POV:{Li Yichen}
The hallways echo louder when they know you don't belong anymore.
Li Yichen dragged her suitcase past the dorm warden's office, its wheels rattling like distant drums on uneven tiles.
The folded suspension notice in her pocket felt heavier than her bag—its fresh ink a sentence, not yet grief, not yet rage.
She wasn't crying. Not because it didn't hurt, but because the pain hadn't decided where to settle. Heart? Mind? Pride?
Everything she'd sacrificed for—a scholarship clawed from obscurity, sleepless nights, silent fasts, prayers whispered between deadlines—now hung in the air like an accusation waiting to stick.
Outside, the campus air no longer felt like home. Even the wind seemed to carry judgment.
"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" Yunqi's voice followed her to the gate. Gentle. Loyal. Grieving in its own way.
"I'm not going to prison," Yichen said with a hollow smile. "Just... purgatory."
But truthfully? She had nowhere to go.
There was an aunt in the outer districts—nosy, gossip-hungry, and three prayers short of sincerity. A hotel room would devour her meager savings in days.
She could disappear. But she knew the difference between solitude and loneliness now.
And then there was Aaliyah.
Aaliyah, who asked once, then again—but not a third time.
She didn't need to. Her voice had been soft but firm, coated in something unexpected: sincerity.
"You're not staying out there alone. Come home. Just until this passes."
Yichen hadn't responded then. Pride held her tongue hostage.
But now, at the edge of her academic exile, she texted two words:
"How far?"
The reply came seconds later.
"I'm already on the way. Wait for me."
And she did.
---
POV: Li Yichen
The car ride was the kind of silence that wrapped around your ribs like rope. Not hostile—just... restrained.
Aaliyah's hands never left ten and two on the steering wheel. Her gaze flicked between mirrors and road signs, not once toward Yichen. But her presence? It was steady. Protective.
The estate gates opened with no creak, just mechanical obedience. This was old money—not flashy, not loud. The kind that whispered through generations, leaving no fingerprints behind.
Yichen stared at the house as it loomed into view.
Everything about it felt curated: the symmetry of the hedges, the hush of the fountains, the muted luxury of silence.
No neo. .
No gaudy pride.
Just the kind of refinement that makes you stand taller without realizing it.
A maid opened the door before they reached the steps.
"Welcome home, Miss Aaliyah. Madam is in the drawing room."
Aaliyah didn't flinch. "This is my guest. Please prepare the tea set."
Inside, the air smelled of oud, jasmine, and polished legacy. Every surface glimmered with quiet restraint.
Yichen adjusted her hijab unconsciously.
In the center of the drawing room sat Madam—Aaliyah's mother. Regal. Wrapped in wine-colored silk. Her eyes, when they rose, were sharp—assessing without apology.
"Mother," Aaliyah said softly, "this is Li Yichen. She'll be staying with us."
Madam tilted her head slightly, pausing.
"From the university?" Her voice was smooth but cold—like silk on marble.
"Yes. Temporarily," Yichen said. "I'm sorting things out with the board."
Madam's gaze didn't flinch. "And your family?"
Yichen hesitated. "Overseas. I'm handling things for now."
"I see," Madam said, already rising. "You must be tired. Aaliyah, show her to the guest wing."
It wasn't dismissal, not exactly. But it wasn't welcome, either. It was... tolerance.
The guest room was soft, beige, untouched.
Too clean. A showroom of hospitality. A place meant to hold people, not comfort them.
"You can nap," Aaliyah offered. "Or I can stay. Dinner's at seven. And yes, we eat together."
Yichen turned toward her. "Your brother?"
Aaliyah paused at the threshold. "He'll be there."
Chei Wei.
The storm behind the silence.
Yichen nodded once. "Okay."
When Aaliyah left, she sat at the edge of the bed. Hands gripping the duvet. Reality began to settle.
A week ago, she was a top student. Now, a suspended accusation. A guest in the house of a girl she barely knew... and about to sit across the table from a man who looked like he'd buried love in a warzone.
---
POV: {Li Yichen}
The dining room was a painting. Long mahogany table. Gold-trimmed china.
Candles flickering without scent. Too much space between each seat.
Chei Wei entered at exactly 7:03 PM.
No tie. Just a black shirt, open collar. Power dressed down. A quiet threat.
He nodded once in acknowledgment. No words. No welcome.
Yichen's pulse remained calm. Or maybe it had simply given up.
"Eat," Madam said.
It was not a suggestion. Forks moved.
A few minutes passed in silence—then he spoke.
"So. Li Yichen."
Her name from his lips sounded like a test.
"You've refused to marry me. And yet... here you are?"
Silverware paused mid-air. Even the chandelier felt like it stopped breathing.
Yichen didn't flinch. "I'd rather fall with my name intact than stay where I'm pitied."
He finally looked up.
In his eyes—no apology. No anger. Just... curiosity. The kind that doesn't blink.
And then, a faint flicker of something else.
Recognition.
---
POV: {Chei Wei}
She reminded him of someone. Not her face, not her voice. But her refusal to flinch. Her quiet fire.
Ai Lian had been the last one.
The one who promised him forever—then chose a title in London over a soul in love.
He had buried her betrayal under ambition.
Under board meetings. Under glass walls and ice-cold purpose.
But now here was Li Yichen—a girl who didn't beg for help, didn't ask for rescue, yet burned in the corner of his gaze like a lantern refusing to go out.
He took a sip from his glass, slow and calculated.
"Interesting," he murmured, mostly to himself.
The dinner continued.
But nothing was the same.
---
Next Chapter Peek:
She came to disappear.
Instead, she became the crack in the wall no one saw coming.
A media leak.
An anonymous tip.
And a scandal that's not as simple as it seemed.
Because what happens when silence stops protecting you...
And starts betraying you?