Rose Thorn

Chapter 7 · Family Undercurrents

The crystal chandeliers at Gu Group's anniversary gala blazed brighter than usual. Lin Wanqing stood at the banquet hall's center, overhearing whispers: "That's Mrs. Gu, brought back by Mr. Gu himself" "Heard her jewelry designs won international awards"—her black diamond ring refracting shards of light on the champagne rim, mirroring the "Exclusive to Lin Wanqing" she'd scrawled on a sketchpad three years ago.

"Miss Lin."

A familiar voice sounded behind her. Lin Wanqing turned to face an elderly woman in an emerald green cheongsam—Gu Chengyan's mother, Madame Gu, the Gu Group matriarch. Her gaze scanned Lin Wanqing's jewelry, lingering on the black diamond ring, lips curving into a polite yet distant smile: "Mrs. Gu, I've heard much about you."

Lin Wanqing's fingers trembled against the glass. Gu Chengyan had told her three days prior that Madame Gu disliked "***" daughters-in-law, especially those from "contract marriages".

"Please call me Wanqing, Madame," she bowed her head.

Madame Gu's eyes lingered on the ring for an extra beat: "That ring... resembles the family heirloom."

Cigar smoke wafted from the second-floor terrace. Gu Chengyan leaned on the railing, whiskey in hand, watching Lin Wanqing being led away by his mother. His phone vibrated—an assistant's message: "Anonymous email to Gu's overseas branch accuses 'Stellar' of plagiarizing a European brand's old designs."

"Mr. Gu." He turned to find Lin Wanqing behind him, black diamond ring glinting in the moonlight. "Did my mother give you trouble?"

"She asked about the ring." Lin Wanqing forced a smile. "What's this about the overseas email?"

Gu Chengyan's hand paused. He omitted that the email's IP traced to Su Manni's law firm—she had sued Lin Wanqing for defamation last week, hungry for her downfall.

"Minor issue," he drained the whiskey. "Legal is handling it."

Lin Wanqing studied his Adam's apple. Three days ago at the hospital, Madame Gu had met him alone for half an hour; he'd emerged with red-rimmed eyes. She reached out, touching his hand: "Gu Chengyan, are you hiding something?"

His fingers curled. Wind lifted his suit, revealing a scar on his waist—from when she'd chased him with a palette knife three years ago, hitting a table corner.

"Wanqing," he turned, thumb brushing her teardrop mole. "Remember three years ago, when you said you'd 'defeat me'?"

She nodded. Back then, "defeat" meant toppling Gu Group and reclaiming Lin Group; now she knew it meant standing beside him, watching him tear down lies.

"I already lost," his voice husked. "The day you wore this ring and said 'deal', I lost."

Applause erupted in the hall. As Lin Wanqing followed Gu Chengyan inside, the screen played the "Stellar" promo—thorn vines coiling around a black diamond rose, blooming in starlight. The host purred: "This brooch's designer is none other than Mr. Gu's wife, Miss Lin Wanqing!"

Madame Gu stood front-row, fingernails indenting her wine glass. Her gaze flitted from Lin Wanqing to the ring, then she rose: "A word, please."

Silence fell. Madame Gu's eyes cut like knives: "In Gu Group's 30 years, we've never had a 'contract wife'. My son marries partners who strengthen his empire, not parasites who climb via men."

Lin Wanqing's temple throbbed. She recalled Gu Chengyan's words: "My mother hates when people scheme against him", and three days ago, Madame Gu's sneer while flipping through her designs: "Gu Group has no use for such frivolity".

"Madame," she stepped forward, black diamond ring gleaming sharply. "You're right. I'm not a 'climber'."

Madame Gu's pupils constricted.

"I'm a designer," Lin Wanqing's voice steadied. "When I signed the copyright agreement three years ago, Mr. Gu said: 'Focus on design; leave the rest to me.' Now I've delivered—'Stellar' pre-sales hit 20 million globally, the royal jewelry exhibition invited me, and Vogue ran a full-page feature."

She held up a tablet, displaying charts: "Gu Jewelry's revenue grew 40% this year, with 'Stellar' accounting for 25%. These numbers speak louder than any 'business marriage'."

Madame Gu's knuckles whitened. Lin Wanqing saw a flicker of wavering—the first crack in her two-decade business world facade.

"Wanqing is correct." Gu Chengyan's voice cut in. He stood beside her, taking her hand. "My wife needs no one to 'climb'. Her presence alone is Gu Group's best asset."

That night at Gu Manor, Lin Wanqing stood in the studio doorway as Gu Chengyan revised her designs, back to her. Moonlight through the window lit the old scar on his waist, like a faded rose.

"You knew my mother would confront me?" she asked.

"Guesswork." He lowered his brush, holding a photo—of her sunflower field sketch from three years ago, a thief's silhouette hidden in the drawing. "But I didn't expect her to use the 'contract marriage' card."

Lin Wanqing recalled Madame Gu's words: "My son marries empire-builders." She touched his scar: "Then why did you marry me?"

Gu Chengyan's hand found her waist, pulling her close. His breath tickled her ear: "To let you win."

"Win what?"

"Win everyone who looked down on you," his thumb traced her ring. "Win the fire in your heart."

Her phone vibrated. Jean-Pierre's message: "Miss Lin, royal exhibition venue confirmed—Hall of Mirrors, Palace of Versailles."

She handed him the phone. His finger trailed the French text, smiling: "Mrs. Gu's career shines brighter than I thought."

"What about Mr. Gu?" She kissed his chin. "How long will this 'contract wife' charade last?"

His grip tightened, crushing her to him. Moonlight spilled over their joined hands, black diamond catching light—exactly like the "Exclusive to Lin Wanqing" he'd written on her sketchpad at 18.

"From day one," his voice roughened, "it was never a charade."