Livestream

We followed the trend and started livestream selling.

On the first day, our host was shy but professional.

She answered product questions well.

Seeing no issue, I returned to my office to wait for the data review.

Not long after, my assistant burst in.

“Ms. Fang, the host got bullied until she cried!”

I opened the stream.

The comments were disgusting.

“Shameless. Decent girls don’t buy this.”

“You can talk about this openly?”

“Wear it for us.”

“Put it on and dance, I’ll order immediately.”

The young host lowered her head and cried silently.

I replaced her.

Product introduction?

That was my domain.

When I appeared, the comments shifted but remained vulgar.

“Older one. Good. Older women know more.”

“Experienced?”

“Married woman type. Nice.”

“Put it on.”

I asked backstage to check.

As expected, most of the obscene accounts were men.

I sighed.

“Sorry, sisters,” I said calmly to the camera. “Some men entered the livestream. Their brains appear to have been hijacked by their lower half.”

“If male viewers want to understand women better, listen, and buy something for your partner, we welcome you.”

“But if you continue polluting the comments, our moderator will escort you out.”

The women in the livestream exploded.

“Sister is so cool!”

“Can sister be mine?”

“Drop your socials!”

After the stream, I trended.

My personal account was found.

Overnight, I gained one hundred thousand followers.

Noah registered a social account that night.

I lay in his arms, drawing a finger over his abs.

“Is this necessary? Young people shouldn’t be so jealous. Bad for health.”

He tightened his arms around me.

“They may joke, but what if someone is serious? I can’t bear it.”

“They’re girls too. You get jealous of girls?”

Noah looked serious.

“Then let me go public. Do you agree?”

My face stiffened.

Noah suddenly knelt on the bed.

“Sister, I have something to confess. Don’t hit me.”

“What?”

“Quinn already knows about us.”

“What?”

“Since my first day back.”

That day, to take me away from the engagement party, Noah told Quinn I was his girlfriend and asked her not to tell me.

So I had been acting unfamiliar in front of Quinn for nothing.

I smiled dangerously.

“People who do bad things deserve punishment.”

I opened the bedside drawer and took out a sample paddle for next season.

Soft lambskin head.

Carbon-fiber handle.

Light, flexible, tasteful.

I tapped Noah’s ass through his gray lounge pants.

“Sister hit me,” he murmured.

By morning, my phone had ninety-nine-plus messages.

Noah’s new account had posted one photo.

A blurry security-camera screenshot of him wearing puppy ears and kissing me at my doorway.

Caption:

Sister is mine.

The comments were full of screaming.

“Where is the headband link?”

“If my boyfriend wore this to seduce me, I would become so cheerful.”

“Buying this for my younger boyfriend now.”

The puppy-ear headband sold over two hundred thousand units online.

Quinn gave us both a huge bonus and ten days off.

In Las Vegas, inside a hotel casino, Noah leaned near my ear.

“Want to bet?”

“Bet what?”

“If the dice add up to twelve, we get married.”

“Two dice making twelve is one in thirty-six,” I said. “Don’t want to choose a different number?”

“No.”

The first die showed five.

I sighed.

“No marriage.”

The dealer smiled.

“The other is seven.”

Seven?

I picked up the dice.

One die had only fives.

The other had only sevens.

Noah grabbed my hand.

“You agreed. No regrets.”

He dragged me to the nearest marriage registration office.

I, who almost never posted on social media, finally made a post.

Photo:

Our Las Vegas marriage certificate.

Caption:

The boy who said he would marry me at eighteen came to fulfill his promise.