The engagement dinner had shifted into a more relaxed gathering, guests scattering across the room in curated clumps of wine, chatter, and polite laughter. But to Lin Yuhan, it all felt like theater. A show. One he had once acted in with blind devotion, but now watched with eyes sharpened by betrayal.
From his quiet spot by the marble window ledge, Yuhan scanned the crowd. There he was — Qi Chen, his ex-fiancé and the man who would, seven years from now, leave him bleeding on the cold pavement of a mountain road. And across the room, dressed like perfection dipped in poison, stood Wei Meilin. Cousin. Traitor. Pretty face, prettier lies.
She was currently surrounded by relatives, practically dripping sweetness as she recounted how she had been "holding things together" during the engagement planning. Laughable. Lin Yuhan used to shrink beside her — soft-spoken, second place, a background character in his own life.
But not anymore.
His gaze slid toward the far corner of the hall, where a sharply dressed man stood quietly sipping champagne — Mr. Song, the family's old legal consultant. Practical. Ruthless. The only one who had ever told Yuhan, years ago, "If you give up your business for love, you better pray that love is real." Yuhan hadn't listened. But he remembered.
Straightening his jacket, Yuhan walked across the room, his presence now calm, commanding — a shadow turned blade.
"Mr. Song," he greeted with a light smile, voice steady and smooth like glass over steel. "You haven't changed a bit."
The man turned, visibly startled. Then — recognition. Then surprise. "Lin Yuhan? My God. You look—different."
"Time's a good sculptor," Yuhan said mildly. "It chisels away the unnecessary."
Mr. Song chuckled, tilting his glass. "Well, you've certainly shed some illusions. What brings you back into this chaos?"
Yuhan's eyes flicked briefly toward Qi Chen, then Meilin. "Let's say I'm just reacquainting myself with the battlefield."
That made Mr. Song pause. His brows rose, but his eyes sharpened. "Still got that brain for strategy?"
"Sharper than before," Yuhan said coolly. "I'm looking at some investment opportunities. Particularly in renewable ventures. You're still in that sector?"
"I am," Mr. Song replied slowly. "And you?"
"Let's just say," Yuhan said with a wry smile, "I'm done playing the good little house-spouse. I don't care about people's comfort zones anymore. If someone sees me as a threat, good — they should."
A slow grin tugged at Mr. Song's lips. He knew an alpha move when he saw one. "If you need connections, I'm listening."
"I'll call when it's time," Yuhan said simply. Then, with the same elegance, he turned—just as Qi Chen approached.
His ex-fiancé gave a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You seem to be making quite an impression."
Yuhan tilted his head slightly. "Funny. I was thinking the same about you. Still charming the old family friends with hollow smiles?"
Qi Chen's smile twitched, just briefly. "You've changed."
Yuhan's gaze was cool, almost amused. "You finally noticed? That's growth — for both of us."
There was a pause. Qi Chen's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The tension crackled like the air before a summer storm.
Yuhan stepped a little closer, just enough to lower his voice. "Don't worry, I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to observe. To take notes. And maybe… to rearrange a few chess pieces."
Qi Chen's eyes narrowed. "Still dramatic."
"No," Yuhan said, soft but firm, "I'm just no longer in love with the idea of being second."
Then, loud enough for both Mr. Song and the guests nearby to hear, Yuhan added:
> "I spent years swallowing pride to keep peace. But now? I'd rather starve than eat lies again."
The room quieted just slightly. Qi Chen stared at him — this wasn't the Lin Yuhan who used to wait up late, cry silently in empty bedrooms, or smile while bleeding inside. No, this version had fire in his spine.
Meilin watched from across the room, frown barely hidden. Mr. Song chuckled quietly behind his glass. And Qi Chen, for the first time in years, looked unsure.
Yuhan gave him a small, dismissive nod. "Don't worry, qi Chen. I'm not here to fight you."
He turned to walk away — pausing only to add with a quiet smirk:
> "Fighting's too loud. I'd rather win quietly."