It hadn't even been a full day.
Shen Fuyue's name was plastered across every screen in the country.
The leaked footage, the hospital photos, the commentary dripping with ridicule—each wave of public attention more vicious than the last. News anchors speculated. Anonymous users tore her character apart. Hashtags exploded across platforms like wildfire:
#ShenFuyueExposed, #SocialiteScandal, #ManipulativeWoman.
No one cared what really happened.
They only cared that she had fallen—and they were eager to trample whatever pieces were left of her.
And through it all, the Mo family remained silent.
People waited for a statement. A gesture. A defense. Anything.
Then, on the morning of the second day, the silence shattered.
No press conference. No cameras. Just a sterile, two-line post buried in the "Updates" section of the Mo Corporation's official website:
"Due to personal differences, the engagement between Mr. Mo Ziqian and Miss Shen Fuyue was amicably called off weeks ago. The two parties have since parted on good terms. Any current controversies involving Miss Shen Fuyue or the Shen family are entirely unrelated to the Mo family."
The words hit like a knife to the gut.
Amicably called off.
Good terms.
Unrelated.
It wasn't just a denial—it was a burial. The Mo family had not only washed their hands of Shen Fuyue, they'd thrown her to the wolves with a bow on top.
What had once been whispers now turned to knives. Comment sections overflowed with venom.
"So she got dumped and decided to pull a stunt?"
"A gold digger who got what she deserved."
"Good on the Mo family for cutting her off early."
"Crazy how girls think being ruined gets them sympathy these days."
"So she lied about being engaged? Pathetic."
"Trash gets thrown out—why is anyone surprised?"
The narrative twisted, and Shen Fuyue was no longer a victim. She became the story's villain. A manipulative woman cast aside by a noble family who wanted nothing more to do with her.
And somewhere in the quiet of the hospital, far from the screens and screams, Shen Yuhuan stared at her phone, her breath caught in her chest.
Her blood boiled.
Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the statement, disbelief turning quickly into rage. Cowards. That was all she could think. Spineless, backstabbing cowards.
If Shen Weimin weren't lying unconscious in a hospital bed, she knew he would've torn the Mo family's empire down with his bare hands—even if it meant destroying himself in the process.
Who would've thought that the moment the news about Shen Fuyue broke, it would hit him so hard? A man once known for his strength and resilience, now reduced to a fragile shell, teetering between life and death. The blow had struck deeper than anyone imagined.
But what came next… she hadn't expected.
Her phone buzzed again. Another notification. One glance, and her face turned pale.
"No..." she whispered, her heart pounding violently. "They wouldn't…"
She bolted upright and called over a nurse. "Can you please stay with Fuyue. Don't leave her side," she said, already grabbing her coat.
She nearly collided with Dr. Luo in the hallway.
"Is something wrong—"
But she didn't stop. She brushed past him, eyes blazing, not even hearing the rest of his sentence.
***
The Shen Family Mansion
The estate buzzed with activity.
Maids rushed through the halls, floral arrangements were being positioned, and rolls of fabric were unfurled across the sitting room floor. The air was filled with the scent of fresh polish and new beginnings.
Old Madam Shen sat serenely by the window, smiling as she examined fabric swatches for new curtains.
"This one," she said, tapping a pale gold silk with manicured fingers. "It looks auspicious. Good fortune always starts with the right color."
"Mother has good taste," said the eldest daughter-in-law, Liu Yini, wife of Shen Hanxing, as she flipped through the event planner's sample menu. "Let's go with sea bass and bird's nest soup—it'll impress the guests."
It was a scene of celebration. As if nothing had happened. As if Shen Fuyue had never existed.
Then the front doors slammed open.
Shen Yuhuan stormed into the grand hall like a fury unleashed, her heels striking the marble with sharp, angry clicks.
Every servant stopped. The air shifted.
She didn't wait to greet anyone.
Her eyes locked on Shen Hanxing, the supposed "pillar" of the Shen family, seated comfortably with a drink in hand.
"You disowned her?" Her voice trembled, not from weakness but from barely-contained fury. "You threw Fuyue to the dogs and then sat here—smiling—as if none of this touched you?"
Shen Hanxing didn't even flinch. He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable, his arm draped casually over the rest.
"Why are you here, Yuhuan?" he asked, sneering. "This has nothing to do with you."
"She's lying in a hospital bed, fighting to breathe," Yuhuan snapped. "And you—you're here throwing parties and releasing statements to protect your rotten name."
Old Madam Shen's face darkened. "Enough, Yuhuan. You're causing a scene."
But Yuhuan laughed bitterly. "A scene? This whole house is a performance! Pretending to be pure and respectable while letting a girl be torn apart by the world—your own blood!"
"Don't act self-righteous," Shen Hanxing growled, standing now. "You've always been an outsider. You were never really part of this family."
Ah. There it was.
The truth, said out loud.
Because Shen Yuhuan, the youngest daughter of Old Master Shen, had always lived under that shadow. Conceived from a one-night scandal his enemies set in motion, her existence had been buried under the label of "late-born daughter" to save face. Old Madam Shen had played the part of mother in public, but behind closed doors, everyone knew she loathed Yuhuan's presence.
