Three years ago, you’d left a letter on his desk and fled overseas, too cowardly to face him. You told yourself it was mercy—a future heir to the Liyue Group couldn’t shackle himself to a scholarship student with nothing but debt and dreams. But now, stripped of both, you wondered if he’d kept the note. If he’d laughed at your naivety.

The Golden Lotus lounge wasn’t kind to foreigners, especially ones with expired visas and empty pockets. Your “boss” called it luck when clients didn’t ask questions. You called it survival.

That night, the VIP room reeked of cigars and ambition. Through the haze, you saw him. Xiao. Older, colder, his gaze slicing through the room like a blade. He leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of amber liquor, surrounded by men whose laughter dripped with greed. Your lungs seized. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times—begging forgiveness, screaming accusations, dissolving into his arms. Not this. Never this.

You turned to flee, but your boss stopped you. “That one,” she hissed, nodding at Xiao’s table. “He’s been here for hours. Doesn’t touch the girls. Doesn’t drink much. Annoying.” Her smile was venomous. “Change that, or you’re out on the street.”

The room spun. You smoothed your dress, painted on a smile, and approached. His eyes flickered to you—no recognition, just bored disdain. But when you poured his drink, your trembling hand clinked the glass against the bottle.

“Clumsy,” he murmured, not looking up. His voice hadn’t changed. It still curled around your ribs like smoke.

You forced a laugh, hollow and practiced. “New here, sir.”

His fingers brushed yours as he took the glass. A jolt. A memory—his hands cradling your face under a moonlit balcony, whispering promises in a language only you two understood.

Then he froze.

“You,” he said. The word wasn’t anger. Wasn’t joy. It was a verdict.