Shards of Us

Chapter 2 – The Price of Silence

Ping.

Jiang Ci's phone lit up with a headline notification:

**“Huanyu Group Heir Caught on Hotel Surveillance with Mystery Escort"**

She blinked at the screen, heart plunging.

There she was—blurry footage of a soaked, androgynous youth being escorted into the hotel lobby by none other than Huo Yuchen.

No names. No faces. Just enough to start a wildfire.

A second notification:

**“Netizens speculate on scandalous transaction caught on tape."**

Jiang Ci barely had time to process before the calls came flooding in.

“Ci!" Her aunt's voice crackled over the line. “What have you done? There's gossip about a boy in a hotel with some CEO!"

“I—That's not—"

“You've disgraced our family! You think people won't connect the dots? Your cousin already lost her job over this!"

“It wasn't even—" she started, but the line went dead.

In the kitchen, her uncle folded a newspaper. He didn't look up.

“You'll leave by sundown," he said.

Her hands clenched. “I didn't ask for any of this."

“You made your bed. Now disappear before the Jiang name sinks with you."

She said nothing as he handed over a dusty suitcase and a slim envelope of yuan.

No one looked her in the eye as she walked out.

---

The plane to Vancouver took off into a cloud-choked sky.

Jiang Ci gripped the armrest, stomach coiled tight with nausea.

The stewardess leaned in, concerned. “Are you alright, sir—miss?"

“I'm fine." She swallowed hard. “Just motion sickness."

But it wasn't the turbulence.

At a free clinic near Granville Street, a heartbeat flickered across the ultrasound screen.

She stared at the grainy image, numb.

“Ten weeks," the nurse said gently. “Looks strong."

Jiang Ci inhaled shakily. “Is it… too late to—"

“It's your choice. But your vitals look stable. If you want to keep it, we'll support you."

She left with trembling hands and a referral to a maternity shelter.

She didn't sleep that night.

---

Three weeks later, she found herself in a cramped hostel bunk, sketching jewelry concepts on scraps of paper between bouts of vomiting.

She traded caricatures of tourists for spare change and a maple scone. Rinsed her face in the shared bathroom. Watched rain pool on the rooftop and wondered if she'd ever stop feeling ashamed.

She bought a cheap phone. Sent one message:

**"Alive. Don't search."**

Then snapped the SIM card in half.

---

In a small corner of her hostel room, she held the ultrasound print between her fingers.

“I don't know your face," she whispered. “But I'll protect yours."

She placed the image beneath her sketchbook.

“I swear, Huanyu will never find us."