Wen Yin stood there as if carved from stone, her gaze fixed on Shao Yuanjia without the slightest ripple of feeling.
“I don’t want to say any more,” she said, voice steady. “If you keep pestering me from now on, don’t blame me for not holding back.”
Her words were a warning. After everything he’d done, there was no reason for her to be civil. Besides, Shao Yinan didn’t need to be dragged into this—Wen Yin wanted no further entanglements.
Shao Yuanjia sneered. “Did you come back to the Qi household just to marry into the Shao family?”
“If your eyes are failing, Mr. Shao, you should get them checked.” Wen Yin’s reply was cool. “We’re marrying because we love each other. Why drag ‘an alliance’ into it?”
Seeing the faint, bitter twist at the corner of her mouth, his expression soured further. “I remember our elders used to push for Shao Yinan and Qi Siran—”
“You said ‘used to,’” Wen Yin cut in, each word crisp and a little cold. “Now we’re marrying because we love each other. If you’ve got time to speculate about our reasons, perhaps you should be spending it fixing Shaohua.”
She smiled—half-iron, half-ready to wound. “From what I hear, Shaohua’s recent launches haven’t exactly been profitable. Yet you still have the leisure to question why I married?”
Each sentence landed like a thorn. He felt it prick and lodge in his throat. That was exactly what she wanted: to make him loathe her enough to stop coming around.
“Wen Yin, is there really no chance left between us?” he asked, desperate.
A door opened behind them before either could answer. A cold presence filled the narrow balcony; Shao Yinan stepped out, looking toward Shao Yuanjia like a winter wind.
“What exactly have you been saying to my sister-in-law for so long?” he asked. One hand slid to Wen Yin’s waist, drawing her closer into an intimate, possessive stance. His eyes narrowed; his voice was casual on the surface and edged with something sharp and dangerous.
Shao Yuanjia fell silent. He knew, with a flush of humiliation, that everything they’d just said had been heard.
“I allowed you through my family’s door out of respect,” Shao Yinan said slowly. “If you can’t keep your shame in check and keep sniffing around other people’s business, don’t complain when I don’t go easy on you.”
He smiled a provocation at Shao Yuanjia. “And don’t forget—be on time for our wedding, second brother.”
The line was meant to sting. Then, without another glance, Shao Yinan tucked his arm through Wen Yin’s and turned away. They left him standing alone in the night breeze, surprisingly small and pitiful against the dark.
The party ran late. Since it was so late, Madam Qi insisted Wen Yin stay at the Qi household. She’d taken care to choose a room with good light and ventilation and had fitted it with everything Wen Yin might need—every item top-tier but arranged with an uncluttered, thoughtful hand. The space felt large without empty echoes; every useful thing had its place.
Wen Yin felt her chest warm when she saw it. The memory that rose wasn’t pleasant: the night she’d first come back to the Wen family, all the favors had gone to Wen Zhi. Their father had put her in a spare room with plain white sheets—as if she were a guest in her own home. Wen Zhi had even soaked her bedding under the pretense of delivering milk. Wen Yin had curled up on the sofa that night, cold and bewildered. Only later did she realize it had been a warning, a demonstration of who held power.
“Thank you, Madam Qi,” Wen Yin said quietly.
Madam Qi’s eyes went soft. “There’s no need to thank me. This is yours.”
After a few more reassurances, Madam Qi retired to her own room.
They didn’t expect the internet to explode overnight.
Wen Zhi woke up to a flurry of calls. Friends and hangers-on were buzzing at her, half-joking, half-panicked. “Zhi, what the hell? You’ve been off the scene for ages—how are you suddenly trending?”
“Is this true? If it isn’t, you have to clear it up!”
Even their father called, furious. “Wen Zhi! I never thought I’d hear you causing trouble like this. You’re shaming our family!”
Confused, Wen Zhi logged onto Weibo and found herself staring at the top trending list—every entry was her name.
#WenZhiPrivateLife
#WenZhiSugarDaddy
#W_FemaleStarStatus
#WenZhiBoyfriends
#WenZhiFallsFromGrace
She scrolled through the posts: footage of her dancing in clubs, grainy snapshots of late-night parties, doctored rumors about favors and affairs. Qi Siran had thrown the mud and now “witnesses” had come forward with salacious claims. The internet—a beast starved for spectacle—had devoured it all and spat it back amplified.
Wen Zhi’s hands trembled with rage. She could smell the hand behind it all. Qi Siran—of course it had been him.
She clenched her jaw. Very well. Let’s see whose dirt is darker.