The violins swirled around us, fine and silky, but with every step I took, something was wrong. Junwei's grip did not waver at my back, guiding me, but my focus wandered from the dance floor.
It was on him.
Surrounding the ballroom, beyond the whirling couples and sparkling chandeliers, stood a figure—or at least something that looked like one. He was at the perimeter of the balcony where the light had difficulty breaking through, a shadow against the gold. I couldn't make out his face, only the wrinkled outline of his suit and the faint glint of a watch reflecting the light.
"Look, Lihua," Junwei breathed softly. "One, two, three…"
I attempted to look at him, but my heart was pounding. Glittering floor sent our footsteps echoing like molten glass; camera flashes exploded; bystanders hummed with admiration. I was elegant—the perfect daughter in my Elie Saab gown—but I was disheveled inside.
"Who are you looking at?" Junwei's gaze followed my brief glance into the darkness.
"Somebody's… spying." My breathy mutter barely escaped.
He didn't turn, but his expression hardened. "Ignore it. Smile."
I did—my lips curved as though everything was fine with the world, as though my heart wasn't racing in terror. We spun into a twirl, the skirt of my dress fanning out like a cloud. The crowd cheered softly. Cameras clicked again.
But when Junwei twirled me back to him, I couldn't resist looking.
The man was still there. Stood motionless. Gazed.
Then, barely aware he was doing it himself—he toasted me silently with a glass. Not the room. Not anyone else. Me.
I shivered down to my fingertips.
The dance was finished. The room broke into polite applause, and Junwei bowed away, making space for the next one—my father. His hand reached out towards mine, warm and confident.
"Beautifully," Father said, leading me to the center. His smile was calm, but his eyes—acute as sharpened obsidian—glimmered toward the balcony for an instant. He had seen him too.
"Who's that?" I breathed.
"Smile on," Father said quietly. "Don't even look in that direction."
That was not an answer.
Our waltz started out, gliding and elegant, but tension in Father's hold betrayed something I was not expecting: he was nervous. Father, who was never flustered, who anchored this whole empire, held me slightly tighter than normal.
The violins built up again. I maintained my smile and turn, but the question seared within me. Who was that fellow? Why was Father apprehensive?
There were others around us, the ballroom was filled with compliments as cameras snapped at every step. Yating was discreetly waving from the side; Jiahao was thumbs-upping me. They did not see. Only Father and Junwei seemed to notice the figure looming in the background.
With our dance's final note fading away, the emcee's voice boomed out: "And now, a toast from the Lin family!"
My parents went on to crystal glasses. Junwei was positioned next to Father at the mic. I hung back a bit, model daughter in perfect illumination.
But—as the audience shifted its focus to the stage, I dared take one last glance to the balcony.
Empty.
The man was gone.
A chill crawled up my spine, sharper than the bite of the coldest winter air.
Father's toast resounded across the room—warm, thanks-filled, proud, and prosperous words—but I caught a whisper of barely a word. I glanced at the crowd of gold, balconies of high polish, the edges of the room where darkness started.
Gone.
Whatever his name was, he vanished as quietly as he arrived.
Somehow, I knew this night would not go without his shadow casting itself over it once again.