The ring on her finger shimmered like frost under the chandelier's glow, but to Shen Fuyue, it burned hotter than fire.
Even so, no one could deny that she looked like a dream.
Shen Fuyue stood beneath the golden lights of the ballroom, the delicate lavender hues of her embroidered qipao flowing like mist around her ankles. Her skin was porcelain-fair, her eyes shaped like petals, carrying a quiet intensity that made people stop and stare. Long ink-black hair framed her face like a silk curtain, and her every movement was graceful, deliberate, refined—like a noblewoman carved out of moonlight and tradition.
She was the heartthrob of the city.
Not merely because of her beauty, though the tabloids had once compared her to a "goddess descended into mortal dust." But because of the way she carried herself—gentle but not weak, elegant but never aloof. She was talented, too. Accomplished in classical piano, calligraphy, and fluent in three languages. Graduated top of her university class. The kind of woman who could step into any banquet and own the room without uttering a single word.
Though the Shen family had waned in power over the years, Shen Fuyue's name had only risen in prestige. She was considered one of the city's most eligible bachelorettes—sought after by heirs of banking empires, tech startups, even foreign diplomats.
So when the engagement between her and Mo Ziqian was announced, no one questioned her worth.
Even if the Mo family was untouchably powerful, even if their empire dwarfed the Shen family's crumbling legacy, Shen Fuyue's presence alone was enough to bridge that gap. She was not a political pawn. She was a gem in her own right—polished, poised, and perfectly placed.
"Congratulations on the engagement, Miss Shen."
"Truly a match made in heaven."
"The Mo family and Shen family—what a powerful union."
The murmurs of high society floated around her like perfume-scented fog. Shen Fuyue stood at the center of it all, poised and graceful, the embodiment of the perfect bride-to-be. Her lips curled into a soft smile—the kind she had perfected through years of finishing school and parental expectations.
But her fingers trembled as they brushed the rim of her champagne glass.
Mo Ziqian stood beside her, a picture of calm detachment. Clad in a charcoal-black suit, tailored to perfection, he looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a luxury magazine—flawless, aloof, unbothered. Even under the golden glow of the ballroom lights, he seemed wrapped in shadows.
He gave the required nods. Spoke the necessary lines. Toasted the right people.
But not once did he look at her—not truly.
And yet, Shen Fuyue's heart thundered in her chest.
She had loved him for years.
Quietly. Devotedly. Pathetically.
Even when he had barely acknowledged her presence during family banquets. Even when he forgot her name at a wedding three years ago—calling her "Miss Shen" like she were just another face in the crowd. Even then, she held on.
Because once—just once—he had shielded her.
She had been fifteen, fragile and foolish, caught in the rain outside school. Her umbrella had broken. Some older boys had followed her, jeering, blocking her path. And then—he had appeared. Silent. Towering. His stare sharp enough to cut glass.
They had vanished. He hadn't said a word to her. Just walked away into the night.
But that moment had etched itself into her like a carving on stone. She had followed his shadow ever since.
And now, somehow, impossibly, he was hers.
On paper.
It had all started with her uncle, Shen Hanxing, and his cold, calculating suggestion. He had laid out the plan in the most detached, businesslike manner: "Fuyue, this is the only way forward. The Mo family has power—unimaginable power. If we don't align with them, the Shen family will fall. You must marry Mo Ziqian. It's the only way."
Her father, Shen Weimin, had refused immediately, his voice fierce, shaking with a father's protective fury. "I will not sacrifice my daughter for the sake of business. I raised her as a single parent. She is my flesh and blood, my heart. I won't let anyone use her like this. Not for power, not for wealth. She's not a commodity."
His words had cut through the room like a sharp blade. His love for her was everything, and he would never allow his daughter to be swept away into a marriage that meant nothing but political gain.
But Shen Fuyue knew her father's struggle all too well. She had seen his battle—the silent, invisible weight of the business crumbling around him. The burden he carried to protect what was left of the Shen legacy. And now, at this moment, it seemed the world was pressing against him, forcing him into a corner.
She had never asked him for anything. Not truly. But now, she had to.
"Father," she said softly, her voice trembling with both love and resolve, "this is the first time anyone has asked me to do something for the family. You raised me to be strong, to understand the weight of our surname. And now… now, I am asking you to trust me."
Her father had faltered, the lines on his face tightening with a mixture of fear and love. "Xiao Yue, this is not something I want for you. This will change your life forever. You won't be just my daughter anymore. You'll be tied to them, to their power, to their world. I can't protect you there."
"But you've always told me that the strength of a person comes from their sacrifices, Father. I've never done anything for the family—not truly. This is my chance to help. You've always carried the burden alone. Now, it's my turn."
Her voice was steady, her heart torn but resolute. "I'm ready to do this. For you. For us."
Her father's hands had clenched, his eyes betraying the conflict within him. "And what of your happiness, Xiao Yue? What of your heart?"
She had taken a deep breath, her gaze soft yet firm. "I love him, Father. I've loved him for years. Even if he doesn't love me back. I will make this work. For the Shen family. For you. I will bear this weight." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, "And… Grandmother also wants this. She... she will never forgive me if I don't do this. If I don't do what's right for the family."
