The storm arrived without warning, as though the heavens themselves were mourning Shen Fuyue's loss. The skies above Jinling churned with dark, foreboding clouds, and rain lashed against the city in relentless torrents. But unlike the storm, Shen Fuyue had no voice left to cry out. The weight of silence had become her only companion.
It started subtly—the cracks in the once-pristine Shen Corporation. Small issues at first. A deal fell through. A partner backed out. The bank called in a debt earlier than expected. Her father, always so composed, had assured her it was just a "fluctuation"—a temporary setback. He said it with such certainty, such confidence, that it almost convinced her.
But Shen Fuyue wasn't fooled. She saw it in his eyes—the fear he could no longer hide. Her father, who had never once shown vulnerability, now trembled when he held his teacup. His stride, once purposeful and confident, had become slower, uncertain.
And then, came the storm.
News broke on a Monday morning: Shen Corporation under investigation. Fraud allegations. A whistleblower. The scandal spread like wildfire, and within hours, her father collapsed in his office. The shock was too much. He had a stroke. By nightfall, he was in a coma.
Shen Fuyue couldn't breathe.
Her father, the man who had single-handedly raised her, who had always been her rock, was now on the edge of death. And with him, their empire.
The hospital bills were astronomical. The board of directors moved swiftly, forcing her aunt out of the company. Lawsuits came pouring in, each one another blow to their already shattered reputation. Accounts were frozen. And their home—the home her father had worked tirelessly for—was seized as evidence.
But through it all, there was one person who remained eerily absent.
Mo Ziqian.
Not a call. Not a message. No polite inquiry, not even a word of concern. It was as if he had never existed in her life. The man who had once been her everything, the man she had trusted more than anyone, now seemed like a stranger.
For weeks, there were only the pictures.
The first image came while she was sitting in the sterile hospital lobby, staring at her father's still form on the bed. Her phone buzzed.
A picture.
Mo Ziqian and Gu Shuli, laughing, walking side by side through a park. Their hands brushed. The way they looked at each other was a betrayal of everything Shen Fuyue had believed in. But the worst part wasn't the picture. It was the text below it.
"I thought you two were meant to be."
The words stung. She didn't know if it was the picture, the message, or the person who had sent it. A friend? An acquaintance? She didn't care. All she could do was stare at the screen, her heart breaking piece by piece.
The next week, more images came.
Gu Shuli at a gala, dressed in a gown that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Mo Ziqian beside her, looking more handsome than she ever remembered. The way they interacted—so comfortable, so at ease—it was as if their reunion had been written in the stars.
One picture came with a message from an acquaintance. "Shen Fuyue, are you really going to let him go this easily? I thought you two were inseparable."
Another from her old friend. "I hope you're not too heartbroken. But... he seems happy now."
More came, day after day. Shen Fuyue found herself numb. The images and texts became a constant reminder that her world, the one she had carefully constructed around Mo Ziqian, was falling apart.
And still, she waited. She searched. She called. She messaged. Maybe—just maybe—Mo Ziqian would help her, like he had promised. Maybe he would return to her side when the world came crashing down.
But the silence was deafening.
Shen Fuyue's world had always been small. It had always been her and her father. She had never known the softness of a mother's touch. Her mother's absence was something never spoken of, never acknowledged. Her father, a man of great stature and even greater silence, had raised her alone. He was her protector, her guide, the one person who had always been there, even when the world had turned its back on them.
But his love had not been enough to save her.
Her grandmother, a bitter woman who had never once embraced her, had always blamed Shen Fuyue for everything. She believed that Shen Fuyue was the curse that had shattered her father's future. Her grandmother blamed her for his refusal to marry, for the solitude that had surrounded him for years.
No one knew where her mother came from, or where she had gone. No one had ever seen her face. And no one dared ask.
All they knew was that Shen Fuyue resembled her father in ways too eerie to ignore. If not for that resemblance, no one would have believed she was his daughter. But now, after the scandal, after the collapse, her grandmother's hatred had reignited. She called Shen Fuyue the cursed child.
It was as if every failure, every downfall, was her fault. And as the bank collapsed, as her family's name was dragged through the mud, her grandmother's eyes blazed with venom. "It's all your doing," her grandmother would hiss. "You've brought this curse upon us all."
Shen Fuyue had spent years trying to gain her grandmother's acceptance, and for a brief moment, after her father's success, she had started to believe things might change. But now, with the family's empire in ruins, her grandmother's disdain returned in full force.
Days blurred into weeks. Shen Fuyue was no longer anyone's fiancée—just a whispered name behind closed doors, a forgotten thread in the fabric of the elite. Her presence faded like mist on glass, leaving no trace behind.
The once-vibrant Shen mansion stood in cold silence, its grand halls reduced to hollow corridors echoing only her footsteps. No servants, no visitors. Just her—and the ghosts of a life she could no longer claim.
