The soft clinking of crystal glasses and murmurs of high society filled the opulent ballroom like background noise to a stage play.
Feng Yuxi stood beside Li Zeyan, her posture perfect, her smile effortless — but her heart had begun to beat with the tempo of a war drum. The moment she locked eyes with Jiang Renshu across the marble floor, time snapped into slow motion.
He looked exactly the same. Slick, polished, the very image of an ideal man. But she could see it now — the cowardice in his gaze, the guilt buried behind that polite smile.
And next to him, wearing an ivory dress with lace sleeves and smugness dripping from her painted lips, stood Feng Lixue — her cousin.
The woman who had pushed her off a cliff and wept at her funeral.
Yuxi's fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her wine glass.
Li Zeyan noticed. "Someone you recognize?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she smiled and took a sip, her voice calm as ice. "Just two ghosts from a past I buried a long time ago."
"Do I need to exorcise them?"
The subtle protectiveness in his tone made her blink — surprised, then amused. She turned her face toward him, lips close to his ear.
"No need," she whispered. "Ghosts don't scare me. I'm the one who came back from the dead."
He gave her a look — unreadable, curious. And then he placed a hand on the small of her back.
"Let's make them sweat, then."
Across the ballroom, Jiang Renshu's breath caught.
That face… it was her. But how? How could Feng Yuxi be alive?
He leaned slightly toward Feng Lixue, who was mid-laugh with a group of socialites. "That woman over there…"
"I saw," she said, her voice tight. "She looks like Yuxi."
"She is Yuxi."
Lixue's hand trembled before she tightened her grip on her champagne glass. "Impossible. I saw her fall."
"You said she died."
"She did."
Jiang Renshu couldn't take his eyes off her. "Then who the hell is standing beside Li Zeyan?"
That name alone sent a chill through Lixue.
Everyone in Imperial City knew Li Zeyan. Untouchable. Unforgiving. The kind of man no one dared provoke.
And now, he had his arm around Feng Yuxi like she belonged to him.
Lixue forced a laugh, but her voice was shaking. "She's probably just some actress who got surgery to look like her. People do that now."
Jiang Renshu didn't respond.
Deep in his gut, he knew.
That wasn't a lookalike.
That was the woman he abandoned.
The woman he betrayed.
The woman who was supposed to be dead.
Yuxi moved through the crowd like a queen, acknowledging greetings with the slightest of nods, her hand still tucked in Li Zeyan's arm. Every now and then, whispers followed her — who is she? where did she come from? is that really Li Zeyan's wife?
And then — as if fate itself couldn't resist the drama — the host of the evening, a board chairman from Zeyan's affiliate, took the stage and clinked his glass for attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, I am honored to introduce someone very special. Someone we all thought would never be tamed…"
Laughter echoed.
"Mr. Li Zeyan himself — and his new bride!"
The spotlight turned — blinding and hot — onto them.
Feng Yuxi didn't flinch. Her heels clicked as she took one graceful step forward, and then another.
Zeyan leaned close. "Ready to play the part?"
She smirked. "Let's give them a show."
He offered her his hand.
She took it.
And together, they stepped into the center of the ballroom.
Applause. Flashbulbs. Scandalous gasps.
And from the shadows, Jiang Renshu watched her spin in Li Zeyan's arms, caught in a slow, elegant waltz that made her black dress swirl like liquid night.
He didn't notice that his nails had dug into his palms.
Halfway through the dance, Zeyan's voice reached her softly. "You dance well."
"You sound surprised."
"I thought you didn't play the role of high-society wife."
"Roles change. People change."
He looked down at her. "You're not like other women."
She arched a brow. "You say that like it's a compliment."
"It's not."
She laughed quietly. "Honest. I'll give you that."
Then, suddenly — from the edge of the dance floor — Jiang Renshu stepped forward.
"Yuxi."
Her name, spoken aloud, hit like a gong.
Zeyan's hand tightened slightly around her waist. "Friend of yours?"
She didn't break eye contact with Jiang Renshu as she said, "Not anymore."
Jiang Renshu stood there, stunned. "Is it really you?"
She tilted her head. "Shouldn't you be asking that before calling my name in front of a crowd?"
"I thought you were dead."
"You hoped," she corrected softly.
Zeyan stepped forward slightly, his body a shield. "You're interrupting our evening."
Jiang Renshu's eyes darted between them. "I just… I needed to know. Why didn't you come back? Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Yuxi's gaze was sharp. "Why would I return to the people who left me to die?"
Lixue came rushing over then, her smile forced and bright. "Yuxi — if it really is you — we're so happy you're alive! We thought… We thought we lost you!"
Yuxi turned her head, her tone venom-sweet. "If I recall, cousin, you were crying so hard at my funeral that your mascara ran for three straight hours."
Lixue froze.
The crowd quieted.
And Feng Yuxi stepped forward.
"But don't worry. I'm not a ghost. I'm very much alive."
Her gaze swept over Jiang Renshu. "And so are all my memories."
She took Zeyan's arm again and turned toward the crowd. "Forgive the interruption. It seems even the dead can't rest without drama."
Laughter. Scandal. Murmurs rose like waves.
Zeyan leaned toward her as they exited the dance floor.
"You certainly know how to keep attention."
She smiled without warmth. "Attention is power. And tonight was just the beginning."
That night, as the car pulled away from the gala, Zeyan finally spoke.
"Who were they?"
She stared out the window, her voice soft and steel-laced.
"My past."
He glanced at her.
"Should I be worried?"
She met his gaze.
"No. But they should be."