Wen Yin rolled her eyes at the soft clicking sound he made.
“You knew how valuable this was and you still touched it!” she snapped.
Lilianna—an internationally renowned designer—didn’t mass-produce dresses. Many of her gowns were one-offs, pieces that money alone couldn’t buy. The fact that Madam Qi had managed to procure them spoke volumes about the Qi family’s reach.
Wen Yin looked around at the room full of couture and felt a subtle, complicated warmth bloom in her chest. It wasn’t just about the dresses themselves; it was proof—proof of how much Madam Qi had gone to bat for her.
Her fingers skimmed the fabrics, and the silk felt warm under her touch. It comforted her in a way words never could.
“So all your worries can finally be put to rest, right?” Shao Yinan asked, reading her expression.
He knew what she was thinking—how, at the recognition banquet back at the Wens’, she’d been cold-shouldered and humiliated. He was trying to take some of the weight off her shoulders.
“People are different,” he said quietly. “Some aren’t fit to be called fathers.”
Wen Yin knew he was only saying that to soothe her. She let out a small, resigned smile and allowed her gaze to linger on a nearby gown.
“I know all that. I’m not a child anymore,” she replied.
Shao reached up and rubbed the top of her head. “You’re not a child—then who was it that held you and cried that night?” he teased.
Wen Yin’s cheeks flared. “That was a moment I couldn’t accept yet—what do you know!”
He could see the faint flare of irritation in her expression and decided to placate her. “Alright, alright. I get it.”
She had no interest in arguing. Her attention drifted back to the gowns.
On the night of the ball, Madam Qi sent her styling team to collect Wen Yin. The moment she appeared in her dress, an audible intake of breath spread through the room. Wen Yin was even more breathtaking in person than she had been on television.
She stood there like she belonged to another world—aloof, refined, impossibly elegant. The makeup artists, seasoned professionals who had seen it all, didn’t dare reveal how stunned they were. After a few polite compliments, they focused on perfecting her look.
Shao Yinan, as a member of the Shao family, had also accepted Madam Qi’s invitation. The ballroom that night brimmed with well-established families; even the lesser-known houses had pulled strings and begged for an invite. To be seen at this event was to secure future favors and fortunes.
Wen Zeru stared at the gilded invitation in his hand and sighed. He knew the point of the evening: the Qi family would formally present Wen Yin as their returned daughter. As her brother, he felt a genuine, quiet happiness for her.
Upstairs, Qi Siran stood in a simple champagne-colored dress, face stung by humiliation. She watched her mother dart about, attending to last-minute details for a girl she barely knew—this supposed true daughter. Since the incident, Madam Qi hadn’t addressed her. It felt like a deliberate cut, a line drawn in the sand. Her father, when he discovered what she had done, had been furious. He couldn’t reconcile the image of his obedient, clever daughter with the cruelty she’d shown.
Lately, Qi Siran’s life in the Qi household had been miserable. Once treated like a princess, she now felt reviled. She lowered her eyes and forced her face into something less contorted, trying to smother the poisonous thoughts crowding her mind.
She had worked so hard for her place here—every charm, every smile, every performance of devotion. Who, then, was this new rival who dared to upend her life? Where was she hiding? Who had she charmed to get such favor?
Her jaw tightened; her fingernails dug into her palm until they ached, but she barely felt it. No matter who came—the gods or the demons—Qi Siran vowed she would make them leave this house crawling. She would not let anyone steal the spoils meant for her.
A commotion at the doorway drew her attention. Shao Yinan had arrived.
Seeing him again after so long, Qi Siran’s eyes unconsciously followed him. He was as arresting as ever—dressed in a custom-cut suit that fit him like a second skin, every line tailored to accentuate his poise. There was something ascetic about him: a restrained elegance that only made him more magnetic.
Then, beside him, she saw Wen Yin.
Qi Siran’s gaze narrowed until it was all but a slit. How dare Wen Yin wear a Lilianna top-tier design—the exact gown Qi Siran had long coveted? Lilianna’s creations weren’t items to be bought with money. Nobility and society had queued for the privilege of wearing them, only to be turned away.
And yet here Wen Yin stood, in that very gown.
The dress was built on a smoky-pink palette; darker, smoky tones layered at the back of the skirt like a shadowed tide, while the front shimmered in paler hues. The strapless bodice clung to Wen Yin’s form, cinching at the waist where two black satin ribbons emphasized her slimness. A cluster of crimson roses blossomed at her chest, a startling counterpoint to the soft pinks around them. The train alone trailed more than half a meter, a flourish of silk that announced her arrival.
Wen Yin had arrived in splendor.
Qi Siran ground her teeth. Wen Yin was nothing but a leech riding on Shao Yinan’s coattails—what could someone who “relied on a man” possibly do? Her hatred surged, but it was short-lived; she had not come to this party to fume. She had a mission: to uncover the Qi family’s true daughter.
Acting aimlessly on the second floor, Qi Siran was in fact scrutinizing every guest room. She was convinced Madam Qi would shelter the real daughter in one of those rooms before making the grand reveal downstairs. At the thought, her blood boiled all over again. She wouldn’t be kept in the dark—not tonight.