At the hospital, the lights hummed with sterile detachment. Her father, Shen Weimin, lay motionless under the dim glow, machines breathing for him. His hand was cold in hers, the steady beep of the monitor a cruel reminder that time had not stopped. Only everything else had.
Then, a sound—a whisper.
"Xiao Yue..."
She froze. Her father's voice was hoarse, barely audible. He hadn't spoken since the stroke. Her heart pounded.
"Xiao Yue, is everything alright?" His lips cracked as he forced the words out. "Has Mo Ziqian said anything... about the next family meeting? I hope... your marriage isn't jeopardized... because of this."
Her breath caught.
This.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that Mo Ziqian hadn't called, hadn't come, hadn't even asked. He didn't know that Shen Fuyue's engagement was as good as broken, her name scrubbed from the Mo family register. He didn't know that behind her calm smile, she was bleeding.
Worse—he didn't know the truth behind his hospital bed.
Months before the stroke, Shen Weimin had funneled a vast fortune—his secret reserve—into the Mo Family's crumbling business. Quietly. Strategically. For her. He thought he was buying her safety, her future, her place beside Mo Ziqian.
But Mo Ziqian wasn't a man who valued loyalty. And Chairman Mo? He valued profit. The investment had saved their company, sure—but not the engagement. Not the girl who came with it.
Shen Fuyue knew none of this. Not yet.
The question shattered her. "Has Mo Ziqian said anything?"
She squeezed her father's hand, swallowed the scream threatening to rip from her throat.
"He's... just busy lately," she said, voice trembling but steady. "We'll meet again soon."
A lie. A soft, aching lie.
Her father sighed, content in his illusion.
But Shen Fuyue stood there, eyes burning, the truth rotting in her chest. A storm was rising—one built on betrayal, secrets, and the debts of blood. She had been left behind.
But what she didn't knew was that something more terrible was waiting for her.
Then came the final blow.
It came in the form of a press release. Shen Fuyue sat at the kitchen table, staring at her phone in disbelief.
"The previously discussed engagement between Mo Ziqian and Shen Fuyue is currently under reconsideration."
The words burned her eyes. She could feel the room spin. It wasn't a wedding announcement. It wasn't a clarification. It was just a cold, indifferent statement. No call. No warning. Nothing.
Her hands shook as she read it. The image of the ring on her finger—the engagement ring that had once felt like a promise—now felt like a weight, a reminder of everything she had lost.
She called his number, her finger shaking as she pressed the dial button.
No answer.
She messaged him. She poured her heart out, begging for his help. But there was no reply. No words. Not even a goodbye.
Her heart raced, panic setting in. She couldn't just let it end like this. She couldn't let him walk away without a fight.
The next day, she arrived at the Mo estate. Rain poured down in sheets as she stood before the massive gates. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rang the doorbell, her breath coming in short gasps. The gate opened slowly, and Mo Zixuan stood there, his usual composed self, but something in his eyes flickered when he saw her.
She didn't wait for him to speak. "I need to see Ziqian—" Her voice faltered, the name catching in her throat. It felt wrong now, too familiar, too intimate. She quickly corrected herself.
"Eldest Master Mo," she said softly, the words strange on her tongue. It was as if she was speaking about a stranger, not the man she had once loved.
Mo Zixuan studied her, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. There was something in his eyes, but he said nothing. He hesitated before answering.
"He's not here," Mo Zixuan said quietly. "But... I'll try to contact him."
She didn't wait. She turned and walked away, the rain soaking her to the bone. Her feet moved faster than her thoughts, like she was being chased by ghosts—by memories, by regrets, by the reality that Mo Ziqian was gone.
***
Few Days Later
That night, she sat beside her father's hospital bed. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room, mixing with the quiet hum of machines.She hadn't slept. She couldn't.
The ring on her finger felt heavier than ever.
The engagement was already broken—publicly, officially, painfully. But she still wore it.
She didn't know why. Maybe because it was the only thing of him she had left.
Mo Ziqian hadn't called. Not once. He hadn't asked how she was, hadn't asked about her father, hadn't even offered a word of explanation.
He had vanished, leaving behind silence and a storm.
She stared at the ring, twisting it slowly. It should've meant nothing now.
And yet, she couldn't bring herself to take it off.
It was the only thing that still felt real. Even if everything else between them had turned out to be a lie.
And then, her phone buzzed.
A message.
From him.
Mo Ziqian.
For a fleeting moment, her heart surged.
Maybe he hadn't forgotten her.
Maybe he was finally reaching out—finally coming to help.
Desperation gnawed at her, but hope—the last thing she had—pulled her to the screen.
Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the phone.
There were no words. Just a location pin.
And two simple instructions:
Come alone.
She froze.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
Was it really him? After everything, was he finally trying to make things right?
She didn't hesitate.
She couldn't afford to.
Her world was falling apart—and if this was his hand reaching back, she had to take it.