A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of the penthouse study.
Ji Yanluo didn't answer immediately. He sat at his desk, the tip of his pen frozen mid-signature, eyes unfocused—still caught in the past. The courtroom. The weight of silence. Her figure being led away in cuffs. Her face, so expressionless it hurt more than tears would have.
Another knock.
Softer. Familiar.
"Come in," his voice rasped.
The door opened slowly, and Bai Zhiqi stepped in, dressed in muted tones, her long hair tied into a loose braid. Her presence—once fragile, hesitant—now carried quiet confidence, yet she still paused at the doorway, as if measuring whether this conversation was one of business or... something more.
"Am I interrupting?"
Ji Yanluo placed the pen down carefully, like it was a blade. "No. You're right on time."
Bai Zhiqi closed the door behind her, walking over to the table where a tray of untouched tea sat between them. She poured herself a cup and sat opposite him, her fingers tracing the rim.
He watched her for a moment, as he always did—like she might disappear if he blinked. It wasn't love. Not yet. But it was something old, something rebuilding itself from ash and memory.
"I heard from Xiao Lin," Bai Zhiqi said finally. "Ji Lanxue's inviting the entire entertainment industry to Bai Lanyue's birthday next weekend. Half the guests are reporters."
"And the other half are enemies in designer dresses," Ji Yanluo replied dryly. "Yes. It'll be a war disguised as a party."
Her lips twitched. "Fitting, then, that I'm preparing for battle."
Ji Yanluo's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're certain?"
"I've been veiled long enough," she said softly, but with steel beneath it. "They used my silence to rewrite the truth. To paint me a villain while wearing my name. It's time I took it back."
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Revealing yourself as Bai Zhiqi now—publicly—at Bai Lanyue's event… it's risky. They might retaliate. Try to spin it."
"They will," she said without hesitation. "But that's why it has to be there. On her stage. In her world. I want the truth to crash through the chandelier light like a symphony too loud to ignore."
Ji Yanluo let out a slow breath. "You've already rehearsed the moment, haven't you?"
Her smile was faint, private. "Many times."
"You plan to perform?"
She nodded once. "Not as the veiled musician. Not behind a curtain or a mask. Just me. Bai Zhiqi."
Ji Yanluo was silent for a long beat.
"Zhiqi…" he started, voice low. "If this backfires—if they try to twist things again—I can't watch you be destroyed a second time."
She looked at him then, really looked. "You won't have to."
Her words hung in the air, calm but sure.
Ji Yanluo's jaw tensed, a storm flickering behind his usually calm eyes. Then, slowly, he stood and walked to the window, staring out over the city glittering under the evening sky. He spoke without turning.
"You know what they'll say. 'She's back from prison to steal the spotlight.' 'She's using pity.' 'She's trying to cling to what was never hers.'"
"I know," she replied. "And I don't care."
A silence stretched between them. Then Ji Yanluo turned, stepping closer, his voice lower now, almost raw.
"Why now?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "Because I don't want to keep surviving. I want to live."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he reached for something on the desk—a simple black invitation with gold lettering.
Bai Lanyue's birthday gala.
He handed it to her.
"Then we do this right," he said. "We control the narrative. You won't walk into that place alone."
She took the invitation and nodded. "Then let's give them a performance they'll never forget."
As she turned to leave, her fingers brushed the edge of the desk. She paused, then glanced back at him over her shoulder.
"You asked me once if I ever regretted anything," she said quietly. "I only regret staying silent for too long."
Ji Yanluo didn't reply. He just watched her walk out—no veil, no mask.
Only Bai Zhiqi, finally stepping into the light.
And this time, he'd make sure no one could extinguish it.