Everyone said I was lucky.
Lucky to be born as the only daughter of the Lu family—one of the four families that quietly controlled half the country's wealth, influence, and future. Lucky to grow up surrounded by three boys who were not just my childhood friends, but the heirs of the other three great families. Lucky that our lives had been intertwined since before we could walk, our names spoken together so often that people assumed the ending was already written.
"They'll marry one day," the adults used to say, laughing over wine glasses and banquet tables.
"Which one will she choose?"
"Does it even matter? She'll be happy no matter what."
At some point, the jokes stopped sounding like jokes.
They became expectations.
And I—Lu Yanxi—became the punchline everyone waited to see land.
---
I arrived at the engagement banquet fifteen minutes late.
Not because I wanted to make an entrance, but because my mother had insisted on changing my dress twice. The Lu family never arrived looking unprepared, especially not tonight. The four families were all present, seated under crystal chandeliers that cost more than some people's lives, waiting for nothing more than polite smiles and unspoken confirmation.
Confirmation of what everyone already believed.
That tonight, the Lu family would finally announce which of the three heirs I would be engaged to.
I didn't know why my chest felt tight as I stepped into the ballroom. I didn't know why my fingers curled slightly against the fabric of my dress, or why my gaze instinctively searched the room before my mind caught up.
They were already there.
Gu Chengyi stood near the window, tall and composed, his black suit immaculate, his expression as distant as ever. He was the eldest son of the Gu family, known for his rational mind and ruthless efficiency. People said marrying him would mean a lifetime of stability.
Han Zhe leaned casually against the bar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass he hadn't touched. He smiled when he spoke, laughed easily, and charmed everyone without trying. The Han family's heir—brilliant, reckless, and impossible to ignore.
And then there was Shen Yu.
He stood slightly apart from the crowd, silver cufflinks catching the light as he listened to an older executive speak. His profile was calm, refined, and unreadable. Of the three, he was the quietest. The one who rarely spoke, but whose presence was always felt.
My friends.
My constants.
The people I was expected to choose from.
When Han Zhe noticed me, he lifted his glass slightly in greeting. Gu Chengyi gave a small nod. Shen Yu's gaze flickered toward me for a brief second before returning to the conversation at hand.
That was all.
No smiles.
No warmth.
No sense of anticipation.
I told myself not to overthink it. We had grown up together. Familiarity dulled expression. They weren't the type to make scenes.
Still, something felt… off.
---
Dinner passed in a blur of polite conversation and clinking silverware. I answered questions automatically, smiled when expected, and ignored the way the topic kept circling back to marriage.
"So, Yanxi," one of the older women said with a knowing smile, "have you decided yet?"
The table laughed softly, as if it were all harmless fun.
I glanced at my parents. My mother's smile was serene, practiced. My father's gaze was steady, expectant.
"I haven't," I replied quietly. "There's no rush."
"Oh, but there is," someone teased. "The boys won't wait forever."
I didn't look at them. I didn't need to. I already knew none of them were waiting.
---
I excused myself shortly after, claiming I needed some air.
The ballroom opened into a side corridor that led to a private garden and several resting rooms reserved for guests. I walked slowly, heels clicking softly against marble floors, my mind oddly empty.
Halfway down the corridor, I stopped.
Voices drifted from one of the open doors ahead.
Familiar voices.
I hadn't intended to listen. I wasn't hiding. I simply paused, surprised—and then my body refused to move.
"I still don't understand why our parents keep pushing this," Han Zhe said, his tone impatient. "It's outdated."
Gu Chengyi let out a short breath. "It's political. They see it as consolidation."
"And what about us?" Han Zhe scoffed. "Are we supposed to just accept it?"
There was a brief silence.
Then Gu Chengyi spoke again, his voice calm, measured—cruel in its indifference.
"Her? If it weren't for my parents, I wouldn't even be her friend, much less marry her."
The words hit me so hard I forgot how to breathe.
Han Zhe laughed softly, not unkindly—but not shocked either. "You're being honest for once."
"I am always honest," Gu Chengyi replied. "Just not aloud."
Another pause.
Then Shen Yu spoke.
"We already have someone else we want to marry."
My fingers trembled.
"And if they force it?" Han Zhe asked, his voice lighter than it should have been. "What if it comes down to choosing?"
There was a scraping sound—perhaps someone setting a glass down.
"I would rather die than take her for a wife."
I didn't know who said it.
I didn't care.
Something inside me shattered so quietly that none of them noticed.
---
I stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it would give me away, but the voices inside the room continued, unaware that the subject of their discussion was standing just outside the door, holding herself together by sheer instinct.
I didn't cry.
I didn't gasp.
I simply turned around and walked away.
Back down the corridor. Past the garden. Past the ballroom doors. Past the laughter, the music, the expectations.
No one noticed me leave.
Not my parents.
Not the guests.
Not the three men who had been the center of my world for as long as I could remember.
In that moment, something became painfully clear.
I had never been a choice.
I was an obligation.
---
That night, I packed a single suitcase.
I left behind dresses I had never worn, jewelry I had been gifted since childhood, and a room filled with memories that no longer felt like mine.
I booked a flight under my own name.
I turned off my phone.
I wrote no goodbye letters.
As the plane lifted off the runway hours later, the city shrinking beneath the clouds, I rested my forehead against the window and closed my eyes.
I told myself I wouldn't look back.
I didn't know then that, by the time they realized I was gone, it would already be too late.
Or that the men who had dismissed me so easily would soon tear the world apart trying to find me.
But at that moment, all I knew was this:
If staying meant being unwanted,
then leaving was the only dignity I had left.