For a moment, time stood still.
The sting on Li Meilin's cheek radiated like a fire set loose beneath her skin, but her body refused to move. Her legs, once steady beneath her, now trembled, threatening to give way. The loud, humiliating crack of Zhou Fan's palm meeting her face still echoed in her ears. It hadn't just been a slap—it had been a violent unraveling of everything she believed in. Everything she had felt.
The murmurs in the banquet hall swelled, a cacophony of gasps, whispers, and shuffling feet.
People stared. Some out of shock, some out of morbid curiosity. No one dared step in. Not a single hand reached out to her. It was as if she had become invisible and yet simultaneously the center of it all—a fragile artifact on the verge of shattering.
He Ruolan, arms folded tightly across her chest, wore a look of stunned triumph, her lips slightly parted as if even she hadn't expected Zhou Fan to go that far. But there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes—cold and ruthless.
Zhou Fan, for his part, looked dazed.
His hand trembled by his side, his brows furrowed, and for a brief second, guilt warred with pride in his eyes. But he said nothing. He didn't reach for her. Didn't apologize. Instead, he turned his gaze away, jaw clenched.
And then, stepping forward with all the theatrical grace of a man who enjoyed kicking people when they were down, came Ren Shilin.
The Zenhua Media's snobbish manager adjusted the cuffs of his designer suit, wearing a smirk that danced dangerously close to smug satisfaction. His eyes gleamed, but only someone watching very closely—and no one was—might have noticed the subtle, approving nod he gave Zhou Fan.
"Miss Li," Ren began, voice polished with authority and ice. "You've successfully disrupted tonight's atmosphere. I must say, I expected better decorum even from you."
Li Meilin still said nothing. Her face remained slightly turned, the redness of the slap now blooming into a bruise, her eyes glassy. The words she wanted to say were lost in the pounding of her own heartbeat.
"We do not tolerate such theatrics here," Ren continued, striding past her like she was nothing more than office furniture. "Chasing men around the office, making a scene in front of stakeholders and executives... What were you thinking? This isn't a soap opera, Miss Li."
A few people averted their eyes in discomfort. Others tilted their heads, curious to see if she would retaliate.
She didn't.
"Your table will be cleared first thing tomorrow," Ren Shilin said coolly. "Your final cheque will be processed and sent to you by the end of the week and your personal items will be dispatched to your residence. Security will revoke your access badge within the hour. You are dismissed from Zenhua Media Group, effective immediately."
Her lips parted slightly, a small exhale escaping her, barely audible.
Fired.
No warning. No hearing.
No chance to explain.
Just—gone. She was stripped of everything she had spent the past few years quietly building. All because she dared to believe someone saw her. That someone loved her back.
Meilin's hand went instinctively to her cheek, the pain still throbbing but now joined by a deeper, more gnawing ache in her chest.
Ren Shilin turned on his heel with a satisfied click of polished shoes. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, people pretending not to stare even as their gazes trailed after her.
Xu Minjie stepped closer to her. She was still one of the few people who had ever shown her small kindnesses and even now, Li Meilin felt a bittersweet emotion at the sight of Xu Minjie rushing over to her side.
"Li Meilin," she whispered, placing a hand gently on her elbow. "Let me take you home. Please. You're pale."
Li Meilin blinked slowly, as if waking from a nightmare mid-dream.
"I'm fine," she said quietly, her voice so hoarse and flat that even she hardly recognized it.
"You're not—you look like you'll faint any second. Come on, I'll call a ride. We can go together. Or we can just sit outside for a bit. Please, just—"
Li Meilin gently pulled her arm free.
"Thank you, Minjie," she said, this time a little more clearly. Her lips trembled as she attempted a smile. It came out crooked and brittle. "But I want to be alone."
Minjie hesitated, torn, then slowly nodded.
And with that, Li Meilin turned.
One step. Then another.
Her heels echoed against the polished marble floor as she walked past the crystal chandeliers, the waiters who had once greeted her with polite nods, and the guests who now avoided eye contact. Her strides were slow, but deliberate, each movement an effort to preserve what little dignity she had left.
With every step, her chest tightened.
Her face burned, not just from the slap but from the overwhelming humiliation of being discarded, accused, and dismissed in front of so many.
She walked past Zhou Fan without sparing him a glance. She didn't trust herself to look. She feared if she did, her legs would fail her. Or worse, she would cry.
And she wouldn't give him that.
She wouldn't give any of them that.
When she reached the tall, arched exit of the banquet hall, she paused briefly. Not to look back—but to gather breath, to gather self.
Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles white.
And then, head high, Li Meilin stepped into the quiet night beyond the doors, leaving behind the glitter, the betrayal, the slap—and the shattered fragments of her once hopeful heart.