The wrap-up party was over, the champagne flutes discarded and the cameras gone, but Lin Yuyan remained haunted by what had happened with Zhao Lemin. His sudden return, the way he looked at her, spoke to her—soft, emotional, manipulative. And the worst part? Part of her wanted to believe him.
But she couldn't. Not now. Not when she had something else to hold onto—something hers.
Her career.
After weeks of filming, of surviving scandals and the suffocating scrutiny of the Zhao family, she was finally shortlisted for two major film festivals. Director Shen Rouyan had personally sent her a message: "The industry's watching. Don't blink now."
So she didn't. She buried herself in script readings, interviews, and rehearsals. From sunup to sundown, Lin Yuyan was the image of grace under pressure. No one could accuse her of being the scandal-ridden girl who stole her fiancé's twin again.
But someone did.
Zhao Luchen.
He watched her from the edge of every room like a shadow stitched to her presence. Cold eyes when she laughed with male co-stars. Stiff jaws when she skipped dinner to finish a script reading. And silence—furious, quiet silence—when she came home late smelling of stage dust and ambition.
"You never tell me where you're going anymore," he finally snapped one night.
Yuyan didn't flinch. "You used to want nothing to do with me."
"That's changed."
She sighed, setting her purse down. "Luchen, I'm tired. Can we not do this tonight?"
His eyes narrowed. "I saw the look on your face when you left the party. It was him, wasn't it? Lemin. He said something to you."
She turned, a bitter smile curling her lips. "You're the one who keeps secrets, not me."
He grabbed her wrist, then stopped himself, dropping it like it burned. "You have no idea what he's capable of."
"And you do?"
He didn't answer.
Later that night, when she was asleep, he sat in the dim light of his office staring at an old surveillance photo—the day he first saw Lin Yuyan.
She was younger then. Innocent. Standing outside a film set with a clipboard in hand, directing extras with firm precision. He hadn't even known her name, but she was beautiful, not in the artificial way the industry liked—she was real, grounded. He had watched her for hours, knowing she was Lemin's fiancée.
But Lemin didn't love her. Not really. Not the way Luchen did, from the sidelines.
And then came the scandal.
Someone had leaked an old photo of her—a private moment with a then-married director, long before she entered the Zhao family's orbit. The media tore her apart. Brands dropped her. Directors backed out. And the Zhao family, desperate to protect their image, offered a solution.
"Marry her into the family. Make her a Zhao."
Only Lemin was gone. And Luchen had stepped in.
---
Meanwhile, Zhao Lemin played a different game.
He approached Yuyan gently, always with smiles and soft words, never pushing. He offered her a coffee during a shoot. Texted her encouragement before interviews. Just a friend, he insisted.
But each interaction planted a seed.
"Luchen seems… stressed lately," he said one day, handing her a bottle of water.
"He's always like that," Yuyan replied, though her voice lacked conviction.
"He wasn't always. You've changed him. Maybe not for the better."
She looked up sharply.
"I mean that as a compliment," Lemin added smoothly. "He's possessive now. Afraid of losing something. Maybe you."
Yuyan didn't reply, but her grip on the water bottle tightened.
---
That night, Luchen waited outside the studio. He had canceled his meetings, left boardroom chaos behind, just to see her. When she stepped out, startled to find him there, he said simply:
"You didn't reply to my messages."
"I was working."
He looked like a man barely holding it together. "Are you avoiding me?"
"No." A pause. "But I am choosing myself right now."
He stepped closer, gaze unreadable. "And what am I, Yuyan?"
She hesitated. "A storm I haven't decided to survive yet."
---