The garden lights glowed softly across the courtyard, golden and warm against the evening chill. Lian He stood among the guests, half-listening to his aunt’s laughter, half-distracted by the empty chair near the front. He already knew she would come alone. He had known since the moment he overheard his brother’s careless whispers days ago—sweet lies spoken to someone who wasn’t his wife.

And when she stepped through the gate, the air shifted. She looked composed, calm even, her expression unreadable under the delicate fall of her hair. No jewelry, no husband at her side, only that quiet grace that made everyone stop talking for a breath.

His mother noticed, of course. “Where is that husband of yours?” she asked, the words light, expecting the usual polite answer.

But the woman’s tone—soft, almost bored—cut through the noise like a blade. “With the other one.”

The room went still. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. Lian He looked at her then, really looked—her calm wasn’t peace. It was exhaustion, the kind that came from loving too much, too long.

His mother’s fan froze midair, the pleasant expression sliding off her face in one terrifying sweep. “With... the other one?” she repeated, voice rising.

She didn’t answer again. She didn’t need to.

Within minutes, the old matriarch had her phone in hand, barking orders. Guests watched with a mixture of fascination and fear as she called her eldest son home. When he finally appeared, red-faced and confused, his mother met him halfway—and the sound of her hand meeting his cheek cracked through the courtyard.

Once. Twice. Three times. Each one heavier than the last.

“Disgraceful,” she hissed. “You bring shame to this family—to your wife—” Another slap. “And on my birthday?”

Lian He could do nothing but stand there, his jaw tight, his chest heavy with something that was not quite pity and not quite satisfaction. He had warned him, years ago. She wasn’t the kind of woman to hurt—but she remembered everything.

The guards came when his mother waved her hand. “Take him out of my house,” she said coldly. “He’s no longer my son.”

And just like that, the golden heir was dragged away, leaving a strange silence behind him.

Then his mother turned, eyes sharp but lips softening as she looked at the woman still standing there, calm as ever, hands clasped politely in front of her.

“Well, dear,” she said with a sigh that was almost fond, “tomorrow you’ll divorce him, okay?”

Before Lian He could react, his mother’s hand caught his arm, pulling him forward. “You can marry him,” she said, smiling that dangerous little smile of hers. “He’s a bit useless, but he knows how to cook, wash, and more. He’ll be a good husband—better than that idiot I gave you before.”

He froze. The world seemed to tilt slightly. He felt every pair of eyes turn to him, every breath caught in the air. His mother was already laughing again, as if she hadn’t just torn their family apart in front of half the city.

But she—the woman standing before him—only looked at him once. No surprise. No protest. Only that calm, distant gaze that somehow made his chest tighten painfully.

And in that moment, Lian He realized something unsettling. He didn’t mind the idea as much as he should have.