The lights of the gala were not merely a hazy, dreamlike accumulation of softness and sparkle; they were a carefully crafted trap, enveloping every inch of space in a shimmering, gold-pink haze. The immense crystal chandelier hung like a waterfall of fallen stars, refracting light from countless facets, scattering brilliance over expensive velvet tablecloths, gleaming silverware, and the meticulously groomed faces of the guests. It created a flowing, almost illusory aura of opulence. The air was thick with the delicate intoxication of vintage champagne, the rich depth of fine cigars, and the complex dry-down of exclusive perfumes. The elegant strains of classical music didn't just flow; they were more like invisible threads, winding through the laughter and chatter, weaving them into a vast, yet strangely isolating web. At the center of this web, seated at the head table like a block of ice dropped into lukewarm water, radiating an incongruous chill, sat Lucas Vance.
The convivial warmth surrounding him held no relevance. Lily Chen's clumsy collision moments ago, along with the cascade of red wine, hadn't merely defiled his exquisitely tailored, astronomically priced Italian suit; it felt like a sharp needle puncturing the meticulously maintained, watertight facade of his business persona he'd upheld all evening. That flash of humiliation, captured by a few pairs of startled or amused eyes, though fleeting, seared his nerves like a brand. Now, the deep stain seemed to have seeped through the fabric, reaching his skin, bringing a sticky, inescapable irritation. His face was thunderous, brows furrowed into deep ravines. His sharp gaze swept across the clinking, chattering crowd, radiating nothing but frozen disdain. His long fingers drummed unconsciously, rhythmically, on the polished tabletop â a soft, distinct tap-tap-tap cutting through the ambient noise like muffled thunder brewing deep within a suppressed chest.
In the distance, Lily Chen stood like a blade of grass bent by a storm, barely managing to steady herself in a corner. She wasn't a waiter, just a hotel intern temporarily assigned to assist with the gala. Her pale fingers clenched the edge of her serving tray, knuckles white. Her heart hammered like a runaway horse against her fragile ribs, each beat bringing a wave of suffocation. Her gaze, filled with unconcealed terror like a startled fawn, drifted again and again towards that cold figure at the head table. Every brief encounter, even just catching his indifferent profile, shocked her like electricity, sending her heart plummeting. The suit â she dared not even estimate its value. It was an astronomical figure, enough to crush her already strained life. Fear coiled around her like icy vines, but a stronger instinct â a sense of responsibility and a shred of lingering self-respect â struggled within her. She had to apologize again, she had to try and make amends, however slim the hope.
Drawing a deep breath, the expensive air of the ballroom felt heavy, pressing into her lungs. She forced her legs to move. Each step felt like treading on invisible thorns, cautious and deliberate, as if navigating a minefield. The world of perfume, silk, and effortless laughter blurred and distorted around her, narrowing down to only the head table and that glacial figure growing ever closer. The pounding of her heart roared in her ears, nearly drowning out the music.
"Mr. Vance..." Her voice was a dry rasp, scraped from the depths of a parched riverbed, carrying a barely perceptible tremor, yet she strained for clarity. "I am truly, deeply sorry for earlier... It was my fault, my carelessness. I hope... I hope you'll allow me a chance to make it right." She kept her head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on the expensive tips of Lucas Vance's shoes, unable to meet his gaze. Yet her earnestness and plea were palpable, radiating from her trembling shoulders and tightly clasped hands.
Lucas Vance lifted his head slowly, the movement exuding a languid sense of superiority. His gaze settled on her, devoid of warmth, only cold assessment. It was like a scalpel â icy, precise â dissecting her in an instant, laying bare all her embarrassment, her abjectness, her forced composure. His thin lips parted, his voice not loud, but each word sharp as an icicle: "Make it right?" The final syllable lifted slightly, dripping with undisguised mockery. "How do you propose to do that? With your server's wages? Or..." a deliberate pause, "...with yourself?" The last word landed lightly, yet with crushing weight, carrying a bone-chilling insinuation.
