“Your little tricks won’t stand up in the light of day. Everything you imagine is pure fantasy.” Wen Yin’s gaze cut across the line, dark and cold; a faint murderous edge crept into those pupils, making Wen Zhi flinch.
Wen Zhi froze. The woman on the other end of the phone was a stranger—so different from the image Wen Zhi had clung to: the meek girl who could be walked over. She hadn’t realized Wen Yin had seen through her from the start.
“What makes you think your trending topic was bought?” Wen Zhi snapped back, trying for steel in her voice. Her eyes flickered, though—betraying her.
Wen Yin smiled lightly, the kind of smile that could sharpen into a blade. “Because the night I went back to the Wen house, you were sneaking someone out to take photos of me. Do you think no one noticed how obvious you were?”
Wen Zhi bit her lip until it hurt. She hadn’t expected Wen Yin to have noticed—and now she’d been stripped bare, humiliated. All her schemes had turned her into a clown.
Wen Yin hadn’t even spared her a real look.
“Wen Yin,” Wen Zhi hissed through her teeth, “you installed pinhole cameras in the Wen residence right under Father’s nose. He won’t let you get away with this.”
Only then did Wen Yin stir. Wen Zhi’s chest swelled with a small, triumphant thrill—she’d scored a hit. But Wen Yin simply shifted her weight, leaning back against the wall with an effortless, languid poise. Her voice was unchanged.
“Do as you wish.”
She ended the call and didn’t bother to look back.
Wen Zhi stomped off to her room.
Wen Yin watched her go with a cool, uninterested glance. On the surface Wen Zhi played the obedient noble daughter, but Wen Yin had seen how she snapped at servants when displeased—and how bruises darkened the arms and temples of some of those house staff. She’d started digging. She hadn’t expected the things she found.
“A-Yin.”
A low voice pulled her out of the memory. Shao Yinan stood not far away, watching her. Their rooms were next to each other; he looked almost close enough to reach. A breeze lifted his hair, and the soft wind caught at the loose strands by Wen Yin’s cheek.
Shao’s eyes were cool and clear, yet when he looked at her there was an unexpected warmth in them. Wen Yin’s breath snagged. He was handsome enough for the industry—those viridian, almost-tenacious eyes made you want to drown in them.
He spoke quietly so others wouldn’t overhear. “I saw the trending topics. Don’t let those lies get to you.”
Shao remembered how fast the search had climbed. Someone had worked to steer the tide—he’d seen it. Watching Wen Zhi earlier had filled in more of the picture. He’d tried to push the story down, but someone else was quicker at changing the direction of attention. Wen Zhi’s fire had ended up consuming herself.
“You don’t need to pay them any mind,” he said, voice low and steady. “Your private life isn’t theirs to dissect.”
Warmth spread through Wen Yin at his words. Then he added, as if deciding on it in that same quiet voice, “I believe you. And I always will—A-Yin.”
The wind picked up and toppled wisps of her hair. His gaze didn’t waver; it was ink-dark and fixed on her, as if the rest of the world had been erased.
Wen Yin smiled without thinking. Her whole face lit up; her eyes curved into crescents. “Thank you, Mr. Shao.”
Someone standing behind you—firm, unshakable—could make the coldest day feel like spring. Wen Yin realized she hadn’t felt that kind of steadiness in a long time.
On the way downstairs for a glass of water she bumped into Xiao Mo. The moment he saw her his expression sank, like she’d taken a liberty he resented.
Wen Yin didn’t need to guess how Wen Zhi had poisoned him. Xiao Mo glanced at the camera at the doorway, and while turning he discreetly killed the mic on his chest. He shot Wen Yin a look that said: turn yours off.
They retreated to a shadowy corner of the kitchen. Outside, Xiang Zhou and Li Xiangwei sat ready; the livestream audience hadn’t paid them any mind. Under Xiao Mo’s pressure, Wen Yin clicked her mic off and pretended to sip her water, amused to hear what nonsense he would come up with.
“Thought I made myself clear last time.” Without the cameras, Xiao Mo’s eyes went hard enough to be called vicious. “You have no right to slander Zhi Zhi. What you’re doing is petty theater. It won’t hurt her.”
Wen Yin’s smile curved into something sharper. “If you’re worried about who put the Wen heiress on the trending list, you’re welcome to go investigate, Mr. Xiao. Besides, I’m simply stating the facts. Why are you so worked up?”
She genuinely didn’t understand his reflexive defensiveness. Wen Zhi had started this; she was getting what she deserved. Or maybe Xiao Mo had always seen Wen Yin as a soft target—someone who could be bullied without consequence.
Xiao Mo frowned, clearly unsettled. He opened his mouth to argue, but Wen Yin breezed past him with an insolent grace that left him speechless.
“Excuse me.”
She took the stairs and almost ran into Wen Zhi waiting where she’d expected her. Wen Zhi’s smile was all honeyed charm—a smile that never reached her eyes. Wen Yin felt the dangerous edge beneath it.
Wen Zhi cast a casual glance at the camera and then leaned in close, dropping her voice so only Wen Yin could hear. “You like to steer attention with another stunt, right? I’ve got a surprise you’ll love.”