~ A Few Days Later ~
The uniform was navy silk, with a modest slit at the back and sleeves that fit too snugly. Not indecent, but far from what Yinlin was used to. It was a different kind of armor.
When she stepped into the staff locker room wearing it for the first time, the room fell silent, the sound of slamming locker doors freezing mid-swing. The silence broke into a hum of sharp, pointed whispers.
"Well, look who decided to dress for the job she really got." "Looks like someone traded in her apron for a fairy godfather," one of the younger waitresses muttered, not bothering to lower her voice.
Yinlin's cheeks burned, but she said nothing. She adjusted the crisp, foreign silk of her collar and checked her reflection. No matter how she stood, the outfit clung wrong—like it didn't belong to her, like she didn't belong in it.
The promotion came with flexible hours and pay that solved immediate, terrifying problems. She now worked the VVIP floor—not serving ordinary hotel guests, but high-rolling patrons, long-staying executives, and private investors. The work was quieter, more refined, and paid for a silence that gnawed at her.
Even Jenny Lu, once her closest ally in the breakroom, now felt like a stranger looking over a high fence.
The confrontation happened over a sink full of oily dishes in the service kitchen. They stood hip-to-hip, but miles apart.
"I saw you a few days ago," Jenny said, her voice low and dangerously steady. She wasn't scrubbing; she was pressing the sponge so hard against the metal that the sponge whined.
"I took the early shift," Yinlin said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the soapy water.
"No, I saw you leave. Getting into that black sedan with the man who bought you this uniform." Jenny threw the sponge into the sink. It splashed water onto Yinlin's navy silk. "You didn't even tell me you were interviewing for a different job."
"I didn't know myself, Jenny," Yinlin insisted. "They just told me I was transferred to the executive floor to manage... a client's requirements."
"Requirements," Jenny repeated, the word dripping with contempt. Her narrowed eyes finally met Yinlin's. "I know your life, Yinlin. I know you skip meals so Mei can eat. I know you haven't bought a new pair of shoes in three years. You don't get transferred into a silk dress and a private assistant role unless you gave them more than just your time."
Yinlin felt the humiliation rising—the same bitter taste she had swallowed in the casino. But she kept her voice calm, professional, as if talking to a difficult guest.
"Don't tell me you believe the rumors."
"I believe what I see," Jenny said, pulling her gloves off and dropping them onto the counter. The sound was flat and final. "And I see that while we're still fighting for a raise on minimum wage, you chose the expensive, easy way out."
Yinlin flinched, the words striking harder than any insult from the investors. She looked at the floor, unable to meet her friend's condemning gaze.
"It was a job," Yinlin whispered, the admission a heavy weight. "It's just a job, Jenny. I need the money."
"No," Jenny snapped. "It was a choice. And you chose them over us." She pushed past Yinlin, hitting her shoulder with deliberate force.
Rumors didn't just spread in the confined spaces now; they were truth. Whispers bloomed in the kitchen and echoed down service corridors, now solidified by Jenny's abandonment. Yinlin didn't need to hear them all. She could read them in the glances. The pity. The envy. The judgment. The silence that prickled under her skin and confirmed she was alone.
She started taking her breaks alone, somewhere no one can talk behind her. The rooftop, the toilet. Even the chefs, who used to sneak her extra food for Mei, now kept their distance—a silent confirmation that their sympathy had a price, and Yinlin had finally paid it.
And Tao? He watched from above it all. Sometimes literally — perched on the VIP floor, drink in hand, eyes always drifting toward her when he thought she wasn't looking.
Once, she passed him and his guests, and overheard him say with a soft chuckle, "That's her." Just that. But it rang in her ears like a brand.
There were no more casino nights. No lavish invitations. No overt commands. Only this: A new role, a sharper uniform, a quieter life.
And isolation.
Yinlin began to realize the cruelest cage was not made of commands, but of gratitude. Gratitude she didn't ask to feel — for hours that let her walk Mei to school, for paychecks that actually covered rent.
Still, every time she passed Tao in the corridor, he would offer a small smile, the kind that said: You're exactly where I want you.
And she would nod politely, then walk away. Because what else was there to do? She couldn't have challenged him when she had also benefitted the situation in some ways?
*************
The suite was quiet, save for the low hum of classical music streaming through hidden speakers. Xu Tao stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the city lights flicker like dying stars. Below, the apartment complexes nestled together like tired bones — old, cracked, overpopulated. One of them housed her. And her daughter.
"She still leaves for the hotel by six," said Zhengqiang, standing a respectful few feet behind, tablet in hand. "The girl—Mei—is dropped off at school by the neighbor, Ah Jia. Teenager. Seems reliable."
Tao didn't turn around. He already knew this. Every detail was memorized: what shoes Yinlin wore on rainy days, how often she refilled her daughter's rice container at the grocer, the way her smile dropped the moment she thought no one was watching.
"Did you do what I asked?" Tao said quietly.
"Yes," Zhengqiang replied. "The building's owner took the offer. Papers are being processed. We'll own the entire block by the end of the month."
"And the rent?"
"Already increased," the assistant said. "An official notice will be slipped under their doors by the weekend. The tenants are… not pleased."
"Let them be angry," Tao said, finally turning, his voice like ice beneath velvet. "She'll survive. She always does."
Zhengqiang hesitated. "Sir… I understand the goal, but… there are other ways."
Tao's gaze sharpened. "Other ways don't work. She left me, remember? Ten years ago. No word. No goodbye. No trace."
His voice cracked — just slightly — and he stepped closer, every inch of his tailored calm coiled with something hungrier, deeper.
"She was everything, Zhengqiang. And she took it all away like it meant nothing."He exhaled slowly. "Now she gets to start over. Forget. Smile like she didn't rip me in half."
"You still could talk to her," Zhengqiang offered gently. "Like a person. Not like…"
Tao gave a humorless laugh. "Like what? A ghost that bought her apartment complex?"
Silence stretched between them.
"She won't run this time," Tao murmured. "She can't. Not when everything around her leads back to me. The hotel. Her promotion. The apartment. The pay raise. The protection."
"Is it protection?" Zhengqiang asked under his breath, not quite loud enough.
But Tao heard.
He tilted his head, the cold smile fading from his lips. "You've been with me a long time," he said.
"You've seen worse."
Zhengqiang looked down. "That's what worries me."
Tao returned to the window. Down below, a single light clicked on in her unit.
"She'll thank me, one day," he said quietly. "When she remembers who I was. Who I am to her."
"And if she doesn't?" Zhengqiang asked.
Tao's eyes narrowed."Then I'll make her remember."