Lily Chen's face drained of all color. Humiliation bit into her heart like a venomous snake. She sucked in a sharp breath, nails digging deep into her palms, the sharp pain anchoring her last shred of composure. "Mr. Vance, I... I truly don't have much money right now, but I promise you, I will pay for the suit in installments until it's fully repaid. Or..." She raised her head, summoning courage to look directly into his fathomless, cold eyes. "...I could do work for you, anything within my ability, to compensate. Whatever the task, I'll do my absolute best." Her voice remained quiet, still trembling, but in her clear eyes, a tiny, stubborn flame flickered, refusing to be extinguished.
A cold, mirthless curve touched Lucas Vance's lips. His smile held no warmth, only profound disdain and annoyance. "Installments?" He scoffed, the sound low but cutting through the nearby air. "Do you imagine I need your pitiful wages? Or that anything you deem 'within your ability' holds the slightest value for me?" He leaned forward slightly, an invisible wave of pressure instantly enveloping Lily Chen. "Save your cheap promises and presumptuous offers. Your very existence is an inconvenience."
Each word lashed at her. She felt blood rush to her head, then recede just as quickly, leaving behind a bone-deep chill. She bit down hard on her lower lip until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Moisture welled rapidly in her eyes, but she forced it back. That stubborn flame flickered violently in the icy waters of humiliation, yet refused to die.
Seeing her reddened eyes and blood-beaded lip, Lucas Vance felt that inexplicable irritation flare stronger. He waved a dismissive hand, the gesture final and cutting. "Enough." His voice returned to its usual cold monotone, stripped of emotion. "I have no interest in this meaningless chatter. Consider yourself fortunate this time; I can't be bothered to pursue it. Remember this: bring some sense to your actions in the future. Not everyone has my..." he paused deliberately, the intended "patience" left unspoken, as if it were beneath him, "...tolerance for your nonsense." With that, he turned away decisively, as if Lily Chen were a speck of insignificant dust instantly ejected from his world.
"Director Li," his face instantly transformed into a flawless mask of professional charm, warm yet perfectly distanced, as he raised his glass to a portly middle-aged man beside him, "I hear progress on that East City plot is swift? The government channels smoothed out?" The transition was seamless, his tone light and congenial, as if the tense confrontation moments before had never occurred.
Lily Chen stood frozen. The words "this time... I can't be bothered" unleashed a tidal wave of relief so immense it nearly buckled her knees. Staggering surprise made her vision swim. But close on its heels came a deeper confusion and an indescribable emptiness. He was just... letting her go? No further humiliation, no demand for compensation, not even another glance? This sudden "mercy" felt less like kindness and more like utter dismissal, a declaration that she wasn't even worth the effort of serious consideration. Her lips parted. "Mr. Vance, thank you so much, I will be extra careful..." Words of gratitude spilled out, sounding thin and futile, dissolving into the air, unanswered. Lucas Vance was engrossed in conversation with Director Li, his profile a hard line of indifference, deaf to her voice.
Overwhelming awkwardness and disorientation left her limbs cold. She stood like a forgotten statue, jarringly conspicuous and pitiful amidst the glamorous throng. Just as she steeled herself to turn and flee the suffocating atmosphere, a wave of potent, aggressively floral perfume assaulted her senses.
A statuesque woman, her makeup an impeccable masterpiece, glided over. Clad in the season's latest haute couture that clung to her curves, diamonds at her neck and wrist glittering with cold brilliance under the lights, she moved like a proud peacock on an invisible catwalk. She cast a lingering, adoring glance at Lucas Vance's profile before her gaze snapped to Lily Chen. Instantly, the softness vanished, replaced by naked contempt, as if looking at a mud-splattered rat that had strayed into a palace.
"Well, well," she purred, her voice artificially high and dripping with saccharine malice, instantly snagging the attention of nearby onlookers. "If it isn't the clumsy little waitress who nearly ruined Mr. Vance's exquisite suit earlier? What, an apology wasn't enough? Hoping to cling to Mr. Vance and fish for some other benefit?" Her eyes raked over Lily Chen's ill-fitting, cheap uniform, the disdain threatening to overflow. "Tsk tsk. Young people these days, such ambitious little climbers."
