Transmigrated as the Pregnant Villainess: Mr Lu. This Heir is Yours. Chapter 15; Conflict

She slipped into his shirt.

The fabric fell loosely over her fra. Too large. The hem brushed her thighs. The sleeves swallowed her hands. Too intimate. The collar gaped slightly, revealing the curve of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.

Her fingers moved—buttoning it. One by one. Slow. Deliberate.

Then she looked up.

At herself. In the mirror.

Different.

Not soft. Not claiming. Occupying.

The shirt was his. The room was his. The bed was his.

But she was standing in the middle of it all—uninvited, unwelco, and utterly unapologetic.

A voice ca from the doorway. Cold. Sharp.

"You’re in the wrong place."

Silence snapped back into the room.

The servants froze mid-motion. One held a folded towel. Another clutched a pillow. None of them dared breathe.

Su Wan didn’t turn imdiately. She let the words settle. Let the silence stretch. Let the weight of the mont build.

Then—slowly—she did.

Lu iqi.

Standing there. Posture rigid. Chin lifted. Eyes sharp as broken glass. Her silk dress was immaculate—teal, expensive, perfectly pressed. Her hair was swept back in a smooth twist. Every inch of her scread entitlent.

But her expression was tight. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Her hands—clasped in front of her—were slightly too stiff.

"This is my cousin’s room," Lu iqi said. Her voice was cold and controlled, but a tremor lay beneath it. A crack in the armor. "You shouldn’t be here."

Su Wan looked at her. Then in the room. Then back at her.

"It’s Grandpa’s orders!"

Flat. Unmoved.

Lu iqi’s eyes flickered—to the shirt. To the bare legs beneath. To the way Su Wan stood, barefoot, hair loose, wearing his clothes in his space as if she had every right.

"That doesn’t an you belong here."

The words landed like a slap. Deliberate. Cruel.

Su Wan didn’t flinch.

Instead, she stepped forward. Not fast. Not aggressive. But enough. The space between them shifted. The air grew heavier.

"I don’t need to belong," she said quietly. Her voice was soft—but it cut. "I just need to stand here."

Lu iqi’s expression cracked. Just slightly. A flicker in her eyes. A tightening at the corner of her mouth.

Because that—was worse.

Not claiming. Not begging. Not demanding recognition or validation or acceptance.

Just occupying.

The way water fills a space regardless of who owns the cup. The way roots spread through stone. The way sothing unwanted becos sothing undeniable.

The air tightened.

The servants shrank back against the walls, invisible, useless.

And just like that—the conflict had begun.

Not with shouting. Not with tears.

With a shirt. A room. And two won standing on opposite sides of a threshold that neither was willing to cross—or leave.

Lu iqi’s lips parted. Closed. Parted again.

"She shouldn’t be here," she repeated—but this ti, the words were weaker. Aid at the servants. At the walls. To anyone who would listen.

No one answered.

Because no one dared.

Su Wan turned away. Picked up her discarded robe. Folded it slowly and placed it on the edge of the bed.

She walked past Lu iqi.

Very close. Close enough that the soft fabric of the oversized shirt brushed lightly against the other woman’s arm.

Not an accident. Not careless.

asured. Intentional.

A quiet reminder: I’m still here.

Lu iqi didn’t move at first. She stood in the doorway. Still. Rigid. Every line of her body scread control—the straightened spine, the clenched jaw, the hands clasped tight at her sides.

But her hands—trembled.

Just slightly. Barely noticeable.

Enough.

Sothing snapped.

She moved. Fast. No warning. No restraint. No pretense left.

Her hand shot forward—fingers spread, nails sharp—aid straight for Su Wan’s shoulder. Not to stop her. Not to speak. To grab. To drag. To rip her out.

She never touched her.

Su Wan turned. Not startled and not rushed. As if she had known—from the beginning—this would happen.

A single step to the side. Clean. Effortless. Her hand lifted—and closed around Lu iqi’s wrist mid-air.

Silence didn’t fall. It broke.

Lu iqi froze. Her entire body locked mid-motion. For a second, she didn’t understand. Her brain was still catching up, still processing the fact that her target was no longer where she should have been.

Then—pain.

Not sharp. Not brutal. Controlled. A subtle twist of her wrist—just enough to stop her. Just enough to remind her that she was no longer in control.

"Let go—!"

Too late.

The first slap landed. Crisp. Precise. The sound cut cleanly through the air like a single crack of thunder in a silent room.

Lu iqi’s head snapped to the side. Her hair shifted. Her earrings trembled. Shock flooded her expression—more than pain, more than anger. She blinked once, twice, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

The second slap ca faster. Harder. Before she could even react.

Crack.

"How dare you?"

Su Wan’s voice was low. Even. Controlled. Not raised—which made it worse.

Lu iqi stilled. Confusion flickered across her face, then anger, hot and rising. Her mouth opened—

The third slap landed. Slower. Deliberate.

Crack.

"I’m pregnant."

The words didn’t rise. They settled. Heavy. Final.

Su Wan’s fingers tightened slightly around Lu iqi’s wrist—not enough to bruise, but enough to hold.

"You grab like that..." A pause. "...what happens if I fall?"

Silence. Imdiate. Oppressive.

Even the servants felt it. The air in the room turned thick, hard to breathe. The two won standing near the wardrobe had pressed themselves against the wall, eyes down, hands trembling. The one by the window had stopped breathing entirely.

Because now—they understood.

This wasn’t anger. This was a consequence.

Lu iqi’s expression changed. For the first ti—sothing cracked. Not pride. Not arrogance. Uncertainty.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly. Her lips parted, but no words ca out.

Su Wan stepped closer. One step. That was all it took. Not aggressive. Not forceful. But it erased distance and made everything unavoidable.

"My body is not sothing you pull around."

Her voice dropped. Colder. No longer explaining. Stating.