The parking lot was quiet—eerily so, like a church after a funeral.
Under the flickering yellow light of a lonely streetlamp, Li Meilin's heels clicked hollowly against the pavement, the sound echoing louder than her thoughts could handle. Her body moved on instinct, puppet-like and detached, until she reached the far end of the lot, behind a row of official cars. There, in the shadow between a black SUV and a delivery truck, she finally collapsed.
A sob ripped from her chest.
She clutched her hands over her mouth as if that would make it quieter—smaller—less humiliating. But nothing could shrink the pain clawing at her ribs.
Three years.
Three years of arriving before dawn, of leaving after midnight.
Three years of sometimes even carrying coffee trays, cleaning up after others, ghostwriting presentations that someone else took credit for. Being invisible. Being useful. Being a workaholic. Being enough.
Or so she thought.
It was all gone in one slap. One cruel sentence. One order to leave.
Meilin's lips trembled. Her body shuddered as the gravity of everything hit her at once. Not just the slap—though her cheek still burned—but Zhou Fan's words.
"You were just the office maid who did everyone's leftovers... I only took pity on you."
Her pride, dignity, and love had all been thrown to the floor, stomped on in front of her colleagues and strangers alike. People she had once helped, people she had silently admired, people who wouldn't even look her in the eye now.
Meilin buried her face in her palms. Her sobs came harder.
From being the hardworking junior staff no one noticed, to the pitiful woman ejected in shame, all within minutes. No thank you. No last paycheck. Just a verbal slap from Ren Shilin and the weight of her dreams crashing down with it.
She inhaled a shaky breath. The air tasted like smoke, dust, and defeat.
~
Meanwhile, inside the Shanghai Grand Hotel...
The 28th-floor executive suite was all glass, marble, and soft classical music floating through the air. The panoramic windows overlooked the glittering skyline of Shanghai, but the two men inside the room were focused on a muted TV screen mounted against a polished onyx wall.
Su Yichen leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, arms folded neatly across his chest.
Tall, poised, and ruthlessly elegant, he was every bit the definition of a man born into dominance. The sharp lines of his tuxedo fit his sculpted figure like it was sewn on him. His features—high cheekbones, a straight nose, strong jaw—were like a sculpture from the gods, but what made him truly fearsome wasn't his beauty. It was his eyes.
Cold. Calculating. Distant.
He rarely blinked. He rarely smiled. And tonight, he hadn't said more than three sentences.
Across from him, Bo Chen, the CEO of Zenhua Media Group, was bowing low in apology, sweat glistening under his hairline.
"I sincerely apologize, CEO Su," Bo Chen murmured. "I assure you, this matter will be dealt with. The staff member who caused the disruption downstairs—she's been dismissed on the spot."
His words were careful. Almost trembling. The last thing Zenhua Media needed was to offend Su Corp—the most influential conglomerate in East Asia.
But Su Yichen didn't answer.
His gaze was still locked on the TV.
Earlier, he'd asked for the hotel's live feed to be routed to the suite—not to spy, but out of curiosity. He was mildly interested in how the Zenhua executives mingled, how they treated their juniors, and how Bo Chen managed his internal team. Business psychology fascinated him.
He wasn't expecting drama.
Let alone her.
The screen had shown the moment clearly: a young woman in a blue dress standing like shattered glass in the middle of a banquet hall. Her hair was messy, her lips trembling, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
And yet, she didn't fall apart. Not until she left.
Bo Chen followed Su Yichen's line of sight and mistakenly assumed the expressionless CEO was displeased about the chaos.
"I... I promise this will never happen again. Please don't let this affect the acquisition talks. We've already cleared the due diligence and signed the first MoU."
Su Yichen still didn't respond.
In his mind, the images from minutes ago kept playing.
The slap.
The silence.
The way the woman looked as if her world had just ended—and yet still bowed to the manager before leaving.
And then that flash of her face again on the CCTV footage near the parking lot.
It was her.
The same girl from three years ago.
The one who had jumped into a river to pull him out when his car was rammed off the bridge in Hangzhou. He'd been unconscious. Broken. Nearly drowned. And yet she had fought the current, screamed for help, and never left his side until the ambulance arrived.
She had saved his life.
And disappeared.
For years, he had searched. Discreetly. Quietly. He had never even known her name—just the vague memory of a silver butterfly pendant she wore and the way she'd whispered, "Don't die, please. Don't die."
Fortunately, she was wearing that same silver butterfly pendant and her face...she was definitely the same woman! And now, by sheer accident, he'd found her again.
Not as a heroine.
But as a discarded employee, publicly humiliated for a love she never should've chased. Because it looked like she was the one panting for that man that was clearly interested in someone else. What had she gone through in the process of chasing after him?
His fingers curled slightly around the armrest, his gaze turning extra frosty.
Li Meilin... The name had flashed briefly on the screen when Ren Shilin yelled at her.
Bo Chen finally broke the silence. "CEO Su?"
Su Yichen blinked.
Slowly, he turned back to face Bo Chen, his features settling into their usual glacial calm. "Let's proceed."
"Y-Yes, of course."
They resumed talks about the media acquisition, shareholder redistribution, and ad revenue projections—but Su Yichen's mind had already wandered far from the numbers.
Down to the parking lot.
To the girl crying behind the SUV.
To the shadows she thought protected her.
He was no hero. He had blood on his hands. Business enemies who'd suffered ruin. Past lovers who hated his indifference. Employees who feared his name more than they respected his empire.
But still—
That girl.
She had saved him once.
And now, as she walked off-screen, shoulders slumped, broken in a way that screamed silent endurance, something sharp twisted in his chest.
Recognition. Memory. A debt.
A rare thing stirred in Su Yichen's cold eyes. Not emotion—no, he wasn't so easily moved.
But clarity.
"That's really her. She's the girl I owe my life to." He muttered under his breath, his mind already coming up with a plan to formally approach her.
She would never be out of his reach again.