The boardroom of the Shen Group sat on the 88th floor, hovering above the city like a crown of glass and steel. At the head of the table, **Shen Ruobing** sat motionless. Her tailored charcoal suit was as sharp as her gaze, and her presence alone seemed to thin the oxygen in the room.
"The acquisition is finalized," she said, her voice a low, melodic velvet that commanded absolute silence. "Ensure the displaced workers are given priority retraining and a six-month severance. I don't build my empire on the hunger of others."
"Yes, President Shen," the directors murmured, their respect bordering on awe. To the world, she was the **Solitary Empress**—a woman who had mastered every field she touched, from venture capital to competitive fencing. She was the benefactor of a dozen orphanages and the hidden hand behind the city's most effective charities. She was powerful, she was kind, and she was utterly untouchable.
But as the meeting adjourned, the "Empress" glanced at her watch. The coldness in her eyes thawed into a soft, anxious warmth. Today was her third wedding anniversary.
---
She arrived at their villa before him, having cancelled a gala in Singapore just to cook a meal he liked. She moved through the kitchen with the same precision she used to dismantle hostile takeovers. This was her secret: the woman who could crush markets found her greatest joy in peeling vegetables for a man who rarely looked her in the eye.
The front door clicked open. **Lu Tingli** walked in, his face a mask of exhaustion.
"Tingli, you're home," Ruobing said, stepping forward to take his coat. "I made the—"
"I can't stay, Ruobing," he interrupted, his voice strained. He didn't look at the candles or the carefully set table. He looked through her.
Ruobing's heart gave a small, prophetic thud. "It's our anniversary. I thought we could—"
"Something has happened," he said, and for the first time in years, she saw a spark in his eyes. But it wasn't for her. It was a frantic, desperate light. "It's **Lin Yue**. She's alive."
The name felt like a physical blow. Lin Yue. The girl from his youth. The 'White Moonlight' who had supposedly perished in a storm five years ago, leaving Tingli a broken shell of a man. Ruobing was the one who had glued those pieces back together. She was the one who had funded his architectural firm when he was too depressed to work, the one who stayed awake during his night terrors.
"That's... impossible," Ruobing whispered.
"She was found in a remote village. She's been in a coma, then amnesia... she's back, Ruobing. And she's terrified. She has no one." He grabbed his car keys, already turning back toward the door.
"Tingli, wait," Ruobing said, her regal composure fracturing. She reached for his arm. "You're in no state to drive. And we need to talk about what this means for us."
He swerved his arm away as if her touch burned him. "What it means? It means she needs me! You don't understand, Ruobing. You're the strongest person I know. You have your planes, your billions, your iron will. You can handle a cancelled dinner. But she's fragile. She's broken."
"I am strong because I chose to be for you!" The words escaped her before she could stop them.
Tingli paused at the door, his silhouette dark against the evening sky. "That's the difference, Ruobing. You don't *need* protection. She does."
The door slammed.
Ruobing stood alone in the center of her magnificent, silent home. The expensive candles flickered, casting long, mocking shadows. She looked down at her hands—hands that could navigate a crisis or save a life—and realized they were shaking.
She was the woman who had everything, yet as she stared at the two plates on the table, she felt a hollow coldness beginning to settle in her marrow. The "Empress" had been dethroned by a ghost.