Weiwei had just returned to her room, the faint clink of porcelain from the dining room fading behind her, when her phone lit up.
Zhao Mingfeng — Calling.
She let it ring twice before answering, sliding the device to her ear.
"Mingfeng," she said, her voice warm enough to pass for affection.
"Weiwei," his tone carried that smooth mix of confidence and familiarity, "I was just thinking of you. Do you have plans for lunch? I'd like us to meet — go over a few details for Saturday."
In her past life, she would have smiled, leaning into the sound of his voice like sunlight. Now, she stood at the window, watching the curve of the garden path below. "Lunch?" she echoed, letting the pause stretch just a fraction longer than necessary.
"Yes," he went on, oblivious. "I've booked us a table at L'Eau Douce — the riverside place you love. And…" A faint rustle in the background, as though he was checking something. "I have a little pre-engagement gift for you."
Her fingers tightened around the phone, not from excitement but calculation. The bracelet. She remembered it well — in her past life, she'd worn it to every public event for a year, a shining mark of loyalty to him.
"That's thoughtful," she murmured, glancing at her reflection in the glass. "What time?"
"One o'clock. And wear that pale blue dress — it's my favorite on you."
There it was — that subtle, proprietary note. Not a request, but an instruction dressed in silk.
She smiled without letting it reach her voice. "I'll see you at one, Mingfeng."
When the call ended, she stood there a moment longer, letting the stillness of the room sink in. He was still the same man — polished, charming, and convinced she was his to command.
This time, she would let him keep believing that.
Until it suited her to prove him wrong.