Only Shen Weimin had treated her like family. He, the third son, had been her shield, her brother, her comfort. And for that, even he had become a target of disdain—despite his brilliance, his strength, his clear superiority over Shen Hanxing.
But tradition mattered more than truth in this house.
And so Shen Hanxing, the undeserving eldest, inherited everything—while the one person who had the power to protect Shen Fuyue now lay unconscious, and his daughter was being erased from existence.
Shen Yuhuan's breath hitched—but then she laughed bitterly. "No, of course not. As always, I'm just the unwanted one in this house. But Fuyue? She's Weimin's daughter. She's family. And you—you—just severed her name like it meant nothing."
Then she threw her phone onto the center table.
The screen still displayed the Shen Corporation's official announcement, posted just an hour ago on all platforms:
[In response to recent online discussions regarding Miss Shen Fuyue, the Shen family wishes to make the following clarification:
Due to ongoing personal conduct concerns, the family formally distanced itself from Miss Shen Fuyue some time ago. Out of respect and hope for her growth, we chose not to make this public.
However, given the current situation, we believe it is important to state that her actions are her own and do not reflect the values or principles of the Shen family or Shen Corporation. Our silence until now was meant to protect her, but continuing to do so would be irresponsible.
We ask the public and media to refrain from speculation and respect all parties involved.
—Shen Corporation]
A line of cold ink. But it might as well have been a dagger to the heart.
Shen Yuhuan's voice was hoarse. "You abandoned her when she needed you most. If Third brother weren't lying in a hospital bed right now, if he had even a shred of strength left, he would've torn this family apart for what you just did."
Shen Hanxing scoffed.
Yes, if Shen Weimin were awake, walking, breathing, the threat might've meant something. He knew his younger brother—reckless, dangerous when provoked. A man who once tore down an entire department because someone disrespected Yuhuan.
But now?
Now he was just a comatose relic in a hospital bed. And Shen Hanxing didn't lose sleep over relics.
"What could he possibly do now?" Hanxing said coldly. "He's not even conscious. The family can't wait around for a ghost to wake up and make decisions."
Old Madam Shen let out a delicate sigh, setting aside the curtain swatches as if Shen Yuhuan's fury were just an annoying gust of wind.
"Fuyue was always a stain, born of a nameless woman. If it weren't for Weimin's weakness, I would have discarded her long ago." She sneered, her voice sharp. "The only thing she did right was getting engaged to Mo Ziqian, but even that she ruined with her foolishness. What a disgrace."
Her gaze turned bitter. "Everyone knew about Mo Ziqian's first love, Gu Shuli. A woman with class, with family. Could Fuyue ever compare?"
"Honestly, she brought shame to the family name long before this incident."
"Shame?" Shen Yuhuan barked a bitter laugh. "She was raped!"
The servants flinched. A maid dropped a vase.
But none of the Shen elders even blinked.
The eldest daughter-in-law looked up calmly. "And whose fault is that? A woman should know better than to be reckless. Especially someone raised with such privilege."
Shen Yuhuan's jaw trembled—not from fear, but from fury.
"You're blaming her?" she hissed. "After everything she went through? After the Mo family threw her to the wolves to save their reputation? And what did you all do?" Her voice cracked, then rose, sharp enough to cut glass. "Nothing. You stood by. You watched. When she begged for help, you turned your backs."
Old Madam Shen stood, her voice sharp with frost. "Watch your tone, Yuhuan. You're in my house."
"No," Shen Yuhuan growled, taking a step forward, her finger pointing straight at the matriarch. "This is a graveyard. And you're all grave-diggers. You didn't just disown her. You buried her alive."
Shen Hanxing narrowed his eyes. "You've always been emotional. Dramatic. That's why you were never given any real responsibilities. You talk about Fuyue, but let's not forget—you're not even a full Shen."
There it was.
The venom beneath their polished masks.
Old Madam Shen didn't stop him. She didn't have to. The silence was confirmation enough.
"I may not be your blood," Yuhuan said, voice tight with pain, "but I am more Shen than any of you standing here playing noble while throwing a broken girl into the fire just to keep your hands clean."
"You think you're better than us?" Shen Hanxing's voice hardened. "Let me remind you—Shen Fuyue is no longer our problem. She was disowned for a reason. Her name no longer belongs to this family. Let the world do what it wants with her. We have no obligation to a disgraced woman."
"Disgraced?" Yuhuan's laugh came out hoarse and cold. "You disowned a victim, and now you want to act like it's righteous?"
Old Madam Shen looked her in the eye, tone final. "This family has no room for stains. We are preparing for Shen Yichen's engagement next month. We cannot have a scandal attached to our name. Sometimes, sacrifices are necessary."
A silence fell.
Heavy. Poisoned.
Then Shen Yuhuan said the one thing that sliced through the air like a blade:
"She's not the stain," she whispered. "You are. All of you."
And without another word, she turned and stormed out of the hall, the doors slamming behind her with a thundering echo.
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful.
It was the silence before a storm.
And this time, Shen Yuhuan wasn't going to play the quiet daughter anymore.
***