Lily Chen's face flamed crimson, spreading to her ears. The gaze felt like needles pricking her skin. "I did not!" she blurted, her voice sharp with indignation and hurt. "I only came to apologize for my mistake!"
"Apologize?" The glamorous woman let out a tinkling laugh, cold and devoid of warmth, as if hearing a great joke. She covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand. "Sweetie, do you really think a man like Mr. Vance cares about apologies from your kind? Don't flatter yourself. Your apology, to him, is lighter than the dust beneath his feet." She flicked her fingers dismissively, as if brushing away something unclean. "Look at you. Now look around you," her sweeping gesture encompassed the lavish surroundings. "Know your place. Stop embarrassing yourself and get out. You're blocking the view of the distinguished guests."
Each word was a venom-tipped dagger, precisely aimed at Lily Chen's most vulnerable self-respect. She felt her blood reverse course; fury and humiliation collided violently in her chest, threatening to erupt. She clenched her fists until her nails bit deep into her palms, the sharp pain a desperate anchor to silence. She couldn't retort, couldn't lose control â it would only invite greater shame and trouble. She gritted her teeth, her lower lip turning white under the pressure, fighting back the tears welling in her eyes with every ounce of strength.
"I was only doing what I thought was right," she ground out between clenched teeth, her voice low but vibrating with a near-tragic defiance.
"Hmph. Pathetic." The woman lost all patience, waving her hand dismissively as if shooing a fly. "Are you going to leave, or do I need to call security to escort you out?"
Lily Chen spun around, bolting from the suffocating heart of the room as if fleeing for her life. She held her spine rigid, refusing to appear utterly broken, but the slight tremor in her shoulders and her near-run betrayed her inner collapse. Humiliated tears finally broke free, streaming down her face, only to be wiped away angrily with the back of her hand. A furious fire ignited in her chest, burning away the residue of abasement and powerlessness.
Though ostensibly listening to Director Li expound on a project's profit margins, Lucas Vance's peripheral vision had captured the entire, one-sided humiliation. Seeing Lily Chen's tear-streaked, defiantly fragile back vanish at the crowd's edge, the sliver of displeasure he'd forcibly suppressed earlier rippled through him again, stronger this time. He found the woman's shrill, triumphant voice peculiarly grating. But swiftly, his formidable self-control clamped down on this unwelcome emotion. It was merely an insignificant interlude, the tears of an inconsequential girl beneath his notice. He refocused on Director Li's glistening face, his smile flawlessly reassembled. "Director Li, your insight is remarkable. That return rate is indeed highly attractive..."
Lily Chen practically fled back to the hotel's kitchen area. The air here, thick with the smells of grease, disinfectant, and food waste, was a stark contrast to the perfumed luxury of the ballroom, yet it offered a perverse sense of refuge. She leaned against a cold metal counter, gasping, trying to calm the turmoil within her. Lucas Vance's icy disregard and the glamorous woman's venomous contempt warred in her mind. Gratitude? Yes, some â that astronomical compensation would have ruined her. But heavier was the crushing humiliation and the icy sting of utter dismissal. So, in their eyes, she wasn't even worth serious consideration? Her apology, her efforts, her very self â were they truly so cheap, so... worthless?
"Lily Chen!" A thunderous bellow echoed through the kitchen.
She jumped, snapping upright. The portly Food and Beverage Manager, Wang Defa, was storming towards her, his jowls quivering with rage, his small eyes blazing as if he wanted to devour her whole.
"You! Do you have any idea the disaster you caused tonight?!" Manager Wang's voice cracked with fury, spittle flying. "That was Lucas Vance! Lucas Vance of Vance Group! Do you comprehend that a single word from him could shut this hotel down?! Huh?! Were your eyes glued to the ceiling?! Can't you watch where you're going?! Do you realize what you knocked over might cost more than you'll earn in your next lifetime?!"
Lily Chen bowed her head deeply, her long hair falling to hide her swollen, tear-stained face. "I'm sorry, Manager Wang, truly sorry... It was my fault..." Her voice was thick with tears, saturated with helpless guilt.