Her father's jaw had tightened at the mention of her grandmother, the matriarch who had never shown her an ounce of warmth. The woman who had always looked at her with disdain, never seeing her for the person she was, but only as a tool to uphold the family's honor.
But Shen Fuyue's words had been the turning point. Her love for him, her willingness to bear this burden, had reached her father in a way nothing else could.
Slowly, reluctantly, Shen Weimin had exhaled, his voice thick with regret. "I will never forgive myself if something happens to you, Xiao Yue. But if this is what you truly want... if you believe this is the right thing... then I will support you. But know this—this will change you. And you will never be the same again."
Tears had welled in Shen Fuyue's eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "I'm ready, Father. I'm ready to carry this weight. For us."
And so, with a heavy heart, Shen Weimin had given his reluctant blessing. He had understood the depth of her love and the immense weight of her decision. She was no longer just his daughter. She was the last hope of their family, the one who would carry their legacy forward, no matter the cost.
And at first, Shen Fuyue had felt light. Elated. As if, after years of silent yearning and endless restraint, the heavens had finally cracked open to let her dream slip through. She was going to marry Mo Ziqian. The man she had loved from afar would stand beside her—not as a fleeting memory, not as a distant figure—but as her fiancé.
And yet, tonight—when everything was supposed to feel like a dream—nothing did.
Her champagne sat untouched in her hand. She smiled and smiled until her jaw ached. But her gaze kept flickering toward him.
Mo Ziqian.
His profile was all hard lines and aristocratic coldness. He looked like he belonged to another world. And maybe he did.
Because then, something shifted in his expression.
It was quick—like a flash of lightning behind storm clouds. But she saw it. The falter in his gaze. The rawness in his jawline.
She followed his line of sight.
And saw her.
At the far end of the ballroom stood a woman—tall, elegant, dressed in midnight blue. She didn't need diamonds; she sparkled on her own. Her smile was private, as though meant for someone specific.
And Mo Ziqian—he looked at her as if he had been walking in the dark for years and had finally seen the sun.
Shen Fuyue felt her chest tighten. The edges of the room blurred. The hum of chatter felt muffled.
Not again. Not this pain again.
She closed her eyes, trying to push the memory away—but it came back like a tide.
~~~
It had been just two nights after their engagement was announced.
She remembered the rain again—always the rain with Mo Ziqian.
He had stormed out of the Shen residence after the press release was published. No warning. No explanation. No goodbye.
Her father tried to excuse it. "Maybe he had work. Maybe the attention overwhelmed him."
But Shen Fuyue had known. She had felt the shift. Something had cracked the moment he realized their engagement was no longer just an arrangement in a contract—it was public, real, irreversible.
She hadn't been able to sleep that night.
Worried, she called his assistant. No answer. So she had done something she had never done before.
She went looking for him.
A bar in Jingyuan City. One of those elite lounges with private booths and dim lighting.
She had used her father's name to get in. She had never even been inside one before.
She remembered walking past the velvet curtain. The smell of whiskey. The clink of glasses. And then—his voice.
She froze.
Mo Ziqian was there, surrounded by two of his closest friends. His tie was undone. The man she knew as cold and controlled now looked ragged, raw, exhausted.
And then he laughed—bitterly, drunk.
"I was going to wait," he slurred. "Till she came back. I would've waited forever."
"Ziqian…" one of his friends tried to interrupt.
"I loved her, you know?" he continued, staring into his glass. "Gu Shuli was the only thing that ever felt real. She didn't want money. She didn't care about the family name. She left me, yeah—but at least she loved me first."
There was a pause.
Then one of the friends asked carefully, "So why the engagement?"
"Because it's what the family wants," he said flatly. "The company needs stabilizing. The board needs to see I'm loyal. Shen Fuyue's... safe. She's harmless. She won't ask for love."
Shen Fuyue had frozen behind the curtain.
The words had sliced her open.
She won't ask for love.
She had clutched her purse tightly to stop herself from crying out. Her knees had gone weak, but she hadn't let herself collapse.
Because she had known—then and there—that she had walked into something far more dangerous than a cold engagement.
She was walking willingly into heartbreak.
~~~
Back in the present, the photographer called out again.
"Miss Shen? A little closer, please."
She blinked, jerking herself back to reality.
She took a step toward Mo Ziqian.
He didn't look at her. He was still looking at her—Gu Shuli.
The long-lost first love.
The ghost that had never really left him.
And suddenly, Shen Fuyue found she couldn't smile.
Her lips quivered at the edges. The practiced grace she had worn like a second skin began to crack. The smile died before it reached her eyes.
But still—still—she didn't step back.
Because even after everything, a traitorous part of her still believed.
Still hoped.
Maybe one day, he would look at her the way he looked at Gu Yue.
Maybe one day, he would remember that rainy night. Remember the girl he had once protected.
Maybe one day, he would see her.
Love her.
Just once.
She couldn't let go of that hope—not yet.
Because if she did, what else would she have left?
***