Chen rong's pov
2 A.M. Bar, Beijing
The glass hit the counter so hard it almost cracked.
"Another," Chen Rong slurred.
The bartender stared at him like he was a problem.
He was.
Neon lights bled red across the bar, painting his face in ugly colors. He yanked at his collar, angry at everything. The music was too loud. The room was too small. The world was too unfair.
He downed the next drink in one gulp.
"Fuck," he hissed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
His hand shook as he wiped his mouth.
It wasn't supposed to go like this.
He only wanted one thing.
Not love. Never love.
Just control.
He wanted to break that stubborn pride of hers, wanted to drag her down from whatever high moral ground she thought she stood on. For once, he wanted Zhao Mei to stop looking at him like he was trash.
And now?
Now the whole thing was a nightmare.
"That idiot," he spat under his breath. "That goddamn bellboy."
He slammed the glass down again.
"I told him room 1703!" he growled, voice cracking. "One-seven-zero-three! Was that so hard? Send her to my room, lay her on my bed, done. Easy. And what does that stupid fuck do?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, laughing angrily.
"He sent her... to his room. Of all people. Zhang Wei. Beijing's golden bastard."
His stomach twisted.
Zhang fucking Wei.
The man everybody feared.
The man who could crush people with a phone call.
The man whose name was now tangled with Zhao Mei's in every gossip group.
He laughed again, but there was no humor in it.
"What if he finds out?" he muttered. "What if he traces the payments?"
He'd paid the bellboy quietly, through a friend's account. It should have been clean. It should have been untraceable.
But he'd seen the way rich people moved when they were angry. His father taught him that. His father, the stingy old bastard who kept his money close and his disappointment closer.
He took another drink, bitter as regret.
His father had already blocked his card once.
Called him a disgrace.
Cut him off after he'd screwed up a few "investments".
"He sees me as a lost cause," Chen Rong muttered, staring into the glass. "A prodigal son. A walking mistake."
He snorted.
"And now this. If Zhang Wei finds out I'm behind it... who's going to save me then? That old man?"
He threw his head back and barked a laugh.
"He'll probably clap. He'll probably say, 'Good, now you'll learn.'"
He hated him.
Hated his judgmental eyes.
Hated his stingy habits.
Hated that he wasn't even close to the Zhang family's level of power.
"I hope you die soon," he muttered, lips curling. "Then I can finally touch that money. I don't care if you're not as rich as the Zhangs. Just enough for a ticket. Enough for a new life when my ass gets caught."
"Sir, your bill," a waiter said quietly, placing the small tray in front of him.
Chen Rong looked down at the total.
And lost it.
"What the fuck is this?! You think I own this bar? You think I shit money?"
He tossed some cash, missed the tray completely, and staggered to his feet.
His head swam. The room spun.
He looked away.
"Should've been simple," he muttered, stumbling out into the cold. "Just one night. Just one girl. Just one lesson."
But now?
Now he'd dragged a war down on himself.
And somewhere in the city, Zhang Wei was already moving like a storm.
****
Zhao Mei
The first thing Zhao Mei felt the first morning in the penthouse was... warmth.
Soft blanket.
Pillow that didn't smell like damp clothes or cheap detergent.
Quiet.
For a few seconds, she forgot.
She forgot the crowd.
The water.
The phones.
The slap.
Then it all came rushing back.
Her eyes flew open.
The ceiling above her was smooth and white. The curtains were thick and heavy, letting in a soft glow of winter light. The room smelled faintly of cedar and expensive soap.
She sat up slowly.
The coat slid off her shoulders.
His coat.
Sir's coat.
My... woman.
The words made her chest tighten. Her fingers clutched the blanket.
"Was it... a dream?" she whispered to herself.
The SUV.
The private hospital.
His hand around hers.
His voice saying:
"I won't let them destroy you."
Her throat burned.
Why would a man like that waste words on someone like me?
She pinched her arm.
Hard.
"Ow..."
It hurt.
So this wasn't a dream.
She really was in his world now.
She swung her legs off the bed and stepped onto the woven rug. Her toes sank into soft fibers instead of cold tiles.
Her old life flashed in her mind
thin mat on the floor,
cold mornings,
harsh voices.
She swallowed.
How long will this last?
Will he throw me out when people forget?
Is this safety real, or just borrowed?
A gentle knock broke her thoughts.
"Miss Zhao?" a soft voice called. "It's Qiao Qiao."
"Come in," Zhao Mei said quickly, smoothing her hair.
Qiao Qiao entered with a tray.
"You slept in, Miss," she said with a little smile. "Young master Wei said not to wake you."
"S-sir?" The word left her mouth before she could stop it. It felt strange. Too respectful. Too distant. But everything about him was distant.
Qiao Qiao nodded, placing the tray on a small table.
"Yes. Young master ordered breakfast. Porridge, boiled egg, some fruit. He said if you skip meals, he will be... displeased."
