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'd only wanted one thing. Not love. Never love. Just control.
He'd 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'd 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, his 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 bitterly.
"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.
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 had 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, his 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 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.
While Chen Rong drowned himself in cheap liquor and regret, morning light was beginning to creep through the curtains of a penthouse across the city.
The first thing Zhao Mei felt on her first morning in the penthouse was warmth.
Real warmth. Not the kind that came from huddling under thin blankets or standing too close to a broken heater. This was the kind that soaked into your bones and made you forget, just for a second, that your life had been hell.
Soft blanket. A pillow that didn't smell like damp clothes or cheap detergent. Quiet.
For a few precious seconds, she forgot.
She forgot the crowd. The cameras. The humiliation. The water hitting her face. Her stepmother's handprint still burning on her cheek.
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.
The words from yesterday echoed in her mind. She is under my protection.
Her chest tightened. Her fingers clutched the blanket.
"Was it a dream?" she whispered to herself.
The SUV. The private hospital. His hand steadying her. 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.
Zhao Mei swung her legs off the bed and stepped onto the woven rug. Her toes sank into soft fibers instead of cold tiles. It felt unreal. Like stepping into someone else's life.
Her old life flashed in her mind. Thin mat on the floor. Cold mornings. Harsh voices. Being told she was useless. Being told she should be grateful for the scraps they threw her way.
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. Steam rose from the porridge bowl, and the smell of it made Zhao Mei's stomach twist with sudden hunger.
"You slept in, Miss," Qiao Qiao said with a little smile. "Young Master Wei said not to wake you."
"Young Master?" The words left Zhao Mei's mouth before she could stop them. They felt strange. Too respectful. Too distant. But everything about him was distant.
Qiao Qiao nodded, placing the tray on a small table by the window.
"Yes. Young Master Wei 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 about it."
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 going to be Young Madam Zhang?"
The words hit Zhao Mei like a punch to the chest.
Her heart stuttered. Her breath caught. Young Madam Zhang. The title felt too big for her. Too heavy. Too impossible.
"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.
She whispered it in her mind. Tested the weight of it. It felt like trying on a dress three sizes too big.
She picked up the spoon anyway. Her hands trembled as she brought the porridge to her lips. It was warm. Perfectly seasoned. The kind of meal someone had put thought into.
Tears pricked at her eyes.
When was the last time someone had cared if she ate?
Meanwhile, across the city in a sprawling estate where old money lived and breathed, another woman was waking up to a very different kind of morning.
Porcelain shattered against the marble floor.
Madam Zhang didn't even flinch as the teacup exploded into white shards. A servant rushed forward to clean it, but she waved her hand sharply.
"Leave it."
The servant froze, then bowed and retreated.
"That boy has lost his mind!" Madam Zhang snapped. "Marry her? A nobody? A girl dragged from a scandal bed? Absolutely not!"
Her manicured fingers clenched around the armrest of her chair. Her knuckles went white.
The parlor was all gold edges and quiet luxury. Silk curtains. Antique vases. Paintings worth more than most people's houses. Today, it felt like a war room.
"Calm down, Jiahui," her sister murmured carefully from the sofa. "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 since dawn. Directors. Shareholders. Wives from old families. All asking the same question.
Is it true?
Is Zhang Wei really marrying that girl?
She paced the room like a caged animal. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor.
"That girl has ruined everything," she hissed. "First the video, now this. Does he want to throw our name into the mud? Does he want to embarrass this family?"
Her mind flashed back to Fang Hua. Well bred. Controlled. Elegant Fang Hua. The girl she'd carefully chosen to hold the Zhang name. The girl who'd been raised to fit into this world.
It was supposed to be simple. An alliance. A merger. A neat solution that benefited both families.
Now this café girl had turned everything upside down.
Madam Zhang stopped and grabbed her phone. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.
If her son refused to listen to reason, she would find another way.
She dialed. The call connected.
A pause.
"I need you to look into someone for me. Zhao Mei. Yes, that's the one. I want everything. Family background. Debts. Secrets. Anything we can use."
Another pause.
"Good. I'll be waiting."
She hung up and stared at her reflection in the glass window. Her expression was cold. Calculating.
"If she thinks she's staying," Madam Zhang whispered to herself, eyes narrowing, "she has another thing coming."
While Madam Zhang plotted in her estate, back at the penthouse, Zhao Mei sat alone in the East Wing, trying to make sense of a world that had shifted overnight.
Zhao Mei ate in small bites. Her hands still trembled. She kept glancing at the door, half expecting someone to burst in and tell her this was all a mistake.
She thought of only one thing. This isn't my world. Not yet.
But her name was already woven into it. Already being whispered in boardrooms and estates across the city.
Zhang Wei hadn't appeared yet that morning, but his presence pressed on everything. It was in the food being delivered. In the guards standing by the elevator. In the way everyone spoke a little softer when they said Young Master Wei.
Zhao Mei put the spoon down. Her chest hurt. The kind of hurt that came from hope mixed with fear.
"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. The sky was pale and cold. Somewhere out there, people were living normal lives. Going to work. Drinking coffee. Complaining about traffic.
And here she was, sitting in a penthouse, wearing a stranger's coat, waiting for a man she barely knew to decide her fate.
None of them knew that before the day ended, a decision would be made that tied their lives together even tighter.
A decision that would change everything.