The moment the news broke, the internet exploded.
On one side stood Bai Chenxi — the "fallen star" who had just clawed her way back into public favor through raw talent.
On the other, Zhao Qian — the same woman now rumored to be romantically linked to Li Sijue.
And between them, the shadow of the man himself.
"Called it!" one trending comment read. "Bai Chenxi's sudden career boost? Guess 'the ex' ran into the 'current girlfriend.' Poor Li Sijue, caught in the middle."
Another sneered, "Zhao Qian's obviously the real one — look at those photos, so intimate!"
Others mocked, "Bai Chenxi can't catch a break — first betrayed, now replaced by her 'best friend.' Tragic."
Within hours, hashtags multiplied like wildfire.
#BaiChenxi #ZhaoQian #LiSijue
Every post turned her name into either a punchline or a pity story.
Inside the apartment, Bai Chenxi stared at the screen until the headlines blurred.
Her chest felt tight, like an invisible hand was crushing her ribs, stealing the air from her lungs.
She told herself, don't feel.
She told herself again, don't care.
But the image of Li Sijue's name side by side with Zhao Qian's struck something raw.
Rage — sharp and immediate — flared through her.
Then came something worse: a deep, splintering ache that felt dangerously close to betrayal.
He had warned her to stay away from Gu Chenyì, yet now he was the one being photographed with another woman — a woman who might have been involved in the very conspiracy that ruined her life three years ago.
Her phone buzzed.
Li Sijue.
For the first time, she hesitated.
The name flashing on the screen — once a lifeline — now felt like a test.
After a moment's pause, she swiped to answer.
Her voice was cold enough to freeze. "President Li. What is it?"
There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that said he'd heard her tone and didn't like it.
"The news is fake," he said finally. His tone was clipped, controlled. "That night, I asked Zhao Qian to meet. It was about the investigation — three years ago."
His explanation was logical. It should have eased her mind.
But logic had no place where emotion had already taken root.
"Did you find anything?" she asked, her voice low, edged with mockery. "Or were you too busy reminiscing while you were at it?"
"Bai Chenxi!"
Her name came out sharp, his patience cracking. "Do you have to twist everything I say?"
She laughed — bitter, exhausted. "What else am I supposed to believe, Li Sijue? You warn me off other men, then meet privately with someone who might have helped destroy my life. Tell me — how am I supposed to trust you?"
The words hit like slaps, each one striking a nerve neither wanted to acknowledge.
Then silence.
She ended the call before he could respond and flung the phone aside.
The screen went dark, but the ache lingered.
Trust — the fragile thread that had barely begun to form between them — snapped clean in two.
The doorbell rang.
Ah Mo went to check it, and when he returned, his expression was uncharacteristically uneasy.
"Miss Bai," he said quietly, "Mr. Gu Chenyì is here. He saw the news and said he was worried about you."
Bai Chenxi blinked, momentarily stunned.
Gu Chenyì — of all people — coming to see her now?
The timing was a cruel cosmic joke.
Her first instinct was to refuse. Li Sijue's voice still echoed in her head — Stay away from him.
But anger and hurt had already pushed her past obedience.
"Let him in," she said after a pause, her voice hoarse but steady.
Ah Mo hesitated, then nodded and left.
Moments later, Gu Chenyì stepped through the door — casual in a dark jacket, no make-up, no cameras, just concern written plainly on his face.
"You look terrible," he said gently, half smiling. "I would have called, but I was worried you wouldn't answer."
"I wouldn't have," she replied dryly, crossing her arms. "But you're here anyway."
Gu Chenyì shrugged lightly. "Stubborn people are usually worth the effort."
His easy humor cut through the tension in the room, but beneath it she could see the genuine worry in his eyes.
For a moment, the world outside — the rumors, the betrayal, the noise — seemed to fade.
"I don't know how much of what they say is true," he continued softly, "but I do know you don't deserve this. If you need help managing the media, I have contacts—"
She shook her head quickly. "I can handle it."
He hesitated, then said quietly, "You shouldn't have to handle everything alone."
The simple sentence hit harder than any grand gesture. For a moment, Bai Chenxi looked away, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes.
Outside, a black car idled at the curb.
Inside, Li Sijue sat in the driver's seat, watching the windows of her apartment light up and silhouette shift as two figures spoke inside.
He had come to explain in person — to end the argument before it became something worse.
But now, seeing her laugh softly at something Gu Chenyì said, his hand tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
Jealousy was an emotion he didn't allow himself to feel.
Tonight, it was unavoidable.
Because for the first time, Li Sijue realized that the enemy was no longer outside — it was the distance growing between him and the woman he could no longer command, nor ignore.
And no amount of power could buy back trust once it was broken.