The next morning arrived without ceremony.
No headlines.
No praise.
No warnings.
Which meant something was shifting underneath the surface.
The first confirmation came from my legal counsel.
"They've activated a clause," she said, sliding a document across my desk. "Old. Rarely used."
I skimmed it once.
Then again.
A containment measure.
Not an attack—but a leash.
"They're trying to box you into precedent," she continued. "Force you to operate within inherited frameworks."
I closed the folder.
"They're afraid of acceleration," I said.
"Yes," she replied carefully. "And they believe slowing you down is safer than confronting you."
I looked up. "For them."
She didn't argue.
By noon, the city responded.
Two scheduled appearances were canceled "due to unforeseen conflicts."
A partnership announcement was postponed.
Rumors surfaced—quiet ones. Framed as concern.
Too ambitious.
Too sudden.
Unstable trajectory.
I let them circulate.
Smoke reveals wind direction.
Across town, pressure was converting into urgency.
"She's being cornered," Han Zhe said. "Now is the window."
"For what?" Shen Yu asked.
"To remind her who still holds leverage."
Gu Chengyi's voice was flat. "We don't."
The room stilled.
Han Zhe scoffed. "That's not true."
Gu Chengyi looked at him. "Then name it."
Silence answered.
Not money.
Not access.
Not history.
All exhausted.
That afternoon, I received the second invitation.
Not handwritten.
Not polite.
A summons disguised as protocol.
I read it once and handed it to my assistant.
"Decline," I said.
She hesitated. "They'll escalate."
I nodded. "Good."
Escalation arrived faster than expected.
An injunction attempt—partial, temporary, symbolic.
Designed to signal control.
They wanted me to respond emotionally.
Publicly.
Defensively.
Instead, I filed a counteraction within the hour.
Clean.
Precise.
Devastatingly calm.
By sunset, the narrative had shifted.
From concern
to conflict
to miscalculation.
Not mine.
Theirs.
That night, Shen Yu stood alone in his study, holding a report he hadn't meant to read.
"She anticipated the injunction," he murmured.
Han Zhe exhaled sharply. "She baited it."
Gu Chengyi said nothing.
He was staring at a line item dated months earlier.
The first quiet move she'd made after leaving.
A firewall.
Built long before anyone thought she needed protection.
"She never planned to come back," he said.
The truth settled like ash.
Back in my apartment, I poured a glass of water I didn't drink.
I felt no triumph.
Only alignment.
The pieces were no longer resisting.
They were revealing themselves.
And Chapter 94 ended with a realization that didn't frighten me at all:
They were finally using force.
Which meant persuasion had failed.
Which meant—
I was already beyond their reach.