“Engaged… for twenty years?”
The words were a ghost on Fu Jinyan’s lips, stolen by the storm that had raged all night and was now reborn inside his chest. The world tilted, the rain-soaked ground seeming to fall away from beneath his knees. He stared, not at the flawlessly handsome Jian Moran, but at Su Luo. At her face, which was turned towards Jian Moran with a soft, genuine smile that he had never, not once in three years, been gifted.
She didn’t even spare him a glance. Her silence was his answer. It was a confirmation more brutal than any verbal assault.
Jian Moran’s hand rested possessively on Su Luo’s waist. He looked down at Fu Jinyan, his eyes a mixture of pity and contempt, the way a king might look at a beggar trying to claim a jewel from the royal treasury. “Mr. Fu,” he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with steel. “A childhood arrangement is still an arrangement. And unlike some, we honor our promises.”
Every word was a perfectly aimed dagger. Fu Jinyan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. “She is my wife. We have a marriage certificate.”
For the first time, Su Luo turned her head. Her eyes, no longer vacant but sharp as obsidian shards, met his. The hollow submissiveness he had grown to despise was gone, replaced by an arctic indifference that froze him to his very soul.
“A piece of paper you forced me to sign,” she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “A chain you used to humiliate me. You think that holds any meaning now?” She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Jian Moran tightened his hold on her. “Luo Luo, let’s not waste our breath on irrelevant people. The car is waiting.”
“Irrelevant?” Fu Jinyan surged to his feet, his body screaming in protest. “Su Luo, after everything—!”
“After everything you put me through, you mean?” she cut him off, her gaze sweeping over his disheveled, rain-drenched form. It was the look one gives a piece of filth on their shoe. “Fu Jinyan, you are nothing to me.”
With that, she turned and walked with Jian Moran towards a gleaming, limited-edition Bugatti parked by the curb. A chauffeur in a crisp uniform held the door open. They slid inside, the door clicking shut with a sound of absolute finality.
Fu Jinyan stood there, paralyzed, as the engine purred to life. The car pulled away from the curb, effortlessly leaving him behind in its wake. He watched until the taillights were a distant red blur, swallowed by the morning traffic. The pride that had defined his entire existence shattered into a million pieces. He wasn't a rival. He wasn't even an obstacle. He was… nothing.
But a primal, desperate refusal roared to life within him. He would not be nothing. He would not let her go.
Scrambling into his own car, ignoring the screaming pain in his joints, he tore after them. He drove like a man possessed, his mind a maelstrom of confusion, rage, and a terrifying, gnawing panic. What had he done? Who was this woman he had tortured for three years? An heiress? Engaged to Jian Moran?
He followed the Bugatti to the city's most exclusive district, a place where every storefront represented generational wealth. Jian Moran’s car pulled up in front of ‘Elysian Atelier,’ a private, appointment-only haute couture house so exclusive that even Fu Jinyan had only been once.
As Jian Moran’s chauffeur moved to open the rear door, Fu Jinyan saw his chance. It was insane. It was humiliating. He didn’t care.
He slammed his car into park, vaulted out, and shoved the stunned chauffeur aside. “I’ll handle it.”
Before anyone could react, Fu Jinyan, the formidable CEO of the Fu Corporation, was holding the door open. His suit was wrinkled and damp, his hair a mess, but his arm was steady.
Su Luo emerged from the car. She paused for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking over him as if he were part of the doorframe. There was no surprise, no anger. Just… emptiness. She didn't acknowledge him. She simply took Jian Moran's offered hand and walked towards the atelier’s entrance.
Jian Moran shot Fu Jinyan a look of bemused disbelief before following her, leaving him standing there like a common doorman.
Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Fu Jinyan followed them inside. The opulent interior was silent and intimidating. A stern-looking manager with a severe haircut and a French accent, Ms. Dubois, glided towards them. Her eyes lit up with recognition at the sight of Jian Moran.
“Mr. Jian! What an unexpected pleasure. Welcome.” Her gaze then fell on Su Luo, and her professionally pleasant expression curdled into a sneer of disdain. She recognized Su Luo as the blind, worthless wife of Fu Jinyan from the society pages. Then her eyes landed on Fu Jinyan, lingering behind them like an attendant. “And Mr. Fu. How… unusual to see you here. With such company.”
She turned back to Jian Moran, her voice dripping with condescension. “Mr. Jian, our atelier maintains a certain standard of clientele. While you are always welcome, your… companion does not have an appointment. Or, indeed, the requisite profile.”
Fu Jinyan’s blood ran cold. He instinctively stepped forward, the urge to defend Su Luo—the woman he’d just been told was nothing to him—surging through him. “Watch your mouth.”
But Su Luo’s hand rose, a silent command for him to stop. She didn't look at Ms. Dubois. She looked at Jian Moran, a playful, almost bored expression on her face.
“Moran,” she said, her voice light. “I was under the impression your family’s conglomerate acquired the Elysian brand last quarter. Did I misremember?”
Ms. Dubois’s face froze.
Jian Moran chuckled, a low, rich sound. “Your memory is perfect, as always, Luo Luo.” He pulled out his phone and made a brief call. He didn’t raise his voice. He spoke calmly, almost casually. “Yes, Mr. Arnaud… I’m at the flagship store… There seems to be a management issue… Yes, she’s right here.”
He put the phone on speaker. A panicked, heavily accented voice filled the silent boutique. “Ms. Dubois! You will apologize to Miss Su this instant! On your knees! Your position is terminated, effective immediately! Security will escort you out. Do not cause a scene!”
Ms. Dubois’s face turned the color of ash. Her legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor, babbling apologies. “Miss Su… I am so sorry… I didn't know… Please, I have a family…”
Su Luo watched her, her expression unchanged. Her eyes, once a shield for her thoughts, were now windows into a soul made of ice. She stepped delicately around the groveling woman as if she were a piece of trash on the sidewalk.
“I’d like to see the new collection now,” she stated to the terrified junior staff who were rushing forward.
For the next hour, Fu Jinyan was forced to stand by and watch. He watched as Su Luo, with a regal air he’d never imagined, dismissed priceless gowns with a flick of her wrist. He watched as Jian Moran looked at her with an adoration that was both gentle and absolute. He, Fu Jinyan, was invisible. A ghost in the room. When they were finished, a staff member handed the beautifully packaged garments to Jian Moran, who then, without a word, passed them directly to Fu Jinyan.
He held the bags. He, who commanded boardrooms and brought rivals to their knees, was now a glorified porter for the woman he had cast aside and the man who had effortlessly taken his place.
As they walked out into the bright afternoon sun, a delicate, lace-trimmed glove slipped from Su Luo’s hand, landing softly on the polished granite steps.
Jian Moran noticed first. “Luo Luo, you dropped your glove.”
Instinct took over. An ingrained, forgotten chivalry. Fu Jinyan immediately bent down to retrieve it for her.
“Stop.”
Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the air like a razor blade. It froze him in his half-crouched position.
He slowly straightened up, his eyes locking with hers. For the first time since that morning, she was looking directly at him. Her gaze was not indifferent now. It was filled with a chilling, deliberate, and absolute power.
She tilted her head, a cold smirk playing on her lips. She didn't look down at the glove lying at his feet. She looked right into his soul.
“You,” she said, her voice a whip of ice and command. “Pick it up.”