Ziyu stepped into the café, the soft jingle of the bell overhead barely audible over the chatter of conversation and espresso machines. The midday crowd at the café was just thick enough to be annoying but not thick enough to offer anonymity.
Ziyu stood in line, waiting for her usual drink — one hot Americano, one iced water — her go-to duo for calming her nerves. She needed both today. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it.
Her mind was still recovering from the emotional chaos of the past twenty-four hours: the marriage scouting proposal, the rude psycho who didn't apologise to her, the crash, a summons from the Lu family for a "formal introduction" to their grandson.
She hadn't even been told his name. All she got from the stiff, well-mannered assistant on the phone was, "The Master and Madam of the Lu residence would like to meet you again in person. At the estate. This afternoon. Are you perhaps free?"
Another sigh slipped from her lips. At least the coffee would help.
As she moved to pick up her order, a voice — annoyingly familiar — brushed her ears like static on an old radio.
"Extra hot latte, one sugar. Not too hard, is it?" the voice said smugly, to the barista. Ziyu's fingers froze around the mug. Her eyes lifted.
And there he was.
The same man from the racetrack. The red-car driver. The one who had sideswiped her, ruined her night, then took the bold decision to not so much as apologise.
He went to sit in a corner seat near the window, expensive-looking jacket thrown carelessly over the chair, sunglasses perched on his head like a crown. Ziyu's eyes narrowed. There was no mistaking that voice.
Same tousled hair, arrogant posture, and the same face that looked like it belonged on a billboard. Unbothered. Relaxed.
He hadn't noticed her.
Or maybe he had — and just didn't care.
She didn't know his name. But she remembered the scrape of metal against metal, the smell of scorched rubber, and how he'd looked more insulted by her existence than remorseful about the crash. And here he was, sipping coffee like the world bowed at his feet.
She approached, not in anger, but with cold purpose. Her heels clicked softly on the marble tile floor as she walked up to his table. No need for theatrics. She stood in front of his table and waited.
Zeyan didn't look up.
"Excuse me," she said smoothly, setting her drinks down.
"I believe you owe me an apology," she said evenly.
Nothing.
"I'm the driver from last night," she added. "The one you nearly killed— on the race track. You rammed into my car and nearly sent me into a wall".
He finally looked up, his gaze sweeping over her without recognition — or remorse.
He blinked at her.
"Oh? So that was you?" he said, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. "Small world".
"Yes," Ziyu replied coolly. "Even smaller when people lack the decency to apologize".
That seemed to amuse him.
He smirked. "You sure this isn't about something else?"
Ziyu's brow lifted. "Like?"
He gave a mock laugh and looked around theatrically, loud enough for a few heads to turn.
"You know, I get it. You crash into someone, find out he's from a powerful family, and suddenly you're here… coffee in hand, pretending it's about closure".
She frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Come on," he said with mock sincerity. "It's not the first time someone's tried this. What is it — guilt baiting? Or just auditioning for the next rich wife slot?"
A few people snickered. Someone even pulled out their phone, thinking this was a drama unfolding in real time.
Ziyu smiled slowly — that terrifying kind of calm that only came before a storm. She bent down slightly, as if to whisper, but kept her voice just loud enough for the table next to them to hear.
"You must be confusing me with someone who needs your money or your last name."
She straightened and, without another word, reached into her blazer pocket and slid a glossy black business card across the table.
SHEN ZIYU
Major Shareholder – Shenlong Group
For legal or medical claims, contact the CEO directly.
Zeyan's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second.
Ziyu didn't wait. With chilling precision, she picked up the cup of scalding Americano and poured it on his head — slow, steady, without blinking. The café gasped. Before he could so much as react, she took the ice-cold water and flipped it straight onto his face.
"Thought you might need to cool off with all that steam rising from your head"
It was the most satisfying splash she had ever heard.
The room froze. Coffee stains bloomed on his white designer shirt. His face was a dripping mess of disbelief and fury.
Ziyu leaned in one last time, her voice a soft blade.
"If your ego's still intact, I can help with that too. But next time you accuse someone of chasing a sorry person like you that is bound to be a mistake, make sure they aren't better than you. It will hurt when you get compared".
