The night went on and people mingled and shared ideas or found common interests.
Li Meilin on the other hand, found out that her gaze kept drifting to her boyfriend and his so-called date after every few minutes.
Unable to ignore the questions racing through her mind any longer, Li Meilin finally stepped forward. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble floor of the grand event hall, each step sending a ripple of uncertainty through her chest. She hadn't rehearsed what to say. Her heart thudded wildly, but her voice came out quieter than expected, almost unsure.
"Zhou Fan... I thought—why didn't you answer your phone?" She asked, trying to sound more confident than she currently felt.
He froze, back still turned to her.
Just like that, everything in her world paused with the intensity of his sudden change in body language. The music seemed to have faded into a distant hum, the clinking of glasses and soft laughter of the other guests dimming beneath the heavy weight of that still moment.
Zhou Fan didn't turn around immediately. When he did, he looked at her with an expression so unfamiliar, so distant, it felt like a stranger had taken over the man she loved. His eyes—usually warm, flirtatious, full of easy charm—were now cold, unreadable.
He exhaled slowly, and then, as if the sight of her irritated him, he turned his back to her again.
Meilin's frown deepened. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides. She moved closer, her voice a gentle whisper in his ear, almost pleading. "What's wrong?"
Zhou Fan's reply was low and sharp, meant for her ears only, but it struck like a blade.
"Don't embarrass me. Stop following me around."
Li Meilin froze. Her eyes widened slightly, the color draining from her face.
He didn't look back. Without another glance, Zhou Fan extended his arm to He Ruolan and together they strolled toward a group of senior executives, chatting easily like a perfect pair meant for the spotlight. Laughter bubbled up from their circle, sharp and piercing.
It felt like knives in Meilin's chest.
A few heads turned. Some people subtly followed Zhou Fan's movement with curious eyes, and then their gazes flicked back to her—sympathetic, judgmental, or merely entertained. It was hard to tell. But it was clear they had noticed. And that was enough to flood Meilin with shame.
She turned away quickly, trying to compose herself. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. Her throat ached, and the beautiful gown she wore, which she had chosen with so much hope and care, now felt like a costume mocking her.
"Hey, Meilin," a cheerful voice said beside her.
She forced a smile as one of her colleagues leaned in close.
"Did you guys fight or something?" the girl asked quietly. "Zhou Fan's acting a bit off tonight. Don't let outsiders come between you two."
Meilin didn't reply.
Another colleague joined in, clearly unaware—or perhaps just insensitive. "That He Ruolan girl seems really close to him. I heard she's the daughter of the investor backing our latest campaign. She kept calling him 'Brother Fan'—so cute!"
The words rang in Meilin's ears like hammers.
She smiled again, polite and tight. "Excuse me," she said softly.
She walked away from them before her legs gave out.
The bright chandeliers above the ballroom seemed too harsh now, the elegant music too loud, the air too heavy. She needed a break, a moment to breathe. But where could she go? There was no escaping the whispers, the stolen glances, the sting of betrayal gnawing into her like a slow-burning fire.
She found an empty table near the corner of the hall and sat down. Her wine glass trembled in her hands. She downed the drink in one go and waved over a waiter for another. The sweetness of the red wine only made her throat ache worse.
Across the room, Zhou Fan was laughing with He Ruolan again, his hand brushing her lower back as he leaned in to say something. Ruolan giggled and clung to his arm like she belonged there.
Meilin looked away.
Is this really happening? she thought bitterly. Is this the same man who told me we'd be engaged soon? Who picked me up in his car just days ago and kissed me so like I was the only girl in the world?
She sipped again, slower this time, her mind swirling.
Was I imagining it all? Was I just convenient? Was the dinner just a bribe for help on that presentation?
Her stomach twisted.
She should have known.
She should have listened to her own voice back then, to that whisper of warning that always came when he called her "future wife" too casually, when he promised futures without substance, when he said he loved her but never introduced her to his family.
She had made excuses—He's saving up, he's just waiting for the right time, he's under pressure, he's not really big on showing off!
But now, sitting there alone while the man she'd repeatedly told herself she loved smiled beside another woman in public without even flinching, those excuses turned into jagged blades.
Tears pricked her eyes.
She blinked them away furiously. She wouldn't cry here. Not at a work event. Not in front of people.
"Meilin?"
She turned to see another colleague—a kind-faced senior editor—looking at her with gentle concern. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
The woman nodded, sensing her discomfort but choosing not to press. She patted Meilin's shoulder lightly and walked off.
Left alone again, Meilin took another drink.
Time passed slowly. The chatter around her became white noise. She smiled when approached but said little, drifting like a ghost among conversations, too drained to play the part of the bright, promising young professional tonight.
Inside, she was screaming.
Her heart ached—not just from the betrayal, but from the realization that everything she had dreamed of building with Zhou Fan might have been a fantasy she constructed on shaky ground.
She thought back to the night she had met him. How he had charmed her with his jokes, how he had asked her to be his girlfriend under the stars. How he had held her close when she felt like the world was spinning too fast. How he had said she made him want to work harder.
All those moments...
Now replaced with one: him brushing He Ruolan's back in front of everyone.
She set the glass down, a little too hard. It clinked against the table loudly. Some heads turned. She looked away.
I need to get out of here, she thought.
But she couldn't—not yet. Leaving would cause more whispers. She clenched her fists. I have to stay calm. I can't break down here.
The room suddenly felt like it was spinning, and she swallowed hard.
Just then, Zhou Fan's voice echoed again. Not to her, but to the room around him, as he laughed at something Ruolan said.
Meilin stared.
This man. This boy in a grown man's body, playing games with her heart.
Why had she let herself believe?
She stood slowly, smoothing her dress. The gown shimmered under the lights, elegant and poised. But she felt no elegance. No poise. Just a hollow shell trying to make it through the night.
She walked to the refreshment table and took a glass of water. It felt cooler, gentler on her throat than the alcohol. She glanced at her phone. No messages. No replies.
Nothing.
She bit her lip and swallowed down the lump rising in her throat.
The event continued, oblivious to her unraveling.
She stayed. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to.
Because she was Li Meilin. And she was not going to let anyone—Zhou Fan, He Ruolan, the gossiping colleagues, or that dark memory—see her break.
Even if her heart was already in pieces.
That night, she smiled through gritted teeth. She nodded through conversations she couldn't remember. She took sips of drinks she didn't want. She became a porcelain doll, fragile and flawless, just to survive until it was finally time to leave.