Shen Jiawen sat in the corner of the dimly lit bar, staring into her untouched cocktail as if the answers to her life's mess might float to the surface.
Outside, Shanghai pulsed with its usual glow—neon signs flickering like promises no one kept, luxury cars humming past glass storefronts, lovers laughing in alleyways. Inside, everything felt muted. Like her.
Her best friend, Lin Xiaoyu, had insisted they come out tonight. "You can't cry over that bastard forever," she'd said. "You need a reset. Or at least a stiff drink."
Jiawen had agreed—half out of exhaustion, half because staying in her apartment meant facing the silence. The silence that used to be filled with someone else's voice. Someone who once told her she was everything he wanted… until he decided she wasn't enough.
Her ex had cheated.
Blatantly. Repeatedly. And when she finally confronted him, he didn't even bother denying it.
"You're just… so cold all the time, Jiawen," he'd said, with that condescending smile she used to find charming. "Timid. It's like dating a statue."
The words still echoed in her chest like a bruise.
She had worked so hard to build a stable life. Top of her department in business analytics. Promoted twice by thirty. Never late, never sloppy, always composed. But apparently, in love, none of that counted.
Apparently, being careful—being reserved—made her unlovable.
"Earth to Jiawen," Xiaoyu's voice cut in, dragging her back. "Don't zone out. That guy at the bar was totally checking you out."
Jiawen didn't turn around. "I'm not interested."
"You don't have to marry him. Just have a drink. Or flirt a little. Live dangerously for once."
"I don't even know how to flirt," Jiawen muttered.
"Exactly why you need practice. Honestly, you've been holding yourself back for so long it's a miracle you haven't combusted."
She let out a small laugh. It was the first real sound she'd made in hours.
"Look, you're allowed to be hurt," Xiaoyu said, softening. "But you're also allowed to do something reckless. You're not the problem. He is."
Jiawen's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. She didn't want to be reckless. She wanted control. She wanted to stop replaying that awful night, over and over again.
But as she turned and glanced toward the bar, her breath caught.
He was standing there, back to her, the curve of his tailored jacket fitting his broad shoulders like it was made just for him. Black, sleek, expensive. His posture was casual, but the way the other patrons gave him space made it clear—this man wasn't someone to approach lightly.
When he turned slightly, her eyes caught a glimpse of sharp features under dim lighting. Strong jawline. Dark eyes. Cold expression.
Not her type.
But suddenly, she didn't care.
She stood.
"What are you doing?" Xiaoyu whispered.
Jiawen didn't answer. She just walked.
Her heels clicked softly across the marble floor. Her heart pounded, not from nerves—but from something deeper. Something strange. The ache of being too composed for too long.
She slid into the empty seat beside him. He didn't glance over.
"Whiskey?" she asked, eyeing the amber liquid in his glass.
"Scotch," he replied.
His voice was deep and smooth, like aged liquor itself.
"Good choice," she murmured. "I came here to forget something."
He finally looked at her then—really looked.
And for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
His gaze was unreadable. Cool. Assessing. But not dismissive.
"Same," he said, after a pause.
"No names?" she asked, lips quirking.
"No attachments," he replied.
She smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was the first time in days she felt anything real.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe she just didn't want to be the girl who cried over a cheating ex anymore.
"Let's go," she said.
He didn't ask if she was sure. He just stood, tossed a few bills on the bar, and walked toward the elevator.
She followed.
The suite was high above the city—penthouse level. The kind of place only the powerful could afford without blinking.
Jiawen wasn't thinking clearly. Or maybe she was, and that was the terrifying part. She wanted this. Not for love. Not even for revenge.
For herself.
For the girl who had always played by the rules and still got hurt.
He pinned her against the door before it fully closed, mouth capturing hers with startling heat. Her hands fumbled with his jacket as he pressed closer, the cool wall at her back a sharp contrast to the fire between them.
When he finally carried her to the bed, she wasn't scared. She felt... alive.
The sensation was overwhelming—the first time she'd ever let herself go like this. She swallowed hard, the memory still fresh, a strange mix of shame and relief swirling inside her chest. This was her first time—not because she hadn't wanted before, but because her controlling ex had never allowed it. Last night with Lu Zeyan had been raw and unexpected, a release she didn't know she needed.
They didn't speak. There were no sweet words, no false promises. Just heat, breath, tangled limbs, and the distant sound of rain hitting the windows.
She didn't care if he forgot her name.
She had never told him, anyway.
She woke up before dawn.
The suite was quiet. He was still asleep, one arm slung over the pillow beside him, face turned away.
In the muted glow of the city lights, he looked... different.
Less cold. Almost human.
Jiawen sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache in her thighs. Her clothes were scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a storm. She gathered them without making a sound.
No notes. No awkward goodbyes. No last glances.
Just the soft click of the door behind her as she stepped into the empty hallway, barefoot and heart strangely steady.
Outside, the morning air was cool. Shanghai was beginning to stir, and she stood at the curb barefoot, heels in hand, blouse wrinkled.
She should have felt shame.
Instead, she felt... clean.
Like she had burned something off in that room. The last threads of a relationship that had suffocated her for far too long.
She hailed a cab and gave her apartment address. Her phone buzzed in her purse—Xiaoyu, probably panicking.
Jiawen didn't answer.
She leaned her head against the window and watched the city blur past. The ache in her body reminded her of everything that had happened. Of the man she didn't know.
But she didn't regret it.
She just never expected to see him again.
Certainly not in her office building.
And definitely not as the new client her boss wanted her to work with.
But fate, as it turned out, had a twisted sense of humor.
End of Chapter One.