Wang Zi Rui held a glass of champagne, conversing with several guests about business, when a sudden commotion drew his attention.
His gaze lingered on the scene for a moment before he shook his head, masking the irritation that threatened to break through his calm exterior. This was the first event he had attended in ten years—and he had no intention of letting anyone ruin it.
He weaved through the crowd toward the source of the commotion and firmly grasped the arm of the round-faced man causing the scene.
"This woman is my dance partner," he said calmly.
When the man refused to let go, Wang Zi Rui continued, "Please cease your baseless accusations and remove your hand from her." His voice was unwavering.
The man stared into Zi Rui's eyes, barely visible beneath the silver mask, but sharp enough to pierce him like a silent dagger. Instinctively, he released Song Meiqi's arm.
And without hesitation, Zi Rui took Meiqi's hand, leading her away while the man remained frozen in confusion and stunned silence, and together they moved toward the center of the room.
Zi Rui paused in the middle, the mellow lights shining down on them as the crowd swayed gently to the melody.
Bathed in the soft glow of the lights, Meiqi's eyes locked with the man in the silver mask, and in that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away.
He tenderly slipped one hand around her waist and gently took her hand in his. Their bodies moved as one, gliding effortlessly to the delicate melody that filled the room. Her once chaotic heart gradually eased, settling into a calm rhythm that echoed the music's gentle hum.
As they moved, Meiqi found herself drawn to his golden-brown eyes—sharp and distant, yet shimmering with an unexplainable warmth, too bright and alive to be fully concealed beneath the mask.
Meanwhile, Zi Rui's gaze lingered on her eyes beneath the black mask—deep and shadowed, yet softly glowing beneath the spotlights, alive with a quiet, captivating warmth.
There was something achingly familiar in those eyes as he gazed into them, and in an instant, a memory flashed—of the woman who had stumbled into him, falling softly into his arms on the plane, the other day.
That woman—-Everbloom's Song Meiqi. Her eyes carried a quiet, irresistible charm that softly drew him closer to her.
Whereas, Song Meiqi couldn't forget how the man in the silver mask had quietly come to her rescue, pulling her from that moment when she felt helpless and alone. So, she said sincerely,
"Thank you," her voice a delicate whisper that gently broke the silence between them.
Zi Rui stood still, momentarily stunned by her words, while Meiqi's gaze drifted away from his as silence gently settled between them once again.
After a brief pause, he replied softly, "I didn't do it to help you… I just couldn't bear to see this event spoiled."
Hearing his words, Meiqi lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, her eyes shining for a moment before softening with quiet understanding.
"But still…" She paused, as if searching for the right words. Her eyes drifted away for a moment before returning to meet his once more. "Thank you," she continued softly, just loud enough for him to hear.
And in that brief moment, a soft warmth stirred inside Wang Zi Rui—subtle, delicate, and slowly emerging beyond his understanding.
He nodded quietly, acknowledging her words.
They continued to dance, lost in the gentle melody that wrapped around them.
Then, as the music suddenly stopped, they both stepped apart abruptly, as if they had been forced into the dance—leaving a strange, uneasy silence hanging between them.
They walked away from each other, words fading into silence. Song Meiqi never looked back, the man in the silver mask already etched into her memory.
Yet Wang Zi Rui glanced over his shoulder, his gaze quietly tracing her as she weaved through the crowd—his expression unreadable, a calm mask hiding whatever stirred beneath.
"Song Meiqi," he murmured under his breath, then turned and walked away.
And just like that, they became strangers again—two lives parting without a word.
By the time the night ended, the city was already alight with headlines. News of the next president of GL Holdings blazed across towering screens and phone displays, his name illuminating every corner of H. City.
Beyond the glittering skyline, far from the city's glow, a shabby apartment sat in the shadows. Inside, empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered across the floor. Two figures faced each other in the mess, the silence between them heavy and tense.
"Mom!" Zheng Mengyao screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and anger.
The woman across from her lifted her chin, messy hair spilling around a face marked with bruises.
"So… you still remember you have a mother," she said, her voice low and hoarse, every word laced with bitterness.
Mengyao's eyes reddened, her head shaking faintly.
"Yaoyao… you're living the good life now," the woman went on, pausing just long enough to let the silence bite. "But do your fans know you've lied to them?"
Mengyao flinched, guilt flashing in her gaze.
"Do they know you were never from a wealthy family?" she finished, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.
Zheng Mengyao trembled at her words, guilt flickering in her eyes like a secret she could no longer hide.