The crowd parted as Su Jie approached, his entourage thinning until it was just him—white suit, golden smile, the very image of composure. Cameras followed discreetly, reporters lifting their phones. Everyone knew this would be the moment.
Mo Yue's smirk widened, sharp as a blade.
"Mo Yue," Su Jie said warmly, voice carrying just enough to be heard by those around them. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
The tone was flawless: polite, almost welcoming. But to Mo Yue, it dripped with provocation.
"Why?" Mo Yue leaned back in his chair, lazy. "Were you hoping I'd hide at home so you could shine alone?"
A ripple went through the onlookers.
Su Jie only laughed, shaking his head. "Of course not. I only mean—it's good you're here. Events like this need unity. Not conflict." He placed delicate emphasis on the last word.
Flash.
Another flash.
Cameras were already eating this up.
Mo Yue's jaw tightened. He could almost hear the tomorrow's headline: "Su Jie Extends Olive Branch, Mo Yue Responds With Coldness."
His voice dropped low, sharp enough to cut. "Don't pretend to lecture me about unity."
The crowd leaned in.
Su Jie's smile never wavered. "I'm not lecturing. Just reminding. The industry watches us both. We carry responsibility."
"And you just love carrying it, don't you?" Mo Yue shot back, eyes narrowed. "Smiling for cameras, pretending you're everyone's saint. Tell me, Su Jie—do you practice in the mirror, or does it come naturally?"
Gasps circled.
The reporters had what they wanted.
Su Jie, however, didn't falter. His eyes glimmered faintly, just for Mo Yue, as if saying Exactly. Take the bait. His lips curved in sympathy so flawless it looked real.
"Mo Yue," he said softly, "anger doesn't suit you. It only makes people misunderstand you more."
That did it.
Mo Yue surged to his feet, chair scraping harshly against marble. "Misunderstand me?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the music and chatter. "Don't act like you don't know what you're doing."
The ballroom went quiet. Phones lifted. Cameras clicked.
And in that instant, Andre moved.
He stepped forward, between them, his presence firm without aggression. His voice was calm, neutral, professional.
"Mr. Mo," he said evenly, "your schedule is tight. Perhaps it's best we step outside for a moment."
Mo Yue's nostrils flared, his fists tight at his sides. His eyes burned into Su Jie's face, searching for a crack in that perfect façade.
But Su Jie only smiled, serene. "Yes, Mr. Mo should rest. These events can be overwhelming."
The crowd chuckled softly, sympathizing with the angel's graciousness. The cameras clicked faster.
And the villain was framed again.
Andre inclined his head politely to Su Jie, then to the watching crowd. "Excuse us."
He placed a steady hand on Mo Yue's arm—not forceful, not overstepping, just enough pressure to guide. For a moment, Mo Yue resisted, body taut with fury. But finally, with a sharp exhale, he let himself be pulled back.
Andre led him toward the hallway, murmurs swelling behind them.
"Did you see that?"
"Mo Yue nearly exploded—again."
"Su Jie handled it so gracefully."
The story was already writing itself.
In the quiet corridor outside, away from the chandelier's glow, Mo Yue ripped his arm free and slammed a fist into the wall.
"Damn him!" His voice cracked with restrained rage. "Standing there, playing saint, acting like I'm the problem. Every damn time—"
Andre stood a step away, calm, hands folded behind his back. His voice carried no judgment, no softness either—only professional steadiness.
"You gave them what they wanted," he said.
Mo Yue spun on him. "What was I supposed to do? Smile like a fool?"
"You were supposed to ignore him." Andre's gaze was steady, unmoving. "Now tomorrow's headline won't be about Su Jie's speech. It'll be about your outburst. Again."
Mo Yue laughed bitterly, dragging a hand down his face. "And that's exactly what he wanted."
Andre didn't deny it.
For a moment, silence filled the corridor. The muffled hum of the gala echoed faintly beyond the doors, but here, it was just the two of them—Mo Yue's fury and Andre's unshakable calm.
Finally, Andre said, "Do you want to keep feeding him? Or do you want to win?"
Mo Yue's breath caught, his anger twisting into something heavier, something darker. He stared at Andre, lips curling into a humorless smile.
"You really think you can manage me, don't you?"
Andre's voice didn't waver. "I think I can keep you from self-destruction. That's my job."
Mo Yue barked a laugh, sharp and broken. "Then good luck, babysitter."
He turned away, leaning against the wall, eyes still burning with the image of Su Jie's smile.
Inside the ballroom, applause rose again. The night moved on, but the damage was done. Tomorrow's headlines were already sealed.
"Mo Yue Nearly Causes Scene at Gala—Su Jie Responds With Grace."
And in the silence of the hallway, Mo Yue clenched his fists tighter, hating more than ever the angel who knew exactly how to drag him into hell.
He needs to gain back the upper hand. But no need to panic, soon….very soon. He smile brewing something in mind as he stares at Su Jie in the crowd.