The ballroom glittered like a dream—gold chandeliers casting halos of light, champagne flutes raised in perpetual toasts, and a sea of designer gowns swirling like ocean currents across the marble floor.
Lin Yuyan stood at the edge of it all, radiant in a silver off-shoulder gown that shimmered like moonlight. Her hair was swept to one side, her skin luminous beneath the flash of cameras. But her fingers curled slightly at her sides.
She hated events like these. Especially now.
"Smile," Zhao Luchen murmured beside her, his breath brushing her ear as he adjusted the cuff of his tailored black suit.
"I am smiling," she said, her teeth clenched behind her glossed lips.
"No," he said quietly, stepping closer. "You're surviving."
She turned to him, trying not to let her gaze linger too long on the way he looked tonight—sharp, composed, but with an edge of exhaustion she recognized. They hadn't spoken much since the night of their almost-kiss. Since the night she said not yet.
Since then, tension had replaced touch. Want thickened every glance, but neither crossed the line.
Not yet.
A flashbulb went off. The press swarmed, calling their names.
"Yuyan! Luchen! Over here!"
He reached for her hand without asking, lacing their fingers together.
It startled her.
She didn't pull away.
Together, they faced the cameras.
Someone asked, "Are the rumors true? You're rekindling things?"
Luchen didn't blink. "We were never unkindled."
That made her laugh—soft and real and completely unplanned.
The photographers ate it up.
But when the lights dimmed and the crowd moved to the next spectacle, Yuyan leaned into his shoulder.
"You know you can't charm them forever," she said.
"I don't care about them," he said simply. "I care about you."
Something fluttered in her chest. Not because of what he said—but how he said it. Like it wasn't meant to win her. Just the truth.
Before she could answer, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. But it buzzed again—urgent, persistent.
She stepped away, offering him an out. "Go."
He sighed and checked the screen. His jaw stiffened.
"Security update," he muttered. "The surveillance team found something odd."
Her breath caught. "Another message?"
He hesitated. "Not exactly. Footage."
"Of what?"
He lowered his voice. "Someone tailing you last week. And today, at the parking entrance."
Her pulse quickened. "Lemin?"
"I don't know yet," he said. "But we're getting closer."
Yuyan swallowed. The room spun a little. "He's not hiding."
"No," Luchen agreed, voice bitter. "He wants us to see him now."
She nodded slowly. "Then let's give him something to watch."
And with that, she turned back to the party, raised her chin—and walked back into the lights, his hand steady in hers.
**
The night wore on with too many toasts and fake smiles. But when the final speech ended and guests began to slip away, Luchen quietly pulled her aside.
"There's a garden terrace upstairs. Come."
She followed without question.
The rooftop garden was quiet, drenched in moonlight and winter air. String lights flickered overhead like tired stars. Below, the city stretched on forever.
"You needed to breathe too, huh?" she said softly.
He didn't answer. Just stared out into the night.
Then, without turning, he asked, "If it is Lemin… what will you do?"
She walked to his side. "I don't know."
His hand tightened on the railing. "He left you. On your wedding day."
"He was blackmailed."
"We both were," Luchen said sharply. "But I didn't run."
She looked up at him, heart pounding.
"Why are you angry with me?"
"I'm not," he said. "I'm angry at him. And at myself. Because even now, part of you still wonders if he's the victim."
Yuyan's throat went tight. "Is it wrong to want answers?"
"No," he said gently. "But don't let him steal your present too."
Their eyes met. And there it was again—that pull.
This time, she reached out first, fingers brushing his sleeve.
"I haven't forgotten," she whispered.
He stepped closer. "Forgotten what?"
"What you said. That night."
Luchen's hand rose to her face, cradling her cheek. "Then tell me to kiss you."
She shook her head, eyes fluttering shut.
"I don't need to."
And this time, when their lips met, it wasn't tentative.
It was everything they hadn't said—everything they'd survived, everything they were still afraid of.
But it wasn't desperate.
It was careful.
Full of fire, but also… care.
When they broke apart, she leaned into his chest, his arms locking around her protectively.
"I'm scared," she murmured.
"I know," he said. "So am I."
"But I want to try."
He smiled into her hair. "Good. Because I already am."
**
Far below, across the city, someone stood in front of a mirror, adjusting the cuffs of a suit identical to Luchen's.
Zhao Lemin watched their photo appear on a live feed—Luchen and Yuyan kissing on a rooftop, their silhouettes backlit by fairy lights.
He didn't smile.
He traced a fingertip across Yuyan's face.
Then turned to the man beside him.
"Send it," he ordered.
A file. An old video.
Footage from the day before the wedding. Luchen. Yuyan. And the contract.
The one that made everything look like a lie.
**