The morning sun spilled across Haiyun Bund, its light catching on glass towers that glittered like blades of crystal. From the penthouse's high windows, the river shimmered faintly, waves curling against the Bund's stone banks. Inside, the usually quiet residence hummed with unusual liveliness.
For the first time since she had moved into Gu Ze Yan's mansion, Qing Yun found herself surrounded by women bustling with brushes, palettes, curling irons, and racks of gowns. The air smelled faintly of hairspray and jasmine lotion.
Ze Yan had left early, summoned by his stepfather to oversee some last-minute arrangements for Xin Yue's wedding. Before he went, he had leaned close, brushing his lips across Qing Yun's hair.
"Don't be nervous. I'll come back for you."
She hadn't replied, only watching him go, already half-occupied with the stylists who filled the living room.
---
The Preparation
"Miss Lin, please sit here."
The lead stylist guided Qing Yun into a velvet chair before a tall mirror framed with soft bulbs. Qing Yun sat obediently, her expression calm as brushes swept across her cheeks and gentle hands curled strands of her hair into soft waves. She wore a silk robe as the team worked, her gaze fixed on the reflection—an unfamiliar face gradually emerging from the one she knew.
She was used to simplicity: tied-back hair, pale lips, bare skin that only knew soap and water. But under the stylists' hands, her features sharpened—delicate eyeliner, a wash of rose over her lips, faint blush warming her pale cheeks.
"Beautiful," one stylist whispered.
Qing Yun gave a polite nod. Beauty had never felt like armor to her—only another mask, something borrowed.
The gown chosen for her lay draped over the sofa: a long, sparkling nude-colored dress, the kind that shimmered faintly even without light. When they slipped it over her head, it settled against her figure like water, clinging and flowing with equal grace.
When she finally stood, the stylists gasped softly. She didn't look like a guest—she looked like someone the night had been written for.
At that moment, footsteps echoed down the hall.
---
The Tie
Gu Ze Yan returned earlier than expected, already dressed in a fitted black suit. His hair was combed neatly, his jawline sharper than usual. Yet his tie hung loose in his hand, his shirt collar open.
He froze when he saw her. For a moment, the ever-confident CEO looked like a man struck speechless.
Qing Yun lowered her gaze. "Your tie," she said softly, noticing it.
He blinked, almost startled. Then, with a faint smile tugging at his lips, he held it out to her.
Her fingers moved with practiced ease—buttoning the top of his shirt, flipping the collar, looping and pulling the silk through. He watched her in the mirror, his reflection calm, hers elegant. When she smoothed the knot into place and lowered his collar again, their eyes met in the glass.
Only her hands moved. His breath was held.
Finally, she stepped back, voice quiet. "Done."
Ze Yan lowered his head, murmuring near her ear, "Only you can make me wear this again."
She didn't answer, but her lashes flickered, a faint ripple through her calm.
---
The Reception
The venue was like something out of a dream: chandeliers scattering crystal light, a thousand flowers arranged in gleaming towers, strings of musicians playing under the gilded ceiling. The Zhao family had spared no expense for Xin Yue's wedding.
When Gu Ze Yan entered with Qing Yun at his side, a murmur rippled across the hall. The CEO of Luminar, known for his cold composure, his ruthless ambition—now walking in like a man content, even softened. And the woman beside him?
She wore no gaudy jewels, no ostentatious display. Just a simple sparkling gown, her makeup understated, her demeanor calm as still water. Yet she drew eyes everywhere she walked.
"Who is she?" whispers floated.
"Miss Lin, isn't it?"
"Ah… she doesn't smile much, but her presence—so elegant."
Qing Yun ignored the gossip, her gaze steady. She had long since learned to let voices pass through her.
---
Wei Ran
It wasn't until later, amidst the swirl of guests, that she saw him.
Xu Wei Ran stood by a column, glass in hand, dressed in a dark suit that fit him like a second skin. His hair was styled differently than she remembered, sharper, yet his eyes were the same—gentle warmth glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion.
Their gazes met.
For a moment, silence stretched across the glittering hall. Then he walked toward her.
"Qing Yun."
Her lips curved faintly. "Wei Ran."
It had been years since they last faced each other, and yet, this time, the air between them felt… light. No longer heavy with unspoken regret, no longer haunted by what-ifs.
He looked her over once, then let out a small smile. "Gu Ze Yan did what I couldn't. You look… better. Much better than when I last saw you."
She inclined her head. "And you—you look well."
They didn't need to say more. Some things didn't require rehashing. They had already burned, already cooled. Now, they could stand as two people with nothing to hold or demand from each other.
---
The Obsession
Later in the evening, as the bride and groom took their places, Qing Yun noticed Wei Ran again.
But this time, his eyes weren't on her.
Across the hall, among the glittering guests, stood a woman. She wasn't adorned like a bride, nor was she loud in beauty. But her aura—poised, self-contained, magnetic—drew the gaze like gravity.
Wei Ran's eyes locked onto her, unwavering. Not warm. Not gentle. But sharp, consuming—obsessive.
Qing Yun followed his line of sight, studying the woman. Elegant, aloof, a beauty that could not be ignored. She had never seen Wei Ran look at anyone like that. Not even her.
She lowered her gaze, lips curving faintly. May you find the love you truly deserve, she thought silently. May she give you what I could not.
---
The Bouquet Toss
As tradition dictated, Xin Yue stood on the stage, laughing as she turned her back to the crowd. Her white veil fluttered, her bouquet of white roses raised.
"Ready?" she called.
The women behind her shouted, laughter filling the air. The bouquet arced high, petals scattering in its wake.
It flew—not to the eager girls—but toward where Gu Ze Yan and Xu Wei Ran stood.
Wei Ran's hand shot up first, catching it effortlessly.
For a moment, silence. Then, instead of keeping it, Wei Ran turned and extended it to Qing Yun.
Her eyes widened, startled. Slowly, she accepted the roses, their petals trembling faintly in her hands.
But her gaze shifted—not to Wei Ran, but toward the woman he had been staring at. The woman's face was unreadable, her figure already retreating from the hall.
Wei Ran gave her a brief nod before striding quickly after the woman, bouquetless, leaving Qing Yun holding flowers she had never wanted.
---
Aftermath
Ze Yan watched the whole scene, his brow furrowing. He turned to Qing Yun.
"What happened to him?"
Qing Yun's lips quirked with soft amusement. "I think Wei Ran's finally in love. And maybe… he used me to make someone jealous."
Ze Yan blinked, processing her words. His gaze flicked toward the direction Wei Ran had vanished, then back at Qing Yun. The faintest shadow of jealousy crossed his face.
But when he saw the curve of her smile, he let out a small huff, tugging her gently closer by the waist.
"Let him," he murmured, low enough only she could hear. "As long as you're here with me."
Qing Yun looked at him, her expression calm, serene. She didn't answer—but she didn't step away either.