It was from Zeyan: You're worth the risk. Sleep well, soon-to-be Mrs. Lu.
A habit born from years of curating their love story took over, she screenshot the message, preserving this sweet, private moment for the digital scrapbook of their relationship.
As she set the phone back on her nightstand, it buzzed again, this time more insistently. The screen lit up with a stream of messages from the Lin family group chat.
Stepmother Chen: Shuyin, the planner confirmed the final schedule. Acknowledge you've seen it, we can't afford delays tomorrow.
Father: Is everything ready on your end? Your mother wants to know if you need anything.
Yueling: Big sis, getting cold feet? Just kidding! But seriously, why so quiet? You must be so nervous!
The messages piled up, polite, performative, demanding. They expected her to play the part of the radiant bride, even here, alone in her room.
For a moment, her thumb hovered over the screen, instinct pushing her to reply.
Then she stopped.
Tonight, she didn't have the energy to perform. Let them wonder. Let them think she was too overwhelmed with joy, or nerves, to answer. Their expectations weren't her burden anymore.
She silenced the phone, the room falling still except for the faint hum of the city outside. Turning off the lamp, she slid beneath the sheets and closed her eyes, clinging to the warmth of Zeyan's last message as sleep slowly pulled her under.
Finally, she slipped beneath the soft silk sheets.
But sleep refused to stay. It came in fragments, flashes of blinding cameras, scattered applause, and the echo of voices that blurred into noise.
The sudden buzzing of her mobile phone shattered the fragile silence of the bedroom. Shuyin jerked awake, disoriented. The digital clock on her nightstand glowed, it was 10:47 PM. She had barely slept an hour.
She gently moved her fringes from her face before picking the mobile phone up, seeing the person looking for her, her heart leapt when she saw the caller ID, it was Zeyan. A flutter of warmth mixed with superstitious fear filled her. She accepted the video call, a sleepy smile on her face.
"Zeyan? You know it's bad luck to call me now...."
The words died in her throat when the screen showed only his face, lit by the cold blue light of his phone. He wasn't smiling and his expression looked strained, almost pained.
"Don't turn on your camera," he said, his voice low and tight. "Just... listen to what I'm about to say."
Her smile suddenly vanished feeling ominous, "What's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen?"
"Is it your parents? Do they need anything?"
The silence that followed was heavy and wrong. She could see him swallowing hard, his eyes avoiding the camera lens like he didn't want to look into her eyes.
"Zeyan?" Her voice rose, sharp with panic. "Talk to me. Is it the venue? Your parents? Tell me, we can solve it together as always..."
"I can't marry you."
The words were quiet, flat, and final and they actually made no sense at a time like this.
"What?" she whispered.
"Tomorrow, about the wedding... It's off." He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of distress that now looked like a performance. "I'm... I'm going to marry Yueling instead. I just promised her..."
The phone slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers, landing soundlessly on the plush duvet. His voice, tinny and distant, continued from the speaker. "Shuyin? Are you there? I know this is a, shock...."
" But..."
She scrambled for the device, her hands shaking so violently that she could barely grip it. "What did you just say?" she breathed, the words tearing at her throat.
"Zeyan....."
"Yueling and I... we've been together for eight months now, she is critically ill, and at the same time expecting my son. I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out like this. But seeing her condition deteriorating, I can't lie to you and myself.."
Eight months.
The number hung in the air, solid and brutal. Eight months ago, they had celebrated their engagement anniversary with a photoshoot that garnered over half a million likes. Eight months ago, he had looked into her eyes and promised her forever, an eternity!
"But what were these words? This could just be a joke right?
"This is a joke," she whispered, a hysterical laugh bubbling up, feeling her heart getting torn into pieces. "A terrible, cruel joke. Zeyan, stop it right now."
"It's not a joke." His tone hardened, becoming pragmatic, cold, like the CEO delivering bad news to a shareholder. "What I feel for Yueling... It's different. It's real. And at the same time, I don't want my son to be a bastard.."
Real, what did he mean by saying that? Were her six years not real? The word was a physical blow. As if the six years of shared history, of whispered secrets and public declarations, had been a shared delusion.