The restaurant wasn't fancy, but it was calm — the kind of calm I craved when I wanted to disappear. Soft yellow lights glowed from overhead, reflecting off the polished wooden tables. There weren't many people around, just the occasional chatter of a couple, and the faint clink of silverware.
I was halfway through my pasta, lost in the bliss of creamy sauce and perfect spice. The background hum of Westlife drifted through the air — "If I let you go…" — a song too nostalgic for my taste, but somehow fitting.
Then my phone buzzed.
Dai Fei.
I exhaled through my nose, already annoyed. "Why?" I asked flatly, feeling my good mood crumble.
Her tone was too casual, too careful. "I'm calling about Daniel…"
And just like that, the fork froze halfway to my lips. The aroma that had moments ago felt like heaven now turned nauseating. The name alone made my stomach twist. My appetite died instantly.
I slammed the fork down. "Are you really this heartless?" I snapped. "Why is it that bastard again? Can't I have one peaceful meal without hearing his name? Do you enjoy making me miserable, Dai Fei?"
She didn't answer immediately. I thought she might've hung up — until a sound broke through.
Laughter.
That infuriating, muffled laughter that only she could get away with.
"You're laughing?" I spat, glaring at my untouched pasta like it was to blame.
Her laughter only grew louder. "Oh, Wu An, your temper still hasn't changed."
I pressed my fingers against my temple. "You're insufferable."
There was a small cough on the other end, her signature "ahem!" that made me want to throw the phone into the nearest wall.
"What's that for?" I muttered, knowing what was coming.
"Qingqing…" she said in that teasing, motherly tone that made my teeth clench.
I groaned. "Miss Mom."
That nickname had stuck since the first day we met, ten years ago. She'd called me by my full name — Wen Qingqing — and I'd sworn vengeance ever since. So whenever she went all maternal, I called her Miss Mom to get even.
"Are you seriously having a good time while I'm buried under all the work you were supposed to do?" she asked.
There it was — the lecture.
"I've worked my butt off since forever," I said, stabbing at the pasta. "Can't I have one break without you monitoring me?"
"Wu An…" Her voice dropped. "Don't tell me you're eating pasta again?"
I froze. "No…" I lied, voice way too suspicious.
"You know you can't stomach that," she scolded. "Why are you testing your limits?"
"It's not like I'm allergic or anything," I said, rolling my eyes. "Stop acting like my mother."
Her chuckle carried a glint of sarcasm. "Fine. Just don't call me when the toilet becomes your new bedroom."
The way she said it made my stomach churn even before the pasta could.
"Are you going to see the devil?" she asked suddenly.
I knew who she meant. I didn't even need to ask.
"Let him rot for another week," I muttered. "I'll decide what to do depending on my mood — when it's smoother."
Her voice grew quiet. "And when you were nineteen? You won't do anything about that?"
The words froze the air around me. I gripped the wine glass until the stem bit into my palm.
"Do you really want to open that wound, Dai Fei?" I whispered.
She didn't reply.
I took a sip of wine, the bitterness searing my tongue. "If the pain he feels isn't enough — double it. No, triple it. Make it crawl under his skin until he begs for death. But don't let him die. Not until he knows what it means to live in ruin."
There was silence on the line, then a soft sigh. "Your resentment burns deep," she said quietly. "But I'll ruin him for you. That, I promise."
For a moment, something fragile flickered inside me. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. "Thank you," I whispered, before ending the call.
I tossed some bills on the table and left. The night air outside was cool, brushing against my cheeks like a reminder that I was still human — even if I didn't feel like it.
At Home
My condo was quiet — too quiet.
A place that screamed wealth but whispered loneliness.
The marble floor glistened beneath soft recessed lights. The walls were painted a deep grey, the furniture sleek and modern. My bedroom was dominated by a king-sized bed covered in black silk sheets that reflected the moonlight in faint waves. The scent of leather and cedar filled the air — elegant, but cold.
I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch, sinking into its softness like it could hold me together.
Nineteen years old. That memory clawed at me again.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Nineteen, huh?"
Back then, I was a poor teenager, full of stupid dreams. I thought love was a kind of salvation. Instead, it was the rope that strangled me. I hadn't died physically that night — no, death had been crueler. It had taken my heart, my trust, my faith in people. Everything.
My eyes drifted toward the mini-fridge. Half-empty. I reached for the only thing inside — a box of soursop juice. His favorite.
I stared at it for a long moment before tearing the straw open. Maybe I wanted to feel close to the ghost I'd once been. Maybe I wanted to hurt. Either way, I drank.
The taste hit me — sour, sweet, familiar. And suddenly, it felt like poison.
I wandered to the balcony, the city lights below blurring through the sting in my eyes. My phone buzzed again — Dai Fei.
"H-hello?" My voice cracked.
And just like that, my body went cold. The world tilted, blurred. My knees buckled, and tears fell — without warning, without sound.
Meanwhile — Dai Fei
At the company, Dai Fei leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. She hadn't meant to bring up the past, but when Wu An spoke with that venomous calm — that quiet fury that could shatter glass — it chilled her.
Ten years ago, Wu An had been fire and laughter. Now she was steel wrapped in silk.
The guilt gnawed at her. Maybe she'd gone too far.
Still, duty called. She descended into the underground holding cells — the dungeon, as Wu An liked to call it.
Daniel was there.
If you could still call that pitiful figure a man.
His body was covered in bruises, breath ragged. The girl beside him — the schemer — wasn't much better. Their eyes flickered with fear when they saw Dai Fei.
She smiled — cruelly, coldly. "Treat them fairly," she told the guards, voice edged like glass. "But remember… it's dangerous when she uses her real name."
The staff shivered. They knew exactly what that meant.
____
By the time she called Wu An again, something was wrong. No sound, no response — just the faint hum of air through the receiver.
Her heart raced. "Wu An? Hello?"
Nothing.
Dai Fei's hands trembled as she grabbed her car keys. She sped through traffic like a madwoman, running every red light.
Wu An's passcode was the same as always — she never bothered to change it, claiming she had nothing to hide.
When the door swung open, Dai Fei's world stopped.
Wu An was sprawled on the floor, skin ghost-white, lips parted, a soursop juice box lying beside her hand.
"You dimwit bitch!" Dai Fei choked out, running toward her. She dropped to her knees, shaking her shoulder, but there was no response.
Her fingers fumbled with her phone, dialing the hospital, then hesitated. Too slow.
She lifted Wu An onto her back, ignoring the weight, ignoring her trembling limbs. Tears blurred her vision as she ran for the elevator, then cursed and bolted down the stairs instead.
Her voice cracked as she barked orders into the phone, calling the hospital again.
By the time she shoved Wu An into the backseat and pressed her foot to the accelerator, her voice was shaking.
"Hold on, you idiot," she whispered, eyes burning. "You don't get to die like this."
The city lights streaked by in a blur of red and gold as she sped through the night — praying, pleading, and cursing under her breath all at once.