Chapter 5 – A Severed Thread
The night air outside the Orchid Pavilion was crisp, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. Liang Yue stepped onto the terrace for a moment of quiet, the weight of stares and whispers finally behind her. The glow of crystal chandeliers spilled out of the ballroom behind her, gilding the columns and casting fractured shadows across the marble floor.
Her heels clicked softly against the stone, echoing in the empty space. For a brief moment, she allowed herself a deep, steadying breath—until the shadow of a figure detached itself from the wall.
"Yue."
The voice was low, smooth, dangerous—Xu Liwei. Even in the darkness, he looked impeccable. Tailored suit, perfect posture, that calm, confident air of a man who had always gotten what he wanted. He stepped into the soft lamplight, and her stomach tensed—not with longing, but with the sharp memory of a life where she had been crushed under his hands.
Her pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the raw, cold fire of resolve.
"I was hoping to speak with you alone," he said, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, his smile calm, polished. "You were magnificent tonight. So fierce, so radiant... but you don't need to put on a mask with me."
Liang Yue let the silence stretch between them. His voice—the same voice that had once lulled her into complacency—made her skin crawl. She remembered every betrayal: the cruel manipulations, the endless work, the way he had smiled while stripping her of everything. Every ounce of charm he now displayed was a weapon she knew intimately.
"I know you're angry," he continued, stepping closer, each movement deliberate, precise. "Perhaps I was careless. But everything I've done has been for us. For the board, for your father, for the family—they forced this path. I only want what's best for you."
The words were soft, honeyed, persuasive. But Liang Yue had learned the hard way. She let her gaze drift over him, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the cool glint of his eyes—then let it settle on the memory of that final day, lying on the marble floor, gasping for breath as he and her cousin looked down on her, triumphant.
Her lips curved into a smile—not warmth, but ice.
"Xu Liwei," she said softly, almost gently. "Do you know what you remind me of?"
He blinked. There was a fraction of hesitation in his movements, a crack in the carefully constructed mask. "...What?"
She stepped closer, heels clicking with deliberate rhythm, a predator pacing her prey. Her voice cut through the night, calm, precise, and lethal.
"Rotten fruit. Polished on the outside, but inside—nothing but worms."
His practiced smile faltered. For the first time in years, his eyes showed uncertainty.
Liang Yue let a brief silence hang, letting the words settle, letting the shadow of their past life hang between them like a knife. Then she leaned slightly forward, the faintest smirk brushing her lips.
"Don't mistake my silence for affection again. Don't dare think I will forgive what you've done. You disgust me. And from this moment on, there is no 'us.'"
A shiver of anger flashed across his face. His jaw tightened; for the briefest moment, she could see the real Xu Liwei—the man who had cared for nothing but power and control. Then he smothered it back under the smooth mask, forcing a calmness he did not feel.
"You'll regret this," he said softly, menace threading his voice.
Liang Yue's laughter was quiet, sharp. She tilted her head, the shadows catching her expression. "No, Xu Liwei. Regret belongs to you."
The wind caught her hair, whipping it around her face, and she turned to walk back toward the warm light of the ballroom. Her heels clicked in rhythm, a drumbeat of defiance. Every step was a reclamation of herself—her power, her life, her freedom.
He stayed in the shadows, unmoving, fists clenched, jaw tight. His mind raced, trying to analyze, to calculate how a woman he believed he had broken could stand so effortlessly in his presence and call him what he was.
Liang Yue paused just at the terrace doorway, her hand brushing the frame, and glanced back once. Her eyes, bright and unwavering, met his.
"Remember this night," she whispered, soft enough that only he could hear. "It's the first time you saw me as I truly am. And it's the last time you will ever see me bend."
Then she stepped back into the ballroom.
Inside, the murmurs of the elite greeted her once again, but they were background noise now. Every whisper of shock, every pointed stare, every speculative comment was meaningless. She had seen the truth of human ambition, of greed, of betrayal. She had tasted it once and survived—and this time, she would not fall.
Liwei remained on the terrace, staring after her. His mind was a storm of disbelief and frustration. He had never lost control—not ever. And yet, here she was, smiling faintly, unbowed, untouchable.
Her footsteps echoed in his memory long after she had disappeared from view. He had underestimated her once. Never again.
And Liang Yue, for the first time in years, felt a flicker of satisfaction that had nothing to do with anyone but herself.
She had survived death. She had survived him. And the world—her world—was about to change.