Zhao Luchen didn't sleep.
He stood by the window long after Yuyan had curled into the blankets on his bed, her hair spilling across his pillow like ink.
She hadn't asked him to stay. But she hadn't pushed him away either.
And that—meant everything.
He stared at the glittering skyline, glass high-rises blinking like watchful eyes. Somewhere in that city, someone was playing a dangerous game. And the pieces were moving.
His phone buzzed softly.
A new message.
No text. Just a photo.
Luchen's blood froze.
It was a still from a security camera. Blurry but unmistakable.
Zhao Lemin.
Alive. Smiling faintly. Holding what looked like—no, it was—the original marriage contract. The one that should've been locked in a vault.
And behind him, out of focus but horrifyingly clear to Luchen—was himself.
Or rather, a version of him. Younger. Dressed for a wedding.
The date on the image: the morning of that day.
The day Zhao Lemin vanished.
He swallowed hard, heart pounding like war drums.
A message followed.
> "Ask her if she remembers who signed it first."
He closed the phone. His knuckles were white.
Lemin wasn't hiding anymore.
He was staging something.
**
Morning sunlight spilled softly into the room. Lin Yuyan stirred, warm and drowsy, until the chill beside her made her reach out instinctively—
The bed was empty.
She sat up quickly, the sheet slipping off her shoulder. "Luchen?"
The door to the balcony was ajar.
He stood outside, sleeves rolled up, arms braced on the railing like he needed to keep himself from unraveling.
She wrapped the sheet around her and stepped out, the cold breeze biting her skin.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
He turned slowly. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than before.
"Did you know…" He trailed off, searching her face. "Did you know Lemin had the original contract?"
Her breath caught. "What?"
He took out his phone and showed her the image.
She stared.
The blood drained from her face.
It wasn't the contract that made her shudder—it was Lemin's expression. Calm. Calculated. Like he wanted to be found now.
And the man behind him…
Yuyan's hand flew to her mouth.
"That's… that's you?"
Luchen's jaw tensed. "It's not. But it was the wedding day."
Yuyan's fingers trembled. "I remember that hallway. I remember Lemin asking me to sign… but then everything was a blur. The ceremony changed. You were there. He wasn't."
She looked up, her eyes glassy. "You never explained what happened."
"I wanted to protect you," he said quietly. "But maybe that was a mistake."
She didn't respond.
Because the pieces were shifting in her mind. Unfamiliar. Dangerous.
What if Lemin hadn't vanished out of cowardice?
What if he'd been forced?
Blackmailed.
Or worse—what if he'd orchestrated everything?
Luchen took a step toward her. "Yuyan."
She looked at him, arms wrapped tightly around herself. "Did you know he was alive all this time?"
"Yes," he admitted. "Everyone in the family did. But he told us to stay away. He said it was his choice to disappear."
"And you didn't tell me?" Her voice cracked.
"I didn't want to reopen the wound."
"It never closed."
She stepped back, the distance between them more painful than any truth.
"You're asking me to trust you," she whispered. "But how can I, when I don't even know what really happened that day?"
Luchen's voice was raw. "I didn't steal you, Yuyan. I wanted to—but I didn't. You were the one who walked down the aisle. You said yes."
"Because I thought it was him," she whispered.
The words hurt them both.
He looked away, breath hitching.
She turned to go.
But before she reached the door, he said hoarsely, "He's playing us both now."
She froze.
"I'll find out what he wants," Luchen continued. "But you have to decide something first."
She turned slowly. "What?"
He met her gaze.
"Do you want me—or just the answers?"
The question silenced her.
Not because she didn't know the answer.
But because she did.
And that terrified her most of all.
**
That night, she didn't sleep in his bed.
She paced her old guest room instead, surrounded by suitcases she hadn't unpacked from Prague. Her fingers ghosted over old scripts, makeup brushes, a cracked Polaroid.
On a whim, she opened the zipped compartment in the side pocket.
And found a single sheet of paper folded twice.
A photocopy of the marriage contract.
Her signature.
And someone else's beneath it—written in hurried ink.
Not Lemin's.
Zhao Luchen's.
The date: one day before the wedding.
She stared at the paper, hands shaking.
What did it mean?
Was it insurance?
Or was it something else entirely?
**
Downstairs, Luchen poured himself a drink he didn't touch.
Across the room, her phone buzzed where she'd left it on the kitchen counter.
He glanced at the screen by instinct.
Unknown number.
> "Do you know what he did to me? Ask him what price he paid for your love."
A second message arrived immediately.
A photo this time.
Zhao Lemin, sitting in a chair, cufflinks loose, shirt open at the neck. He looked older. Weary. But the glint in his eye was unmistakable.
And behind him—
Luchen's heart dropped.
A familiar set.
The rooftop.
His rooftop.
The one where he'd hosted Yuyan's wrap party.
The one only a few people had access to.
Zhao Lemin had been there.
Recently.
Watching.
Waiting.
The glass slipped from Luchen's fingers and shattered.
And from upstairs, he heard Yuyan's voice cry out, "Luchen?"
He didn't answer.
Because the past hadn't just returned.
It had never left.
---