The ride home was miserably quiet.
The city lights twinkled on the dark glass, creating fleeting gold and silver streaks on my dress, but no one spoke a word—not even my usually talkative brothers. There was only the gentle hum of the car engine and the steady beat of rain beginning to patter against the windshield to interrupt the silence.
Uncle Chen kept his eyes on the road, his spine straight. Every now and then, I would catch him glancing over at the rearview mirror, as if even he could feel the unphysical tension coiled within the car.
Mother's hand rested delicately on her lap, but her knuckles were strained, gripping her clutch a bit too tightly. Father was beside her, his jaw set, the phone screen dimly lit in his hand, though I knew he wasn't really reading it. He was focused—calculating.
By the time the car finally pulled up the front steps of the mansion, the rain had turned to a downpour. The moment we entered the house, Father chased away the household staff with a low wave of his hand. The echo of our footsteps ringing across the marble floor seemed almost loud.
"Lihua," Father directed, his voice low but authoritative, "to the study. Now."
The rest of my family frozen. Even Minghao, who joked about everything, looked ill at ease. Mother looked at me with a long, enigmatic gaze before nodding ever so slightly, as if to tell do not fight.
I followed Father into the study, the clattering of my heels echoing threateningly down the hallway.
He shut the door behind us. The clunk of it shutting sounded absolute.
He was silent for a long time. He simply stood there, his eyes looking out the tall window, the rain pouring down the glass in silver ribbons. When finally he faced me, his expression was tranquil—but the inner storm simmering behind his eyes was unmistakable.
"Do you know," he began slowly, "what it is like to have danced with Xu Jianyu?"
I stumbled. "It was just a dance, Baba—
He cut in. "No. It was more than a dance." He moved closer, his tone low, measured. "That boy doesn't do anything intentionally. You've heard the stories—his family built empires from ashes, ran down competition without hesitation. Their name is enough to silence boardrooms. And tonight, he made certain everyone understood you were with him."
My throat was tightening. "I didn't invite him—"
I know," he snapped, then took a deep breath and massaged his temple. "I know you didn't. But other people won't care. The rumors have already started, and tomorrow, all the social pages will be putting your name alongside his. You'll be labeled as the Zhang heiress who seduced the Xu heir.".
His eyes softened afterwards, and for a moment he seemed more exhausted than enraged. "I just wish to guard you, Lihua. Their world is not good. And particularly not to those who attract their attention."
I looked down at my own hands, wringing the fabric of my gown. The image of Jianyu's eyes—dark, unblinking, unreadable—caught in my mind for the hundredth time. He hadn't appeared like a man making a spectacle of himself. He'd appeared like an individual nudging against the edges of something he alone could see.
"I know," I breathed.
Father nodded once, satisfied enough to shut the topic. "Change. Rest. Tomorrow, home from school."
"Baba—"
"No arguments." His tone admitted no argument.
I moved out of the study, the door clacking shut behind me. The rest of the house remained quiet except for the muffled vibration of my brothers in the hall. Minghao caught hold of my arm when I passed.
"What did he say?" he asked.
"Nothing I didn't already anticipate," I replied softly.
He frowned. "You know he's only nervous. But still…" Xu Jianyu, oh? His tone altered, half playful, half wary. "You always had a talent for attracting danger in strange packaging."
"Ge," I whispered, pushing out a thin smile.
He shook his shoulder. "Beware, Hua. He's not someone you want to play around with."
When I finally made it home, the world felt too much. My skirt was still damp from the rain at the hem, the diamonds around my neck cold against my skin. I stood in front of the mirror, gazing at myself—the perfect daughter, the flawless heiress, smiling even when the world outside was falling apart.
I slowly unclasped the necklace, laying it on the vanity. My gaze fell on my clutch beside it.
The black card still hidden inside.
I drew it out once more, fingers tracing the single silver character — 徐. The Xu seal glowed faintly under the light of the lamp. No number. No message. Just the weight of his name.
I recalled the way he'd approached me for the father-daughter dance. The way he'd waited patiently until the music was winding down, until all eyes had been on me. The way his hand, when he'd offered it, had been cool, certain, sure.
And the way his voice had been low enough for my ears only:
"Zhang Lihua… you wear a smile like armor."
That was all he had said before the music swept us into action.
I had dismissed it then, too shocked to answer—but now, in the quiet of my bedroom, the words echoed in my head like a challenge.
A knock on the door brought an end to my deliberation.
"Come on in," I murmured.
It was Mother. She entered slowly, her face serene, but her eyes betrayed concern. "You should rest," she said, going to the vanity. Her eye saw the card. For an instant, her face became stern. "He gave you this?"
I hesitated, then nodded.
She picked it up gingerly between two fingers, treating it as if it were poisonous. "Keep this to yourself. Don't mention it to anyone—not even your brothers."
"Why?"
"Because names such as that have power," she breathed, returning the card to my hand. "And at times, power attracts to you precisely what you don't want."
She lingered an extra moment, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind my ear, her tone soothing. "You've been generous tonight, Lihua. But don't get lost in pleasing the world. Wealth, attention—they are like wind. Know yourself, whatever storms break."
As she left, the room felt emptier and, paradoxically, heavier.
I was sitting on the side of my bed, card still gripping in my hand, and I could hear the distant rumble of thunder in the city. Somewhere in the vicinity of those storm clouds stood the Xu estate, lofty, powerful, and elusive.
And I could feel his gaze still upon me, somehow.
Perhaps it was imagination. Perhaps it was instinct.
But I had known all along, deep down inside, that this evening hadn't been coincidental. The gala was more than a function—it had been a start.
And whatever had begun on that dance floor… wasn't finished.