She turned on her heel and left the café in silence, the eyes of every customer glued to her retreating figure.
Zeyan looked down at the business card again. Shenlong Group. He'd heard that name before. The name wasn't just ringing any bells as he is just furious about his situation.
He stared blankly. "…What the hell just happened?"
*******
Later that afternoon, Zeyan arrived at his family's estate still wet, still fuming, and still unsure whether the burning on his head was coffee, shame, or both. He walked straight to his room and changed his outfit. While he was changing, a maid knocked on his door and informed him;
"Young Master, Mr. &Mrs. Lu asked that you hurry to the parlor when you are done".
He left his room shortly after walking to the parlor, rehearsing a new insult for that "psychotic woman" when the butler opened the parlor doors.
"Young Master, your grandparents are expecting you".
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, pushing through — and stopped.
There she was.
Her.
The same woman who'd just drenched him in front of thirty witnesses — now seated gracefully between his grandparents, sipping tea as if she'd lived there for years.
His grandmother looked positively radiant, beaming at her like a prize.
"Oh hell no," Zeyan growled, marching forward. "What is she doing here?!"
"Oh, perfect timing!" she said cheerily. "Come greet your fiancée".
Zeyan choked.
"…My what?"
Ziyu blinked. Her cup paused mid-air.
"…Fiancée?"
They turned to look at each other.
Then, both spoke at once.
"YOU?!"
"You're the heir?!"
"You're the coffee-psycho?!"
"You're the red-car-idiot?!"
Silence.
The room vibrated with tension.
Mrs. Lu cleared her throat. "Well. I see you've met".
Ziyu stood slowly, blinking as if trying to hold back tears.
"I'm sorry for speaking so rudely. It's just… I have been so scared after the accident," she said softly, taking out her phone. "Accident?!", Mrs. Lu looked perplexed.
"Yes. It happened yesterday night. He crashed into my racecar when he was racing with his friend. I didn't know who to call. I didn't know he was your grandson. I tried to talk to him and… he yelled at me in public".
She held up a picture: her dented, scratched racecar, the one he'd rammed last night.
"I don't even care about the car," she added. "But the way he humiliated me—"
Mrs. Lu gasped. "You did what?!"
Mr. Lu stood. "Zeyan! That's not how we raised you!"
"She's lying!" Zeyan shouted. "She hit me with boiling coffee!"
She clutched her phone tighter beneath the table, reminding herself to act, not react.
"You set me up!" Zeyan accused, pointing at Ziyu like she'd planted a bomb under the couch. "You knew who I was!"
"I didn't even know your name!" Ziyu snapped back. "You think you're so important people should recognize you through your tinted windshield?!"
"I was bleeding coffee because of you!"
"You called me a gold-digger in a café full of strangers!"
"Because you looked like one!"
"I own more assets than your limited vocabulary can pronounce!"
Mrs. Lu clapped her hands once, sharp as a whip. "Enough!"
The room went still.
Zeyan turned to his grandmother, hoping for some support, but her glare told him he was skating on thin ice.
"You," she pointed at Zeyan, "will learn some manners before you embarrass us further".
"And you," she turned to Ziyu, but her voice softened, "have the patience of a saint".
Ziyu smiled lightly. "I'm only pretending, Madam Lu".
"She's honest too!" Mrs. Lu beamed.
Zeyan groaned and flopped onto the couch dramatically.
Mr. Lu sipped his tea, barely hiding his amusement. "Looks like it'll be an entertaining marriage".
Ziyu stood up, dusted imaginary lint off her blazer, and said calmly, "If you'll excuse me, I'll need to send the repair invoice for my racecar to the Luchen insurance department. Since your grandson didn't apologize, at least let your company pay for the damage".
She gave Zeyan one last glance. "Try not to spill my coffee next time. It ruins the mood".
And with that, she walked out, calm as ever.
Zeyan watched her go, stunned and soaking in both coffee and consequences.
"…I am not marrying her," he said flatly.
His grandmother leaned in and patted his cheek. "Oh, yes you are".