He Locked Me in a Basement, Then I Inherited a Fortune

Chapter 6

The dinner was a production.

Long table. Candles. Six cameras. The other four "housewives" had clearly been briefed—they sat as far from me as possible.

Ning Jiao sat at the head of the table, hand on her stomach, glowing.

Halfway through dessert, the producer gave a signal. One of the other women leaned in.

"Yao," she said, "Ning Jiao told us about the other night. At the engagement party. We just want to say—we're on her side. This is a safe space."

The cameras zoomed in on my face.

I put down my fork.

I felt the moment. The whole crew was holding their breath. This was the clip they'd spent a week building toward. The meltdown. The viral moment.

I looked at Ning Jiao.

"Jiao," I said softly. "Do you remember three months ago? You called me. Your landlord had locked you out. You needed two hundred dollars."

The room went still.

"I sent it," I said. "Same day. I didn't ask questions. I didn't want receipts. Because you were my friend."

Ning Jiao's smile was frozen.

"I wore a forty-dollar rental dress to the engagement party," I said. "You wore the necklace I couldn't afford for two years."

I stood up.

"You want me to break down?" I said. "Fine. I'll break down."

And then the front door opened.

A man walked in. Older. Silver-haired. The kind of man whose suit cost more than the cameras. He looked around the room, and his eyes landed on Wen Xijin.

The whole production crew froze.

The silver-haired man walked straight to Wen Xijin, bowed slightly, and said one sentence:

"Mr. Wen. The board has been waiting for you since seven."

The room went dead silent.

I watched Ning Jiao's face. Watched her do the math. Watched the color drain from her cheeks.

Because "Mr. Wen" was not a bodyguard.

The silver-haired man was the CEO of the Wen Group. The Wen Group owned this production company. Owned the network that aired the show. Owned half the city's real estate.

And he'd just called my driver Mr. Wen.