The room was soft, almost suffocating in its calmness. Cushioned seats lined the space, their beige fabric blending into the muted walls that seemed too thick, too heavy, like they were designed to trap confessions within. The slick mahogany table in the center stretched long enough to feel like a bridge between strangers, a silent divide daring me to cross.
Across that divide sat a woman. A doctor. Mid-twenties, maybe early thirties, though her poise carried a maturity beyond her years. Beautiful, in that polished, professional way. She greeted me warmly, her tone even, practiced.
"I'm Dr. Mira Sinclair," she introduced.
An American. The name rolled strangely on my tongue, unfamiliar but striking. I smiled faintly to myself.
"Wu An. Just simple." I sat down like the entire bill of an expensive restaurant was already on me. And technically, it was — if I wanted it to be.
"Okay," she began gently. "Mind telling me why you are here?"
I leaned back, wearing that nonchalant mask I'd perfected over the years. "Because my assistant-slash-secretary-slash-close friend wanted me to be here." My tone was casual, almost mocking, my eyes daring her to question my presence.
Truthfully, that was the only reason. I wanted her to be so frustrated with me she'd resign, finally leave my side. But this woman… she smiled. She really smiled.
"You're a tough one, I must say."
Tough? My lips twitched. Tough? Did she just… say that like it was obvious?
"That's too serious for your specialty," I said, forcing a smile.
"Back at you." She didn't miss a beat. "You really look like more than the mask you put on." Her tone remained polite, almost annoyingly so, like a blade wrapped in velvet — sharp enough to cut, too smooth to sue.
Wait. Was she… insulting me? Oh no. That was an insult, and I refused to let it slip.
"Why am I even here?" I demanded, tossing my hands into the air. She kept smiling, and it grated against my skin.
"Why on earth are you smiling? Is this easy for you?" My voice was sharp now, daring her to break.
Her expression softened instead, voice tilting into something… friendly. "Look, you're here for therapy. Should we really waste it throwing words at each other?"
A point for her. But this was still my game. I wasn't here to heal — I was here to test. To push until she cracked, until Fei-Fei regretted dragging me here.
"Exactly my point," I muttered. "Why do you think therapy is the best way, when you already have something that can keep you going?"
"And what could that be?" she asked, folding her hands neatly in front of her.
"Work." I leaned forward, every word measured. "I have piles of work lined up. Signatures. Reviews. Endless meetings. Enough to drown me — and enough to make me forget whatever I want to forget."
"So you really do have a problem," she said simply.
I froze. Just for a second. She was clever. Using my own tricks against me. Smart. Too smart.
"I'll come back next time when I have something to share," I said abruptly, standing. I wasn't going to entertain this game.
"And I'll be waiting." She lifted a file, her smile unwavering. Whether it was mine or the next patient's didn't matter. I grabbed my purse, ignoring her, and walked out without looking back.
The rest of the day blurred into chaos — a storm of meetings, projects, investments. Work that would drive anyone else into a hospital bed felt like second nature to me. My normal. My routine. And so, I bore it without flinching.
"You should rest. You'll tire yourself at this rate," Fei-Fei said softly, setting a steaming cup of coffee on my sleek black table.
"I'm fine. I can manage." My voice was hoarse from hours of negotiating, demanding, commanding. My throat burned with the residue of foreign investors' honeyed words over the phone.
"That doesn't mean you're okay. I know you're not."
"It's fine. You can go home. I'll leave after this one." My eyes barely left the screen, lingering only a moment on the untouched coffee.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head. She walked away — or at least pretended to. I knew she hadn't gone home. She never did. She was always like this. And though I'd never admit it out loud, I was grateful.
Things couldn't stop spiraling. I had just secured a billion-dollar investment, wrapping up another tedious, suffocating dinner with people whose laughter rang hollow. Every fake smile scraped at my nerves, but I endured. Finally, I stole a glance at my wristwatch and decided I'd given them enough of my time.
Slipping away was second nature. Quiet, precise, unnoticed. I was already walking the golden-lit corridor of the restaurant when my phone buzzed.
"Wei," I answered casually. But my steps faltered when I heard Fei-Fei's voice — sharp, urgent, panicked.
"Where are you?"
"That too-bright restaurant. Why?"
"Stay there. Don't move."
I frowned. "But I just walked out. Look, I'm not going back to that 'haha' kind of life—"
"I'm sending the guards," she cut in, panicked.
That word made me freeze. Guards. I hated them. They made me feel like a prisoner in my own empire.
"I—"
"Word is out. Daniel's out. I don't know how, but he is. And he's brought men. Thugs. Notorious ones. Just stay there."
Daniel. My stomach twisted at the name. That bastard never learns, does he?
Still, I wasn't planning on going back. I hated the guards, hated being followed. So I kept walking. Out the door, away from the golden glow.
The world spun before I realized what happened. A strike — sharp, brutal. Pain exploded through me, tearing a scream from my chest. The ground tilted, my body collapsing. For a fleeting moment, I swore I saw heaven split open above me.
And in those last threads of consciousness, one bitter regret burned through me — I should have listened.
Third Person POV
Dai Fei panicked. Truly panicked when she reached Wu An's location and found nothing but empty space where her boss should have been.
She scoured the restaurant, the corridors, every corner — guards trailing after her in casual disguises, too flimsy to pass for real protection.
Her hands shook as she dialed Wu An's number. No connection. Static. Silence.
"I told her to stay," she whispered, her chest tightening. "I told her—" She broke off.
"Miss," one of the men approached, his face grim. "Madam isn't here. We've searched everywhere."
Panic clawed higher in her throat.
Then another voice broke through. "Was Madam carrying the LV handbag?"
The room stilled. Hope flickered in Fei-Fei's eyes. "Yes."
"Good. Remember when she was kidnapped before? We used the hidden GPS inside that bag to track her. The signal's still active. It's never been removed."
For the first time that night, relief steadied Fei-Fei's heart. Hope surged, fragile but alive.
Because Wu An wasn't gone. Not yet. She wasn't just kidnapped — she was being dragged back into a nightmare she had been fighting to forget.
And behind it all… Daniel waited.
The mastermind. The monster. The ghost from her past who refused to die.