"Sorry?! 'Sorry' is useless!" Manager Wang spun in place, jabbing a finger towards her. "If Mr. Vance hadn't been magnanimous enough to ignore a speck like you, you wouldn't be standing here listening to me! You'd be packing your bags and facing bankruptcy! Do you realize how insanely lucky you are?! Huh?!"
Lily Chen's body trembled faintly; she could only nod harder.
Wang Defa glared at her cowering form, his rage finding no outlet, finally deflating into a long, greasy sigh. "Tch! This time, your ancestors must have blessed you! From now on, keep your eyes wide open! Nail your mind to your hands and feet when you work! If you pull another stunt like this, not even the Jade Emperor could save you! Got it?!"
"Yes, Manager. I understand." Lily Chen lifted her head. Though her eyes were red-rimmed, her gaze was unnervingly clear, marked by a resolve forged in the crucible of pain. "I will be careful from now on. I will never make such a mistake again." Her voice was quiet, yet unwavering, a vow spoken to herself and to the harsh reality before her.
Midnight had passed. The city still hummed, but the alley behind the hotel was cloaked in a deep, quiet chill. Lily Chen emerged, having shed the heavy uniform jacket that felt like a shroud of shame, clad only in her thin blouse. The late autumn wind, sharp and biting, instantly pierced the fabric, making her shiver violently, yet her mind felt unnervingly lucid. She looked up at the night sky, its darkness diluted by the city's glow. A sparse scattering of stars managed to pierce the light pollution, emitting a faint, stubborn gleam.
She drew in a deep lungful of the frigid air. The cold stabbed into her core, yet paradoxically settled her chaotic thoughts. Resentment, fury, lingering fear, gratitude... a tumult of emotions churned within her, finally coalescing into a force far more potent â determination.
"I will change!" The silent cry echoed in her mind, each word a hammer blow to her spirit. "I refuse to forever stand in the shadows, gazing at others' brilliance! I refuse to forever endure those scornful glances! I refuse to have my dignity trampled underfoot! I will become strong! Strong enough to master my own destiny! Strong enough that no one can ever again disregard Lily Chen!" This resolve was no longer a starry-eyed fantasy; it was a thorny vine bursting from the soil of humiliation, barbed with defiance. She recalled the glamorous woman's contemptuous stare, Lucas Vance's icy disdain, Manager Wang's spittle-flecked tirade... These images were no longer just wounds; they became the forge-fire tempering her will. She even recalled Lucas Vance's final words â "can't be bothered." That lofty indifference had stung deeper than any insult: the realization that she wasn't even worth the effort of serious contempt. This knowledge was a poisoned needle, numbing her heart, yet igniting an unyielding spark of defiance within her bones.
Meanwhile, a sleek, obsidian Bentley Mulsanne, like a phantom of the night, glided smoothly along the city's neon-lit artery. Inside, the temperature was perfect, the air subtly scented with fine leather.
Lucas Vance reclined in the expansive comfort of the rear seat, eyes closed, but a frown etched deep between his brows spoke of persistent fatigue and... irritation. The clinking glasses, false flattery, and probing exchanges of the business banquet had long faded into background noise. Yet, what occupied his mind now wasn't the details of the impending merger, nor Director Li's tedious sycophancy, but a pair of eyes.
Lily Chen's eyes.
Those eyes, bright and clear despite their terror; those eyes that had met his cold mockery with unshed tears yet unflinching defiance; those eyes, brimming with moisture yet refusing to cry, clinging to shattered dignity as she turned away after the glamorous woman's assault... Those eyes held too much: abject fear, raw sincerity, the sting of injury, and a... disturbingly pure, stubborn vitality. Like weeds, trampled into the mud, yet straining to lift their heads.
Why? he asked himself. An insignificant, clumsy intern, a girl who couldn't afford a single button on his suit â why did she feel like a tiny splinter lodged in his usually impregnable defenses, causing this persistent, faint, yet undeniable discomfort? Was it because her blunder had cracked his perfect facade? Was it because her laughable, misplaced "defiance" grated? Or was it because... in her, he glimpsed, however fleetingly, a reflection of a much younger, far more callow version of himself â similarly cornered by immense pressure and unfairness, teeth gritted, refusing to yield?
