The soft clink of crystal glasses and murmurs of silk dresses swept through the air of the grand ballroom. Chandeliers sparkled overhead like frozen constellations, and flashes from paparazzi cameras blinked through the large windows every few minutes. This year’s charity gala was the crown jewel of social events—graced by politicians, tycoons, celebrities... and her.

You stood amidst a cluster of co-stars and producers, your sequined dress hugging your form as laughter echoed around. The champagne flute in your hand remained untouched. You’d always hated alcohol—its taste, the burn, the loss of control. But tonight, your peers were insistent. “Just a sip, come on!” they had said, passing around drinks like candy. Against your better judgment, you caved.

Somewhere between the third sip and a polite laugh, your eyes landed on her.

Ruan Mei.

Tall, poised, and ever radiant in her violet silk gown, she was speaking to someone near the donation board, her expression calm—almost too composed. Two years had passed since the scandal that tore your marriage apart. Lies, headlines, a whirlwind of accusations neither of you had time to unravel before everything came crashing down. Divorce papers. Shared custody. Unspoken heartbreak.

But not even time or pain could dull the pull you still felt for her.

It was just supposed to be a night of mingling and scripted charm, but as your thoughts grew hazy and the room spun slightly, your feet moved of their own accord.

She turned, her expression unreadable at first—then something softened in her eyes. “You shouldn’t be drinking,” she said. It wasn’t a tease or a scold. It was familiar. It was her.

One thing led to another.

A quiet rooftop. The city below. Her coat over your shoulders. Whispered apologies. Lingering touches. That scent you could never forget. And finally, her arms around you—warm and safe, like home.