Zhao Mei blinked.
"He said that?"
"Yes." Qiao Qiao's cheeks colored just a bit. "He was very direct."
Something fluttered in Zhao Mei's chest. A strange mix of embarrassment and warmth.
He's thinking... about whether I eat?
"Thank you," Zhao Mei whispered.
Qiao Qiao hesitated, then asked shyly:
"Is it true?"
"Is... what true?"
"That you're... that you will be..." The maid stumbled over the words, then rushed it out in a whisper. "young Madam Zhang Wei?"
Zhao Mei's heart stuttered.
Her mouth went dry.
"I... I don't know yet," she said honestly.
Qiao Qiao bowed quickly.
"Sorry, Miss. I shouldn't have asked. Please eat while it's still hot."
Then she slipped out, leaving Zhao Mei alone with a tray, a silent room, and a question that changed the shape of her world.
Young Madam Zhang Wei.
She whispered it in her mind.
It felt too big for her.
She picked up the spoon anyway.
****
Madam Zhang
Porcelain shattered against the marble floor.
Madam Zhang didn't even flinch as the tea cup exploded into white shards.
"That boy has lost his mind!" she snapped. "Marry her? A nobody? A girl dragged from a scandal bed? Absolutely not!"
Her manicured fingers clenched around the armrest of her chair.
The Zhang family parlor was all gold edges and quiet luxury. Today, it felt like a war room.
"Calm down, Jiahui," her sister murmured carefully. "The statement isn't official yet. It could be a rumor."
"A rumor?" Madam Zhang spat. "You think the board calls me in the middle of the night for a rumor?"
Her phone had been buzzing nonstop.
Directors.
Shareholders.
Wives from old families.
Asking the same question:
"Is it true?"
She paced the room like a caged animal.
"That girl has ruined everything," she hissed. "First the video, now this. Does he want to throw our name into the mud?"
Her mind flashed back to Fang Hua
well-bred, controlled, elegant Fang Hua,
the girl she'd carefully chosen to hold the Zhang name.
It was supposed to be simple.
An alliance.
A merger.
A neat solution.
Now this café girl had turned everything upside down.
Madam Zhang stopped and grabbed her phone.
If her son refused to listen to reason, she would find another way.
"Find everything about her," she ordered coldly when her private investigator answered. "Name. school. real parents. contacts. I want to know who Zhao Mei is... and what she wants."
She hung up and stared at her reflection in the glass.
"If she thinks she's staying," she whispered to herself, eyes narrowing, "she has another thing coming."
****
Fang Hua
Fang Hua's hand was bleeding.
She barely felt it.
Blood slid down her palm and dripped from her fingertips onto the carpet, red jewels staining white.
The mirror on her vanity was cracked in three places, reflecting her face in broken pieces.
On her phone, the last message from her spy at Zhang Corporation glowed:
"Confirmed. CEO Zhang is drafting a marriage contract with the scandal girl. Private."
Her stomach turned.
"With... her?" she whispered.
She had spent years being polished for this role.
Perfect posture.
Perfect smile.
Perfect skills.
Perfect lineage.
She was supposed to be Mrs. Zhang Wei.
Not some poor girl from a courtyard surrounded by gossip and cheap plastic buckets.
The thought made something inside her twist with rage.
"She took my place," Fang Hua said, lips trembling. "That position was meant for me. That life was meant for me."
She laughed, short and bitter.
Of course a scandal girl would end up in his bed. Of course the media would eat it. Of course his mother would scramble. Of course the world would watch.
But marriage?
Marriage was permanent.
Marriage meant power.
Marriage meant the door closing on her.
She pressed her bloody hand tighter into the broken glass on the vanity, ignoring the sting.
"If I can't have him," she whispered, voice cold and shaking, "she won't keep him either."
She lifted her gaze, fractured into three versions.
"I'll make sure of it."
****
Quiet Between Four Storms
While men drank and cursed in bars,
while women shattered cups and mirrors in pretty rooms,
Zhao Mei sat alone in the East Wing.
She ate in small bites, hands still trembling.
She did not know that somewhere,
Chen Rong was already drowning in fear,
Madam Zhang was sharpening her knives,
and Fang Hua was sealing her heart in ice.
She only knew one thing:
This wasn't her world.
Not yet.
But her name was already woven into it.
Zhang Wei hadn't appeared yet that morning, but his presence pressed on everything
in the food being delivered,
in the guards by the elevator,
in the way everyone spoke softer when they said "young master Wei".
Zhao Mei put the spoon down.
Her chest hurt.
"Please," she whispered into the quiet room, to no one in particular. "Just let me survive this. I don't need luxury. I don't need love. I just... don't want to be destroyed."
Outside, winter sunlight slid slowly across the city.
None of them knew that before the day ended, a decision would be made that tied their lives together even tighter
and the war, quietly, had already begun.