The thought flashed through his mind and was instantly dismissed with contempt. Absurd. He and she existed on different planes.
Irritably, he tugged at his tie as if the soft silk were a noose. The neon lights outside the window streaked past, blurring into bands of color, powerless to dispel the image of those stubborn eyes.
"Mr. Vance," the driver's voice, tentative, broke the silence from the front. "Shall we proceed directly to the Peak Villa?" The driver, catching his employer's furrowed brow and oppressive aura in the rearview mirror, held his breath.
Lucas Vance snapped his eyes open. A trace of lingering disorientation vanished instantly, replaced by his customary coldness. He gazed out at the fleeting cityscape, silent for a few seconds. The silence and vast emptiness of the Peak Villa suddenly seemed incapable of offering the solace he craved.
"No," he replied, his voice carrying a barely perceptible rasp. "Take me to 'Cloud Peak' Club." There, the liquor never ran dry, and the company always knew how to read the room. Perhaps the noise and the alcohol could drown out this damned, inconvenient train of thought.
"Understood, Mr. Vance." The driver acknowledged, smoothly altering the navigation route.
The car accelerated, merging into the brighter river of headlights. Lucas Vance leaned back again, closing his eyes. Yet, Lily Chen's defiant, wounded gaze remained imprinted on his retinas, growing sharper in the darkness. Her slight, trembling frame as she turned away; her fists clenched white under the glamorous woman's assault; even the faint, genuine tremor in her voice as she apologized... these details replayed involuntarily.
"Truly... damnable," he muttered under his breath, an annoyance he couldn't quite comprehend coloring his tone. He tried to shift his focus to the backlog of emails on his phone, but the cold figures and sterile words held none of their usual pull.
His fingers unconsciously began to trace the edge of his suit sleeve, brushing the cool, hard surface of a sapphire cufflink â the only piece of his attire untouched by the wine. The sensation brought an absurd thought: had her flustered fingers accidentally brushed against this very spot during her panicked wiping? The thought intensified his irritation, and he jerked his hand away abruptly.
He had never been moved by apologies or tears. In the battlefield of business, tears were the weakest weapon. He was accustomed to control, to deference, to sweeping inconvenient people or matters aside like rubbish. Lily Chen should have been precisely that kind of "unfortunate debris." He had brushed her off like a speck of dust. So why did her shadow cling so stubbornly?
Was it the jarring authenticity she possessed? In this utterly artificial world of privilege, her undisguised fear, clumsy sincerity, and fragile defiance had been like a harsh light, briefly tearing through the gilded curtain? Or was it that flicker of unquenchable fire deep in her eyes, even when crushed, that sparked a faint sense of... threat? Or perhaps something else, something deeper and unexamined?
Lucas Vance gave a sharp shake of his head, as if physically dislodging these nonsensical notions. He had no need to expend mental energy on a nobody. What he needed was calm, the restoration of his mental command. He pressed the window button. The cold, late autumn night air rushed violently into the cabin, tousling his immaculate hair and carrying a bone-deep chill.
The cold wind hit his face. He inhaled deeply. The city lights streamed past in luminous trails. Yet, as the car sped through a dimmer stretch of the city, a lone figure pushing a humble food cart, shivering in the cold wind while waiting for customers, abruptly filled his view. The figure's shadow stretched long under the streetlamp, radiating a solitary resilience.
For an instant, Lucas Vance's heart clenched, as if squeezed by an unseen hand. He slammed the window shut.
"Faster," his voice was colder than the night wind outside.
The driver obeyed. The black luxury car shot forward like an arrow, swiftly leaving the solitary figure under the yellow streetlight far behind, merging once more into the brighter, colder sea of light ahead.
Lucas Vance closed his eyes once more, leaning back, his face impassive. Only he knew that in some deep corner of his consciousness, the splinter named Lily Chen hadn't been dislodged; it was embedded deeper. And on the other side of the city, beneath the sparse stars, an oath was just beginning to crystallize into the force that would alter fate. Two lines that should never have intersected found their paths etched with a deep, indelible scratch this night, by a spilled glass of wine and a multitude of complex gazes.