The Gu Group's evening reception was held in the luxurious ballroom of the Crown Plaza Hotel. A glittering event that attracted business elites, media representatives, and a handful of hand-picked celebrities—all dressed in their finest to celebrate the company's decade of dominance in the international market.
Lin Nian'an had been invited not as a guest, but as one of the key partners for the upcoming cross-industry art collaboration. Her studio's reputation had surged after her return, and her design proposal had become the talk of the upper circles.
But that didn't make her entrance any easier.
As she stepped out of the black car arranged by the planning committee, the flash of cameras exploded around her. The deep red silk dress she wore hugged her figure perfectly—elegant, seductive, yet composed. Her heels clicked against the marble tiles, and every step she took seemed to echo with poise.
She felt the stares.
Some admiring.
Some curious.
Some… knowingly amused.
Because everyone knew.
Everyone knew she had once been Gu Chenyan's everything.
And now she was back—older, colder, more beautiful than ever.
The moment she entered the ballroom, the warm golden light poured over her like spotlight, making her look like she belonged on the cover of a high-fashion magazine. Champagne flowed freely, and classical music played softly beneath the hum of social chatter.
She made her way to the side gallery where her curated art preview was displayed, drawing interest from several high-profile investors. She answered questions gracefully, masking the tension in her shoulders.
Because she knew he would come.
And he did.
Gu Chenyan entered fifteen minutes later, dressed in an exquisitely tailored black suit, silver cufflinks gleaming under the chandelier light. His silver-white hair was combed back, his expression unreadable as always.
The crowd naturally parted around him, like the tide parting for a storm. Powerful, quiet, inevitable.
His eyes scanned the room, pausing only when they found her.
For a moment, the world silenced.
Their eyes met—hers calm, guarded; his cold, yet burning.
Then he looked away.
It was nothing. A single glance. But it shook her more than she'd admit.
He didn't approach her right away. Instead, he made his rounds—shaking hands, nodding politely, saying just enough to fulfill the role of the perfect host.
But Nian'an knew.
She could feel it.
He was waiting for the right moment.
And it came when she stepped out onto the balcony.
The city skyline stretched beneath them in a sea of gold and steel. She leaned against the railing, eyes lost in the distance, trying to breathe.
Behind her, the door opened.
She didn't turn.
"I thought you hated parties," she said.
"I do," Gu Chenyan answered.
"Then why throw one?"
"It's expected of me."
She finally looked at him. The night breeze ruffled his hair slightly. Under the moonlight, he looked less invincible. Almost… human.
"Do you always do what's expected of you?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away.
"No," he said softly. "Not when it comes to you."
She blinked.
"I let you go because you said you needed to leave," he continued. "But I never stopped waiting for you to come back."
Her chest tightened. "You don't get to say that now. Not after everything."
"I know." His voice was quiet, as if he feared breaking something fragile. "But I still mean it."
She looked away.
"I read the letter," she admitted.
He inhaled sharply.
"Just last night. It was hidden between the last two pages of that sketchbook. I'd forgotten it even existed."
Silence fell between them.
"Then you know," he said.
She nodded. "I know."
"That I loved you?" he asked.
"That you always did," she said. "In your own twisted way."
He stepped closer, stopping just beside her. "And now?"
"I don't know," she said honestly.
But she didn't move away.
He didn't touch her. Didn't push. Just stood there, letting the silence fill with old memories.
After a while, she whispered, "You hurt me."
"I know."
"I don't trust you."
"I'll wait until you do."
Her eyes welled up—but the tears never fell. She took a deep breath and turned back toward the lights of the ballroom.
"I'm not the girl I used to be."
"I know that too," he said. "But I never loved you because you were soft or easy. I loved you because you were real."
She said nothing.
Then she walked back inside, heels clicking softly on the tile.
He didn't follow.
But he smiled, just a little.
Because for the first time since she returned—
She didn't slam the door shut.