Quick Transmigration: Yandere Male Leads? Hand 'Em Over! - Chapter 87

Inside the bathroom, as Bo Qi’an took off his coat, a soft, clean handkerchief fell out—it was the one his wife had used earlier to wipe the lychee juice off his mouth.

As if possessed, he picked it up, held it between his fingers, and brought it to his nose.

At first, it smelled faintly of lychees. Then came the scent that belonged solely to his wife—soft and entangling, delicate yet persistent. It slipped into his lungs and settled deep in his chest.

How could she smell so good?

He’d already been using her brand of shampoo and body wash (the women’s version, no less), and still couldn’t replicate the fragrance that clung to her skin.

Bo Qi’an folded the small square handkerchief carefully, hoping she wouldn’t notice it was missing. That way, he could secretly keep it for himself.

After changing into the outfit his wife had picked out, he spent several minutes adjusting the details in front of the mirror—turning this way and that—before finally stepping out, projecting elegance and maturity with every movement.

His face was cool and refined, his bearing aloof and noble. The laid-back style of the suit only highlighted his sharp charm, and the metallic chains on the vest added a luxurious touch—vintage and relaxed, perfectly balanced.

Su Ci had always known he was handsome and well-proportioned, but the moment he appeared before her, she was still momentarily stunned.

That flicker of admiration didn’t escape Bo Qi’an’s notice.

He lowered his thick lashes. When his deep, dark eyes met hers, the calm within them began to ripple gently.

“Do you like it, my dear?”

Su Ci leaned her cheek on one hand and tilted her head slightly, appraising him.

“Very sexy. Suits you.”

Bo Qi’an nearly lost his footing.

His voice trembled faintly.

“…Cough. There are even sexier ones. Want to see them? We’re home alone. No need to be shy.”

Worried she might misunderstand, he hurried to explain:

“It’s a marital duty. One I should be fulfilling. Pictures can’t compare to the real thing.”

Su Ci eyed the tips of his reddened ears and asked, a little uncertainly:

“Then take off the coat. Let me see the full outfit. Did you put on the matching armbands too?”

Bo Qi’an’s voice was tight:

“Y-Yes. I did.”

Su Ci suspected if he kept trying on clothes, he was going to overheat.

Funny how bold he was when forcing a marriage… and now he’s shy when she hadn’t even done anything to him yet.

“It’s getting late. We have work tomorrow. Go wash up and get some rest.”

Then she paused, and suddenly stepped forward, hugging his slightly stiff body.

Her lips brushed softly against his ear.

“Go on, hubby.”

She hadn’t seen the marriage certificate yet.

But she was certain it existed. He was hiding it somewhere.

As legal spouses, there was nothing inappropriate about this. A hug and a kiss were the least of it. Even fulfilling marital obligations right away wouldn’t be overstepping.

Bo Qi’an froze with a hand on the top button of his shirt.

A deep crease formed between his brows.

Had he already lost his appeal to her? So soon?

He gently hugged her back, voice low and hoarse, tinged with grievance.

“Goodnight, my dear. I… I won’t disturb your rest.”

Su Ci: “…?”

She watched as he walked into the bathroom to get a change of clothes, face expressionless, lips tight, and posture tense as he walked away quickly, like someone escaping in defeat.

“Bo Qi’an, where are you going?”

He halted mid-step, refusing to turn around for fear she’d see the look on his face—uglier than crying—and stood stiffly.

“To the gym. Gotta burn off some energy or I won’t be able to sleep.”

That late, and he still wanted to work out?

Su Ci couldn’t understand where this man’s body image anxiety came from. Bo Qi’an was already perfect—not too skinny, not too bulky. Just right.

She pursed her lips and hit him with a question that could make any man instantly lose all rational thought:

“Will you still have enough energy left for me after the workout?”

Su Ci stepped in front of him, tugging on the end of his tie to make the tall man lower his head. Her soft, clear eyes locked onto his, shimmering with light.

“Bo Qi’an, it’s the first night of our marriage. You’re really going to sleep in a separate bed?”

Then, turning smoothly, she locked the bedroom door behind them.

“I. Don’t. Allow it.”

On their second night as husband and wife,
Bo Qi’an slept in his wife’s bed.

And she let him hold her.

Closely.

But things… didn’t go quite how he’d imagined.

Bo Qi’an was twenty-seven, healthy, and had never been with anyone before. Like most men, he had a few DIY coping mechanisms.

His usual ten-minute hot shower took half an hour that night.

Worried about underperforming in front of his wife (and being overshadowed by a certain ex-fiancé), he ended up doing something unspeakable to the little handkerchief.

By the time he was done, the edges were frayed and stiff. His elegant, cool face was flushed with desire—and regret.

He’d ruined it. Dirtied it.

That very handkerchief his wife had used earlier to wipe his chin while calling him cute.

What a filthy, pathetic man he was.

Still steaming from the bath, Bo Qi’an had just approached the bed when Su Ci suddenly pushed him down and climbed on top. She braced her hands on his chest.

“Ready? Let’s begin.”

Bo Qi’an’s breath caught. His heart pounded like thunder.

He even closed his eyes nervously—but with anticipation.

Su Ci pressed two gentle kisses on his cheek, then pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and took out a storybook.

“Once upon a time, in a grand castle, there lived two brothers…”

Bo Qi’an: “…?”

No one had ever told him a bedtime story before.

His only memory was when he was five—his mother, home briefly from a business trip, had cradled his younger brother to sleep. He’d peeked through the crack in the door, only to have it slammed shut in his face when she saw him.

His right hand got caught in the door. He couldn’t hold a pen for two weeks.

Fairy tales, to Bo Qi’an, were always dark and fake—written by people flaunting happiness while denying him even the chance to glimpse it.

But this story—his wife’s story—he liked.

No brothers turning against each other.
No favoritism from cruel parents.
No suffocating punishments or blame.

In the story, the older brother even got to marry the girl he fell in love with at first sight.

So that’s all a fairy tale really is.

Bo Qi’an had also married the girl he fell for at first sight.
And she was the most, most beautiful girl in the world.

Her voice was soft and warm, pure and sincere. As the dreamy fairy tale filled the room, his eyes grew darker and deeper.

In the dim light, his usually cool, sharp features took on a dazed, intoxicated glow.

By the end of the story, it had all melted into breathless sighs and kisses.

Bo Qi’an no longer had the capacity to think about anything else. The composure and control he’d prided himself on had crumbled, leaving only instinct—devouring, coaxing, claiming.

It was nothing like the gentle warmth Su Ci had shown.

He was a storm.

And what he did to his wife…

Was far worse than what he’d done to that poor little handkerchief.

Dazed and breathless, Su Ci murmured in a hoarse whisper:

“Bo Qi’an, maybe you should go to the gym now and cool off a little…”

But the man only tightened his hold on her, wrapped her snugly in the sheet, and with impressive core strength, scooped her up from the bed.

He kissed her flushed lips, reluctant to part.

“Sure. I’ll do whatever my wife says. You’ll train with me.”

Su Ci: “…?”

Train? What kind of training? In the gym?

From the bedroom to the third-floor gym, via stairs, carrying her the entire way—

This commanding, in-control Bo Qi’an was a far cry from the shy, blushing man from earlier.

Su Ci bit his shoulder in protest.

Bo Qi’an gently pressed her against the wall and whispered soothingly:

“Be gentle, love. That really hurt.”