Se-Ri's POV
Leo and I had settled into a quiet rhythm in Shanghai — one that didn't need labels or declarations.
Mornings, he left for meetings while I wandered the city, eyes wide, notebook always close. Evenings, we cooked together or ordered food too pretty to eat. We didn't talk much about the past. We didn't talk much about the future.
But something shifted midweek.
We were eating takeout on the couch — spicy noodles and skewers and messy laughter — when Leo set his chopsticks down and looked at me.
"Would you want to meet my mother?"
I blinked. "Jennifer Tang?"
He nodded, jaw tightening. "Yes."
I hesitated — not because I didn't want to, but because I hadn't expected him to ask. He rarely spoke about her. Even less about anything from before Canada.
"Sure," I said, slow but certain. "If you're okay with it."
His eyes softened. "I think… you should."
Later, when I returned to the guest room, there was a small box on the side table with a note beneath it.
Wear them tomorrow.
Inside were beautiful diamond drop earrings — delicate, shaped like falling light.
That evening, I got ready with unusual care. I wore a soft ivory gown with a Mandarin collar — a fusion piece I'd packed on instinct. I paired it with the earrings Leo had given me. They shimmered each time I turned.
Leo looked sharp in a dark grey suit, polished and formal — but not in a practiced way. There was tension in his posture. Fidgeting in his hands.
"You okay?" I asked, watching him adjust his cuff again.
He gave me a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You'll see."
Jennifer Tang's Apartment
Minimalist. Curated. The kind of place where silence costs more than the view.
Jennifer Tang didn't look like someone who could be described simply. She was elegant, poised, ageless — with a presence that entered the room ten seconds before she did.
"You must be Se-Ri," she said smoothly. "You're more graceful in person than in photos."
"Thank you," I said, not sure if it was a compliment or a veiled warning.
Dinner was three courses, plated with surgical precision. Served by staff. Jennifer remained elegant, pleasant, and vaguely detached — like this was a show she'd rehearsed a thousand times.
She asked about Serenité. About my family. Leo was quiet for most of the meal.
Then, after dessert, Jennifer gestured to the butler. "Take Miss Singh upstairs to see the paintings. Leo, come with me for a moment."
Something inside me twisted.
Still, I followed the butler up the stairs to a small, pristine gallery. I looked at the art. Abstracts. Cold. Too perfect. Something in my chest itched.
"I'd like to return downstairs," I said.
The butler gestured toward the hallway. "You'll find the study there."
I followed the direction.
Then I heard it.
A sharp sound — glass shattering.