"You're back."
The moment Shen Yichen spoke, Su Rui's foot nearly slipped.
Why is he here?
She struggled to hide her surprise, though her heartbeat had already begun pounding uncontrollably.
This was Shen Yichen's office—the very same place she had walked through countless times as his wife. Back then, she wore designer heels and perfume that cost more than her assistant's monthly salary.
Now?
She wore a faded janitor's uniform, rubber-soled work shoes, and was pushing a cleaning cart that creaked with every step. She glanced down at the gloved hands holding the handle—broad palms, thick fingers, the kind that told stories of years spent scrubbing and wringing rags.
The ridiculousness of the moment nearly made her laugh.
Once, she signed million-dollar endorsement deals in this building. Now, she was back as the person wiping fingerprints off the glass.
But Su Rui was a professional.
A professional actress.
And in her line of work, your face is your best prop—never let it crack.
She immediately reined in her emotions and put on a polite, deferential smile. "President Shen, I'm here to clean. I'll be quick and won't disturb you."
Without waiting for a reply, she lowered her head and got to work.
She wiped every window until it shone, scrubbed every corner down to the baseboards. Even the faint smudge line beneath the desk leg—she got that too.
This wasn't just any space. This was his space.
She couldn't afford to slip up. She couldn't afford to be sent away.
So she performed her role with everything she had.
She bent lower. Moved slower. Even added in deliberate, weary breathing as she mopped, like someone used to carrying weight for decades.
It wasn't just acting—her current body truly matched the role.
Her shoulders were broad. Her frame solid. Her movements heavy and firm.
No one would look at her and think "former celebrity."
They'd think, "She must've raised three kids and mopped staircases all her life."
She became so immersed in the part, she forgot someone else was still in the room.
Until she approached the desk.
The large mahogany surface gleamed. Everything was orderly—pen holder, laptop, files. She reached forward to wipe the edge of the desk when her gaze landed on something framed near the corner.
A photograph.
She froze.
It was a picture of her and Shen Yichen dancing the waltz at their wedding.
She wore a flowing white gown, her smile radiant. He wore a black tuxedo, one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand mid-spin. Their eyes locked, as if the world had melted away around them.
He still kept this?
Her mind spiraled. Her grip loosened.
In that instant, her knee buckled and she pitched forward.
The body she inhabited now wasn't light. If she fell, she'd hit the desk hard enough to shake the whole room.
She braced herself for an embarrassing crash.
But it never came.
A strong arm caught her mid-fall.
Firm. Steady. Controlled.
She looked up—
And met those sharp, unreadable eyes.
Shen Yichen.
He was close now, the scent of his cologne still the same after all these years. His grip wasn't overly forceful, but it held her securely, like someone who had done this exact thing before.
His voice was low, but certain.
"You're quite good at pretending."
Su Rui's mind went blank.
Then he added, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather:
"Su Rui, your acting might fool the whole world—
But it won't fool me."