I always thought our love story would end with a ring.
Not a press release.
Ten years.
Ten years of shared lunches, late-night study sessions, and whispered promises about the future.
Ten years of believing that "forever" was a real word.
And all it took was one headline to ruin everything.
"Liang Group Heir to Be Engaged to Socialite Zhao Rui."
I stared at the article until the letters blurred into black smudges. My thumb trembled over the screen.
A photo accompanied the headline—him in a tuxedo, smiling beside a woman I'd only seen in glossy magazines.
They said he proposed at midnight, surrounded by fireworks.
He used to hate fireworks.
He once told me they were loud and fake, just like people who used them to celebrate empty things.
Apparently, he'd changed his mind.
The coffee beside my laptop had gone cold. I didn't even notice until a drop of it slid down the side of the mug, dark as the knot in my throat.
My phone buzzed.
Mei:Come out tonight. You need vodka, not tears.
I laughed—one sharp, broken sound.
She was right. Crying wouldn't change the headline.
✦
By midnight, I was sitting in a sticky-floored karaoke bar with Mei, shouting heartbreak songs into a microphone like my life depended on it.
Neon lights flashed pink and blue across our faces.
Every note cracked, every lyric felt too true.
"You wasted ten years on that jerk!" Mei yelled between songs.
"I invested ten years!" I shouted back. "Worst investment ever!"
We laughed until I nearly fell off the couch. It was the kind of laughter that only exists to keep you from crying again.
When our voices finally gave out, Mei dragged me outside for fresh air.
The night smelled like rain and cheap beer. That's when we saw it—a narrow stall wedged between two closed shops, lit by a single red lantern. A fortune-telling booth.
"Come on," Mei said, tugging my sleeve. "Let's ask if your next boyfriend will have better taste in fiancées."
Before I could protest, she pushed me inside.
✦
The old woman behind the table looked like she'd stepped out of another century.
Silver hair, cloud-gray eyes, a face mapped with wrinkles. The air smelled of sandalwood and something older—like forgotten prayers.
She didn't ask for my name or birth date. She just looked at me, really looked, until I felt stripped bare.
"Your luck will soon change," she murmured, voice low and strange. "But you must help it. Go to the fountain before dawn. Throw three coins. Make three wishes. Each will come true—though not in the way you expect."
Her gaze flicked to the bracelet on my wrist—the one we (me and my ex) bought years ago. "Be careful what you ask for, child. Sometimes love returns wearing another face."
I blinked. "That's… ominous."
She only smiled. "Fate usually is."
Mei was already outside buying more street snacks.
I pressed a few bills onto the table, mumbled thanks, and stumbled back into the night, half convinced I'd hallucinated the whole thing.
✦
At two a.m., the city was almost silent. Only the sound of distant traffic and my own heels clicking against the pavement kept me company.
Somehow, I ended up in front of the fountain she'd mentioned—a marble circle glowing under streetlights, water shimmering like glass.
I dug through my purse, found three coins, and stared at them in my palm.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty street. "I wish I could forget him. I wish I could get that promotion. And I wish…" My voice cracked. "I wish someone would finally love me back."
One coin. Two. Three.
Each plunked into the water with a tiny echo.
Maybe I expected fireworks or thunder or divine validation.
Instead, the wind picked up, and I realized I was still drunk.
I turned to leave—and my heel caught the edge of the pavement.
"Ah—!"
I tripped forward, bracing for impact—but instead of cold stone, my face collided with something warm and solid.
A chest.
A very firm, very expensive chest.
My hands splayed against it. My eyes lifted slowly, following the line of a dark suit jacket up to a jaw sharper than logic.
"Oh," I blurted. "Sorry—sir—Mr.—uh—"
The man didn't move. He was tall, broad-shouldered, the type of presence that makes the rest of the world feel too small. His hair was black, neat, slightly tousled at the ends as if the wind hadn't dared mess it up.
And his shoes—black leather, polished so perfectly they caught the reflection of the streetlight.
I blinked at them. "Your shoes are so long," I slurred. "Are you a clown?"
He didn't reply. Not even a twitch. Just stood there, staring down at me like I was a riddle he didn't have time to solve.
I squinted up, trying to focus on his face.
Sharp cheekbones. Cold eyes. Lips that looked like they'd forgotten how to smile.
"…Are you an idol?" I asked hopefully.
Still nothing.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the strange pull in my chest—but before my brain could stop my hands, I reached up, grabbed his collar… and kissed him.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't even sober.
But for a second, the world went completely still.
The sound of the fountain faded. The city vanished.
Only the faint taste of mint and the shock of what I'd done remained.
Then I pulled back, gasping.
He looked at me as if I'd just rewritten the laws of physics.
I pointed weakly at him. "You—uh—nice shoes."
Then I turned around and fled.
✦
The next morning, I woke to sunlight slicing through my blinds and the kind of headache that makes you question every life choice.
My phone buzzed nonstop—news updates, gossip threads, and one message from Mei:
[You alive?]
Barely.
I staggered to the bathroom, brushed my teeth three times, and still couldn't scrub away the memory of that kiss.
God. Please let him think it was a dream. Please let me never see him again.
By the time I arrived at the Liang Group headquarters, the world already knew about the engagement. My colleagues' smiles were too tight, their whispers too loud.
"That's her, right?"
"The one he dated for ten years?"
"I heard rumors but I'm not sure… imagine being replaced like that."
Every sentence felt like a pin in my chest.
I kept my head down, hiding behind my hair, and walked straight to the elevator. If I could just get to my desk, maybe I could pretend none of this existed.
The doors began to close.
And then a hand slid between them—broad, strong, wearing an expensive watch.
My stomach flipped.
The doors opened again, and he stepped in.
Tall. Impeccable suit.
Polished black leather shoes.
My heart stuttered.
No. No way.
I took a step back—until my shoulders bumped against the cold wall of the elevator.
He didn't look at me. Not once.
He pressed no buttons, just stood there, quiet, composed. The air felt suddenly too thin.
I swallowed. "Um… could you maybe press the close button?"
He turned his head slightly, just enough for his profile to catch the light.
"That won't work," he said, voice deep and steady.
"What?" The word came out sharper than I meant.
He pointed toward me. "Because your back is on the buttons."
I froze, then twisted to look.
Sure enough, my shoulder was pressing the entire panel—every floor between two and forty lighting up like a Christmas tree.
Heat flooded my face.
"Oh my God," I muttered, jumping away. "Of course."
For the first time, a hint of amusement ghosted over his mouth—so brief I almost missed it.
That was the first time I saw him clearly in the light.
The same man from the fountain.
The man I had drunkenly kissed.
And as the elevator climbed, my pulse refused to calm.
Because somehow, I knew this wasn't the last time our paths would cross.
I just didn't know then that this man—the stranger with the long shoes and unreadable eyes—
would soon become my husband.
____
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