Her legs gave way before she could say a word.
The glass slipped from her hand, hitting the marble with a sharp crack before rolling away, dark wine had spilt across the white stone.
Zhao Mingfeng caught her under the arms, not gently but with the practiced ease of a man moving something heavy and fragile. He lowered her onto the cold floor, her head tilting at an awkward angle.
Her eyes flicked upward. The crystal chandelier swayed slightly above them, prisms scattering fractured light across the ceiling. Each glint felt too bright, too sharp.
"She's still conscious," Lin Xinya observed, crouching down beside her. Her perfume was suffocating this close, sweet enough to make Weiwei's stomach lurch. "You really didn't think I'd let her leave gracefully, did you?"
Zhao Mingfeng's voice was smooth, businesslike. "She'll be gone in minutes. Help me with—"
Weiwei's vision wavered, tunneling until their faces were all she could see: Zhao Mingfeng, the man she'd married and defended against every whisper; Lin Xinya, the friend she'd shared secrets with since school days. Both looking down at her like a piece of furniture about to be thrown away.
The cold spread from her chest outward, curling into her fingertips. Her breath came shallow, her lips numb.
Lin Xinya leaned closer, her smile delicate and poisonous.
"You were always too soft, Weiwei. Too easy to throw away."
The last of her strength slipped away, but somewhere in the fading blur of thought, something held fast — not love, not grief, but something colder, sharper.
If there is a next time, she told herself, each word a spark in the dark, I will never give you the chance to touch me.
The chandelier's light fractured into black. The world fell silent.