Chapter 8
990 Words
Luo Qi watched Jiang Shenghe's retreating back, the condensation on his soda bottle mirroring the morning's damp chill. His final "Congratulations" had landed like a marble
dropped into still water—precise, cold, rippling endlessly.
At the bridal boutique, Jiang Yifang's camera captured Luo Qi's reflection: ivory satin pooling at her feet, collarbones dusted with boutique lighting.
"Which one?" Luo Qi texted Pei Shixiao the options.
His reply came mid-meeting with Cui Peng, whose swollen eyes betrayed a sleepless night. "Both," he typed absently, signing documents without meeting his assistant's gaze.
Cui Peng's pen trembled. "You returned to Sucheng last night."
"For half an hour."
The unspoken without me hung between them.
Back at the presidential suite, Jiang Shenghe froze at page 47 of Luo Qi's report. Her doodle glared up—a stick figure CEO with coal-black glasses, labeled Death Glare from the Boss! Code Red!
He photographed the caricature, adding a caption: Rare Historical Footage!
When his Shanghai informant called about Luo Zhiqiu's struggling tech firm, Jiang Shenghe lit a cigarette. "Let Pei handle it."
Smoke curled around his lie.
The conference room's air hummed with unspoken tension. Jiang Shenghe adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, fingertips grazing the report where Luo Qi's doodle of his "death glare" had been discreetly removed.
"Your thoughts?" he prompted during negotiations.
Luo Qi outlined her strategy: sacrificing 4% profit to secure He Wancheng's connections for expanding Weiyuan Medical's market share. Jiang Shenghe's gaze lingered on her collarbone—visible through her blouse's top button—before nodding approval.
At dinner, He Wancheng's banquet unfolded like a chess match. Jiang Shenghe intercepted the wine pourer: "Miss Luo's allergic. Cherry juice instead."
Luo Qi's protest died as the tycoon acquiesced. Across the table, Zhao Dong's eyes narrowed in recognition. "Your fiancé—Pei Shixiao of Huanying Capital?"
The name dropped like a stone. Jiang Shenghe's knuckles whitened around his whiskey tumbler.
Post-dinner, in the elevator's mirrored confinement, Luo Qi murmured gratitude. Jiang Shenghe's reply cut glass-sharp: "Jiang Yue-ru worries about work efficiency, not your health."
His reflection showed the lie—a muscle twitching beneath his right eye.
The car idled outside Luo Qi's apartment building. Jiang Shenghe watched her silhouette disappear into the lobby, the lingering scent of her peach blossom perfume clinging to the leather seats.
September's humidity pressed against Beijing's skyline. Luo Qi stared at her engagement calendar—two circled dates: September 28th, the anniversary of Pei Shixiao's midnight airport dash during her family's bankruptcy; October 15th, when he'd mortgaged his Porsche to cover her father's medical bills.
Her finger hovered over September's date.
Pei Shixiao's call came as she showered. "Let's register in October."
Water droplets froze mid-air. "We agreed on September."
"My California trip's extended." His pause echoed through steam. "Don't want to disappoint you again."
The bathroom mirror fogged, erasing her reflection.
In Shanghai's financial district, Cui Peng lingered after hours. Pei Shixiao found her bent over spreadsheets, the neckline of her silk blouse dipping dangerously.
"Still working?"
She traced a manicured nail across projected profits. "Need help understanding these figures."
His cufflinks gleamed in the darkening office. "Let's review over dinner."
The afternoon sun slanted across Jiang Yue-ru's office as Luo Qi tapped her watch. "3:30 PM, Chairman Jiang."
Jiang Yue-ru glared at the stack of Weiyuan Medical merger documents. "Nagging already?"
"Every five minutes until you leave," Luo Qi countered, organizing files with military precision. The older woman's clandestine plan to transfer her to the medical subsidiary hung unspoken between them.
That evening, Jiang Sixun's fuchsia shirt burned retinas in the private dining room. "Happy early birthday!" He gestured grandly at the strawberry shortcake.
Luo Qi blinked at the "28" candles. "My actual birthday's—"
"Details." The heir apparent waved off objections, his Rolex glinting. Across the table, Vice President Li Rui discreetly checked her lipstick in a spoon.
The ambush came at dessert. Jiang Shenghe materialized like smoke, his gaze snagging on Luo Qi's cake-smeared plate. "Whose celebration?"
Three voices overlapped. His knuckles whitened around the wineglass.
Later, when Sixun reached for the check, the waiter bowed. "Mr. Jiang already settled it."
In the parking lot, Jiang Shenghe watched Luo Qi's taxi vanish. The ghost of her peach-blossom perfume lingered—sweetness curdling to ashes on his tongue.
The Mid-Autumn moon hung heavy over Sucheng's ancient rooftops as Luo Qi boarded the bullet train. Beside her, Luo Yu chattered about mooncake flavors, her voice rising above the station's din.
In Beijing's Weiyuan Tower, Jiang Shenghe scrolled through merger documents under sterile office lights. His mother's call blinked unanswered—another festival sacrificed to corporate conquest.
Qin Moling's arrival shattered the silence. "Playing recluse again?"
Jiang Shenghe lit a cigarette. "Better than listening to Father's matchmaking tirades."
"Pathetic." Qin snatched the lighter. "What's December 18th's significance?"
"Deadline for the medical subsidiary acquisition."
The lie tasted smoother than the Islay malt in his drawer. December 17th burned behind his eyelids—Luo Qi's wedding date.
Earlier, in Luo Qi's apartment:
"Blow them out!" Luo Yu's command cut through candle smoke.
Luo Qi closed her eyes. Let the debts clear. Let the mold stay at bay. Let him...
Her phone buzzed—Pei Shixiao's belated bouquet alert. She deleted the notification, the lilies' digital fragrance as hollow as his California promises.
At the Jiang family villa, Liang Zhen's Chopin étude faltered as her youngest appeared. "You reek of regret."
"Celebrated an employee's birthday." Jiang Shenghe's cufflink caught moonlight—onyx, like the groom's tie he'd mentally selected for December.
His mother's piano lid slammed. "Your father expects you at—"
"Business trip." The lie automated.
As fireworks painted the Huai River gold, Jiang Shenghe and Qin Moling toasted with Jiang Yue-ru's stolen Bordeaux.
"To mergers," Qin mocked.
"To mirages." Jiang Shenghe's glass clinked, the vibration echoing the train carrying Luo Qi home—to wedding dresses hung in musty closets, to bridges crossed without looking down.
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