The taxi eased to a stop outside L'Eau Douce, its glass façade glittering in the early afternoon sun. Inside, the restaurant was all white linen and river views, the faint notes of a piano drifting from hidden speakers.
Zhao Mingfeng rose as she entered, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that looked like it had been cut for him alone. His smile was immediate, calculated for charm.
"Weiwei," he said, stepping forward to take her hand as if they were already married. "You look perfect."
She let him guide her to their table, the pale blue dress swaying around her legs — the very one he'd requested. When they were seated, he reached into a small velvet box and flipped it open with a little flourish.
Inside lay the bracelet — platinum links set with sapphires, each stone catching the light like a drop of midnight.
"A small token," Mingfeng said smoothly, "for my future wife."
Weiwei let her fingers trace the cool metal, her eyes lifting to his. "It's beautiful," she said — and she meant it. But beauty didn't change what she knew now.
They spoke over lunch, Mingfeng effortlessly shifting between business and flattery, his tone warm but threaded with an assumption that she was already his. She laughed when expected, asked the occasional question, all the while taking mental notes.
Halfway through the meal, movement across the room caught her eye.
A waitress in a neat black uniform stepped into view, balancing a tray of teapots. The girl's posture was careful, her expression politely distant — but Weiwei would have known her anywhere.
Lin Xinya.
Not in designer silk, not draped in jewels — just the maid's daughter, working quietly at a corner table for an older couple.
Their eyes met for an instant. Lin Xinya's hand faltered ever so slightly on the tray before she looked away, chin tilting higher as if the meeting had never happened.
Weiwei sipped her tea, allowing no sign of recognition to touch her face. She had no need to acknowledge Lin Xinya. Not yet.
Mingfeng, oblivious, was describing the guest list. "…and I've made sure the mayor's wife will attend — it's important for our image."
She smiled faintly, the porcelain cup warm between her fingers. "You think of everything, Mingfeng."
Across the room, Lin Xinya poured tea for her table, but Weiwei didn't look again. She didn't need to. The sight of her like this — humble, ordinary — was already burned into memory.