Shao Yuanjia froze in place.
“You found N.A.?” Wen Yin’s voice was calm, almost amused.
Hearing that, he could have leapt out of his chair. For a second he looked ready to, then checked himself and sank into a brief, measured silence. His father hadn’t given him much time. Could she really have tracked down N.A. in just a few days—was Wen Yin that resourceful, or had she pulled in some outside favor?
A cold flash passed through Shao Yuanjia’s eyes.
Wen Yin smiled, slow and deliberate, lips the soft sheen of pomegranate. Her voice was unhurried, but it carried weight.
“Mr. Shao, are you disappointed that I managed to invite N.A.?”
Shao fought to keep his expression neutral; the effort showed, but incredulity still flickered in his gaze. “Are you certain?”
“If you’re lying just to win your father’s approval, we’ll cut this project altogether.” He had settled into pressure, the corporate knife-edge of his tone.
“If you can’t find her, I’ll help you.” There was something else in his look now—possessive, calculating.
The feeling that crawled up Wen Yin’s spine was a sudden, unpleasant nausea.
“No, thank you.”
She stepped back as if to put distance between herself and him. Oddly, both Shao Mingyang and Shao Yuanjia were brothers of Shao Yinan, yet only Yuanjia made her uncomfortable like this.
“If that’s all, Mr. Shao, I’ll take my leave.”
As she turned to go, his voice followed, casual and faintly teasing. “There’s a newcomers’ designers’ panel in a few days. N.A. should be there too, right?”
A small, mischievous curl lifted one corner of his mouth. It was as if he’d already decided she was lying, as if he’d found the one soft thread he could tug.
Wen Yin didn’t let the insinuation ruffle her. She turned slowly, the smile on her face folding into something unreadable and cool.
“Of course. I’ll add N.A. to the project group chat.” She left the words hanging in the air like a challenge. “You’ll be able to talk to her directly then.”
She left the office. Silence settled in the room. After a long moment Shao Yuanjia let out a short, low laugh. “Interesting.”
When the new quarter began, the big brands started rolling out their seasonal showcases. Wen Yin stared at the gilded invitation from Qili, sent by Jiujiu—her phone buzzing nonstop beside it.
[Jiujiu: Wen Yin sis, the designer can invite one guest. I’m doing the spotlight gowns this time—will you come?]
Wen Yin didn’t need to think. Jiujiu’s round, innocent face and oversized black glasses popped into her mind, instantly familiar. She tapped the invitation’s hot-stamped edge, looked at the unfinished sketches scattered across her desk, then typed two short replies.
[Wen Yin: I’ll be there.]
[Wen Yin: Good luck.]
Jiujiu replied with a cute sticker. Wen Yin slipped the phone away and let a small smile curve her lips.
Qili’s show was a spectacle. Shao Yinan had cleared his schedule and accompanied her. Tonight Wen Yin wore a strapless white gown that revealed the delicate lines of her collarbone and the long, elegant sweep of her neck. The waist was cinched just so, tracing the silhouette of her body. Even in nearly ten-centimeter heels she was slightly shorter than Shao Yinan, but the height difference only made them more harmonious.
Shao Yinan had chosen white too—his suit trimmed with a faint, dark pattern at the lapel that matched the blush-toned brooch at Wen Yin’s chest. Their restrained coordination was quiet and effective.
His hooded, dark eyes never left her. They looked like a pair shaped by the same hand—they fit. Standing together, they drew attention without trying; the crowd’s gaze clustered around them.
“The Shao family’s third young master,” people murmured. “And the Wen family’s true heiress.”
Even if some thought Wen Yin had reached too high, they couldn’t deny how well the two of them looked together.
“Wen Yin!” Jiujiu abandoned the backstage chaos and practically ran over, excitement lighting her face. Wen Yin’s smile was soft. “Congratulations—the line’s killing it.”
Jiujiu flushed like a pleased child. Since Wen Yin had left Qili, Jiujiu had missed her the most.
Jiujiu sidled close and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I heard the chairman of Qili asked you to invite N.A. Is it true?”
The rumor had already spread through the design circles—not because of Qili, but because of N.A.: an internationally renowned jeweler showing their second collection. Everyone’s eyes were on it.
Wen Yin nodded, letting her gaze sweep the room without appearing to. The crowd was large, and many turned furtive glances her way—curiosity, the spark of gossip. Could she actually bring N.A.?
Wen Yin’s smile grew wry, the curl at her eyes unreadable. “Isn’t it more fun to wait for the reveal?”
Before Jiujiu could say more, a high, nasal voice sliced through the air—familiar and deliberately mocking. “Wen Yin, so confident, are we?”
A woman appeared in Wen Yin’s sightline: Shasha, all flash and branded logos, the hem of a red dress like a banner. Jiujiu’s eyes widened; she hadn’t expected to run into her here.
Shasha planted herself in front of them with a practiced, haughty air. Wen Yin noticed the corner of an invitation peeking out from Shasha’s clutch—she was flaunting it, low-key. Wen Yin didn’t dignify the show-off with a response.
It hit Shasha like a pillow to the face—Wen Yin simply didn’t care. Fury flared in her chest; she’d been dismissed for a small mistake before, while Wen Yin, who’d made none, had been fired from Qili and now was standing here thriving—probably still dependent on a man, Shasha thought bitterly.
“So when will Wen Yin let N.A. show up?” Shasha pressed, smug.
Wen Yin’s smile sharpened, cool as a blade. “That has nothing to do with you.”
The air went cold. Before Shasha could retort, a voice, icy and controlled, came from behind.
“When did anyone outside of Shao family affairs get to make comments?”
Shao Yinan stepped up, red wine in one hand, the other resting possessively at Wen Yin’s narrow waist. They made an effortless picture—his reserve and her relaxed elegance, like two halves forged for each other. Shasha felt her blood run cold beneath his gaze.