I sat there, still clutching the last file Shiyuan had thrown onto the desk, its contents burning into my mind like acid. Every word was another wound. Every signature, another betrayal.
Across from me, Shiyuan leaned against the desk, arms crossed, gaze cool and unreadable.
"Are you going to keep crying?" His voice was low, firm, but not unkind. It was a challenge, not a comfort.
I stared at him, stunned. No one had ever spoken to me like that before—no one had dared.
He didn't wait for an answer. His phone buzzed. "Handle it," he said sharply into the receiver, his eyes flicking back to me once before he strode out of the office, shutting the door softly behind him.
The silence swallowed me whole.
I pressed a trembling hand to my lips, feeling my tears drying, my pulse steadying. He was right. Crying wouldn't change anything. I wiped my face roughly, forcing the sobs down. Enough.
But as I stared at the door he'd gone through, a new thought struck me, one colder than the marble floors beneath my heels.
Why does he know so much about me… and I know nothing about him?
The files. The contracts. My family's secrets. He had known it all, laid it all before me like a magician revealing a trick. But who was Lu Shiyuan, really? And why had he decided to become my avenger?
The doubt curled low in my stomach, sharp as glass.
When Shiyuan returned, his expression had shifted back to that same commanding focus.
"Dry your tears," he said. "If you want revenge, you'll need more than hatred. You'll need strategy."
I squared my shoulders. "Then teach me."
He smiled faintly—dark, but approving. "Good answer."
He began with questions: "If a company is built on public trust, what's its weakest point?"
I hesitated. "Their reputation."
"And if a man builds his power through his alliances?"
"His allies," I said, voice steadier now.
Shiyuan's smile grew a fraction. "Good. And if your enemy's strength is his image?"
I paused, and then: "Destroy it in public before you destroy him in private."
His low chuckle rolled across the desk. "You're learning faster than I thought."
Heat crawled up my neck at the praise. There was something dangerous about the way he said it—like he wasn't just talking about strategy, but about me.
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Remember this: revenge isn't about emotion. It's about control. When you master that, you'll win."
When we finished, he called his secretary. "Drop her home. She has tonight to prepare."
In the car, I sat in silence for a while, staring out the window at the city rushing by. The secretary, Mr. Han, drove smoothly, glancing at me in the rearview.
"Mr. Lu's been… different lately," I said finally.
Han smiled faintly. "He's a cold man, Miss Shen. Everyone knows it. But since you've been around, he… smiles more. Works less."
I blinked. "He… smiles?"
"Rarely," Han said, amused. "But yes. Rarely."
I swallowed, my chest tightening. That doubt, that curiosity about Shiyuan deepened, mingling with something I didn't want to name.
"Drop me at the mall," I said suddenly. "I need a dress for tonight."
"Of course."
The mall was quiet at this hour, the polished marble floors gleaming under soft lights. I wandered through racks of gowns, trying to steady myself, until a voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Liya."
I froze. Slowly, I turned.
Zeyan stood there, hands in his pockets, a mock-sincere smile on his lips. "You've changed."
I stiffened. "Stay out of my way."
He stepped closer. "You don't have to do this. Marrying Lu Shiyuan—do you really think he cares about you? Or is he just using you to get to your family?"
His words sank like hooks into my chest.
"You're projecting," I said flatly. "That's what you did."
He chuckled, low and bitter. "I'm trying to protect you. But if you keep playing this game, you'll get burned. I know things about him, Liya. Things you wouldn't want to believe."
His eyes were dark with something—anger, regret, or maybe manipulation. "Think about it," he murmured, before slipping back into the crowd.
I stood there, trembling, his words echoing in my head. Why does he know things about Shiyuan?
Somewhere above, a soft click of a camera shutter went off. Hidden. Invisible.
Later, in a different house across the city, an elegant woman scrolled through her phone. Shiyuan's mother's lips curved into a cool smile as she forwarded the image: Zeyan, leaning close to me in the mall.
Her message to Shiyuan was simple: Your little wife is being handled. Nicely done, Zeyan.
Shiyuan read it once, and his jaw tightened. Without a word, he loosened his necktie, stood, and ordered, "Cancel the rest of my meetings. All of them."
He drove himself home.
The penthouse was dimly lit when I returned, still shaken from the mall encounter. I kicked off my heels, frowning when I saw him sitting on the sofa, a glass of red wine in his hand, tie undone, shirt collar open.
He looked like sin itself—beautiful, dangerous, waiting.
"Welcome home," he said softly, though his eyes were sharp.
I hesitated by the door. "Why are you here?"
He rose slowly, every movement deliberate, the wine swirling lazily in his glass. "I canceled my meetings. I wanted to see you."
He stopped inches from me, his scent warm and intoxicating. "Tell me, Liya… did you have fun at the mall?"
My breath caught. His tone was low, almost teasing—but underneath, it vibrated with possession.
"Shiyuan—"
He set the glass down on the counter. "No. Lu Shiyuan," he corrected softly, stepping closer. "And I'll tell you what everyone else is too afraid to. You are mine. Publicly…" His fingers brushed my cheek, slow and deliberate. "…and privately."
Before I could speak, he tipped the glass slightly, letting a drop of red wine splash against my hairline, sliding down like a crimson thread.
Then, without hesitation, he caught my jaw in one hand and kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't cruel. It was claiming.
I gasped against him, the taste of wine, the heat of his mouth dizzying me, my heart hammering.
When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than ever. "Remember that," he murmured.