts raced quietly, laughter hung in the air like a secret, and desire threaded through every gesture, every pause, every heartbeat. The sofa became a battlefield of soft strength and whispered will, a stage for mischief and intimacy alike.
Because in this world, some battles were won not with force, but with teasing smiles, deliberate touches, and quiet, knowing laughter. And she — curled on that sofa, hair spilling, fingers twitching — was ready to claim victory without ever showing the hand she held.
The night promised mischief, warmth, and danger. It promised laughter, challenge, and whispered games. It promised eyes that watched too closely, touches that lingered too long, and hearts that betrayed themselves before they ever knew why. And somewhere in the soft, glowing light, she grinned — half mischievous, half triumphant — and waited.
Because in a story like this, the real thrill wasn't in what would happen next. It was in who would notice first, who would falter, who would chase, and who would tease back.
And she had every intention of making sure it wouldn't be her.
The silence stretched, thick and deliberate. The woman standing across from her did not retreat. She didn't blush. She didn't stammer. If anything, her gaze sharpened, dark eyes lowering just slightly as if assessing a puzzle she suddenly found very interesting.
Oh.
So she wasn't the only hunter in the room.
A slow step forward. Then another. The soft whisper of silk against skin. The faint scent of something clean and expensive drifting closer.
"Are you always like this?" the newcomer asked, voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that could pass as casual but carried a hidden edge.
"Like what?" came the lazy reply, lips curving as she shifted on the sofa, making no move to sit properly. One leg bent, the other stretching just enough for the hem of her skirt to ride higher. Not too much. Just enough.
"Dangerous."
A laugh slipped out, soft and bright. "You're mistaking me for someone competent."
But the glint in her eyes betrayed her.
The air between them felt charged now, like static before a storm. Every inch of distance seemed intentional. Every breath seemed louder. The system in her mind muttered reminders about missions and survival, about breaking connections and ruining fates — but honestly? That could wait five minutes. Or ten. Or however long it took to win this round.
Because this wasn't just about sabotage anymore.
This was about proving a point.
The woman in silk crossed her arms loosely, posture elegant, controlled. "You look unwell," she observed, though there was no real concern in her voice. Only curiosity.
"Oh, I am," she replied immediately, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "Terribly unwell."
"From what?"
She let her gaze trail upward slowly, deliberately, from collarbone to jawline to those unreadable eyes. "You."
A pause.
Then — the faintest twitch at the corner of the other woman's lips.
Ah. There it is.
Victory was sweetest when subtle.
She sat up then, closing the space between them by mere inches. Not touching. Not yet. Just enough to feel the warmth radiating off the other's body. Just enough to test whether she would step back.
She didn't.
Interesting.
"You should be careful," silk pajamas murmured softly. "Playing games can be dangerous."
"And losing them?" she countered lightly.
"That depends on who's keeping score."
The tension snapped into something almost tangible. A challenge accepted without ever being spoken aloud. Two women. One mission. Countless cameras hidden in corners. And absolutely zero intention of behaving.
If the world expected rivalry, drama, and jealousy over some irrelevant third party, it was about to be severely disappointed.
Because the real story was unfolding right here.
She leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper meant only for the space between them. "Tell me," she said softly, teasing, "if I asked you to stay… would you?"
Silence again. But this time it wasn't heavy. It was electric.
The answer didn't come in words. It came in the way the woman in silk didn't move away. In the way her fingers flexed ever so slightly, resisting the urge to touch. In the way her eyes darkened just enough to suggest that she, too, was reconsidering the rules.
Good.
Very good.
The mission was simple: prevent a destined romance. Tear apart a connection before it bloomed. Survive.
But somewhere between playful glances and dangerous proximity, the plan began to shift. Why stop a pairing when you could rewrite it? Why play villain when you could steal the heroine instead?
Her grin returned, softer this time, less triumphant and more intrigued.
Because here was the real twist — the so - called scumbag might just fall first.
And if she did?
Well.
She would fall beautifully.
The cameras would capture stolen glances. The world would speculate. Headlines would explode with rumors. Rivals would whisper. Viewers would replay every almost - touch frame by frame.
But only the two of them would know the truth.
That beneath the teasing and the strategy, beneath the mock illness and calculated charm, something dangerously genuine was beginning to flicker.
Not surrender.
Not yet.
But curiosity.
And curiosity, in a story like this, was far more lethal than love.
The night deepened. The light softened further. Somewhere outside, the world continued spinning, unaware that inside this glowing villa, a different kind of battle had begun — not for dominance, not for revenge, but for who would dare to step closer first.
She had entered this world prepared to act. To lie. To seduce. To win.
She hadn't expected to be matched.
And she definitely hadn't expected to enjoy it this much.
The woman before her tilted her head slightly, studying her as if memorizing every expression.
"You're smiling," silk observed.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Maybe I like challenges."
A beat.
"Good," came the quiet reply. "So do I."
And just like that, the game truly began.