She didn't cry.
Not because she didn't want to—but because the tears had dried up somewhere along the road of becoming someone else's, again and again.
Lin Yuyan moved through the motions of her day like a ghost: brushing her hair, buttoning her sleeves, placing her wedding ring back on her finger as though it meant something.
The golden band caught the light.
She stared at it too long.
She wasn't sure if it symbolized belonging or entrapment.
At noon, the housekeeper brought in food she didn't ask for. Congee, lightly salted vegetables, a soft-boiled egg. Comfort food, if there were such a thing after a night that felt like a violation wrapped in romance.
She pushed it aside and picked up the film script instead.
Her fingers shook.
Lines blurred on the page. The anti-heroine she was supposed to portray—a woman betrayed by the system, who claws her way back with nothing but grit and rage—suddenly felt too close, too real.
She wondered what Director Shen would say if she told her the truth.
Would she see a broken woman in need of space? Or just a liability?
A ping broke her thoughts.
Another message.
Lemin: I'll be at the Miramar Lounge tonight. 7 PM. No pressure. Just answers, if you want them.
She hesitated.
Every instinct screamed not to go.
But she needed clarity. If Lemin was lying about her uncle, about her supposed inheritance… if he was the one pulling strings behind the curtain… she had to know.
Not for revenge.
For peace.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before typing:
Yuyan: One hour. No cameras. No games.
He replied almost instantly.
Lemin: I promise.
---
That night, she dressed in quiet defiance.
A sleek black dress—not too revealing, not too meek. A line of red lipstick that said I'm not afraid, even if she was.
When she stepped into the lounge, Lemin was already there. Private booth. Low lighting. He rose the second he saw her, like a gentleman, like the man who once courted her with stolen glances and late-night poetry.
"Yuyan," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You came."
She slid into the seat, careful not to touch him. "Talk."
He sighed. "I know how everything looks. I know I left a mess when I disappeared. But I was protecting you."
"From what?"
"From him."
Her gaze darkened. "You mean your brother?"
"Do you really believe Luchen's the hero in this story?" he asked gently. "He saw that will, Yuyan. He knew what your mother left behind. Why do you think he married you the second I was gone?"
She blinked.
Lemin leaned in. "Do you know what your uncle did to secure your silence? The scandal? The contract? Do you really think it was all coincidence?"
She looked away, lips tight.
"I didn't leave you," he said. "I was forced out. Blackmailed. By people who knew what you didn't—that your name carries more than just celebrity. It carries power."
He reached for her hand across the table. "And I didn't fight back then, but I'm here now. I won't let them destroy you."
The door behind them opened.
Footsteps. Firm. Familiar.
Zhao Luchen.
His eyes locked on Yuyan's hand under Lemin's—and the rage was instant.
She jerked away too late.
"Get away from her," Luchen said coldly.
Lemin rose, smiling with mockery. "You always arrive too late, don't you, brother?"
Yuyan stood between them. "Stop it. Both of you."
But the air had already turned electric.
Luchen took Yuyan's wrist—not rough, but not gentle either—and pulled her toward him. "You don't belong here."
"I chose to come," she said, eyes flashing.
His jaw clenched. "So you believe him now?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she hissed, pulling her wrist free.
Lemin stepped closer. "Maybe it's time she stopped believing anyone but herself."
Luchen's stare didn't waver. "You want to know the truth, Yuyan? Ask him about the off-shore accounts. The missing trust. The contract forged in your name."
Lemin laughed. "Deflection. Classic Luchen. When things don't go your way, you resort to control."
"Enough!" Yuyan snapped. "I'm done being the rope in your tug of war!"
She pushed past them both.
But Luchen followed her out.
In the hallway, he caught her by the arm again—but this time, gently. "Please… don't go to him again."
Her voice shook. "You can't tell me what to do."
"I know," he murmured. "But I'm asking."
The hurt in his voice made her hesitate.
"I don't trust either of you," she said, eyes brimming. "And the worst part? I don't even trust myself anymore."
She turned and walked away, heels echoing like punctuation marks in the empty corridor.
Luchen stayed behind.
And for once, he didn't follow.
---