The early morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Li Manor, painting golden streaks across the marble floors. Outside, the gardens were in full bloom, but the inside of the house remained eerily silent — like a palace too proud to admit it had no soul.
Feng Yuxi stood in front of the vanity in her new room, slipping on a simple beige blouse tucked into high-waisted slacks. Her figure was flawless, her posture effortless. Even without makeup, her beauty was striking — the kind that could steal breath and cause trouble in equal measure.
Her eyes lingered on the ring finger of her left hand.
A wedding band. Cold, metallic, meaningless.
Still, it had its uses.
Downstairs, she found Li Zeyan at the dining table, reading from a digital tablet while drinking black coffee. He didn't look up when she entered — but she knew he had noticed. His senses were too sharp for anything to go unnoticed.
She took a seat across from him, ignoring the tension that clung to the air between them like a storm waiting to crack open.
A maid placed a cup of green tea in front of her and retreated with a bow.
"I took the liberty of arranging your schedule," Li Zeyan said, finally setting his tablet down. "You'll be attending a charity gala with me tonight. Public appearance. First as Mrs. Li."
Feng Yuxi stirred her tea slowly. "I thought you didn't want a high-profile marriage."
"I don't," he said flatly. "But if I don't show you off once, the media will start asking why I married in secret. One photo, one dance. That's all."
She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Afraid your other women will be jealous?"
His eyes darkened slightly. "I don't have other women."
"Then I'll be sure to look extra stunning." She gave him a faint, dangerous smile. "Wouldn't want to disappoint your fans."
Hours later, Yuxi entered the walk-in wardrobe the housekeeper had prepared. Rows of designer gowns, most untouched, lined the walls. Her fingers trailed over silk, velvet, and lace — all beautiful, all coldly chosen by someone else.
She pulled out a black gown with a low back and sapphire accents. Sleek. Lethal. She'd worn dresses like this once — when she was still the Feng heiress, the darling of the capital's elite.
Before she was betrayed. Before she bled out on a cliffside while her cousin wept crocodile tears into the arms of her fiancé.
No. Her ex-fiancé.
She inhaled sharply and stepped into the gown, her gaze sharp in the mirror.
"Time to make a few ghosts uncomfortable."
That evening, Li Zeyan waited by the staircase, dressed in a dark tailored suit. He didn't look at his watch, but his foot tapped once — a subtle sign of impatience.
Then she appeared.
Descending the stairs in slow, graceful steps, Feng Yuxi looked like a fallen goddess draped in moonlight and shadows. The low-cut back of her dress revealed flawless skin, her hair swept into a sleek bun that framed her slender neck. No necklace. Just diamond studs and the glint of quiet danger in her eyes.
Zeyan's jaw tensed for a moment, then relaxed. "Subtle."
"I thought we were just keeping up appearances," she said sweetly, stopping in front of him.
"I wasn't aware appearances included assassination gear."
She smiled. "You never know."
The charity gala was held at the Crystal Atrium, a venue drenched in gold, laughter, and the scent of wine and politics.
As they entered, flashbulbs exploded.
"Mr. Li! Over here!""Is this your wife?""She's stunning — when did you get married?""Is she from the entertainment circle?"
Zeyan didn't say a word, only placed a firm hand around Yuxi's waist and guided her through the crowd like a general on the battlefield.
To anyone watching, they looked perfect. Powerful. Invincible.
Exactly the illusion she needed.
But halfway through the evening, her steps paused.
Across the ballroom, standing near the champagne tower, was a man she hadn't seen in six years.
Jiang Renshu.
Her ex-fiancé.
The man who had stood silently as she was framed.
The man who'd held her cousin in his arms while she "died."
He turned — and their eyes locked.
His expression flickered.
Recognition. Shock. Guilt?
Yuxi tilted her head, smiling lazily as she lifted her glass in a silent toast.
Let the game begin.
Elsewhere, thousands of miles away in a quiet villa hidden in the Swiss Alps, Fenghao was curled on a beanbag, eyes fixed on his encrypted device.
He was watching the live broadcast of the gala — courtesy of a tapped press drone.
When he spotted his mother on the red carpet, his eyes widened. "Whoa…"
His tiny fingers paused on the screen.
Then narrowed.
"Who's that tall iceberg holding Mommy's waist?"
He frowned.
Then grinned slowly.
"Ohhh... this is getting interesting."