Inside the Hilton—Surveillance Room
The hotel's camera screens glowed in the dim room. On one of the largest monitors, a woman with messy hair was seen running down the fire escape barefoot, two heels clutched like weapons in her hand. She kept glancing behind her, as if she expected demons—or reporters—to materialize at any second.
Nie Rougang let out a surprised whistle. "Never thought Zinhai City's number one socialite would run like a fugitive at dawn. Quite a sight."
Zhao Wang didn't answer. He stood beside him, tall and expressionless, watching the screen with eyes that seemed darker than usual.
Nie Rougang's grin froze instantly. He silently put his hands behind his back, like a soldier awaiting orders.
The footage showed her stumbling from the seventeenth floor all the way to the first—legs trembling, one hand pressed to the railing for balance.
Finally, Nie Rougang cleared his throat. "President, should we inform security downstairs? She hasn't paid for the presidential suite."
Zhao Wang raised an eyebrow slightly. "No need. Just record the debt."
He blinked. Record the debt? That didn't sound like the president being generous—that sounded like the president planning something.
Before he could ask further, Zhao Wang's voice cut through the room.
"Nie Rougang. I want every document related to the cooperation between King's Group and the Lan family. On my desk in five minutes."
"Yes, President."
*
Outside Lan Family Villa
The moment Lan Xia stepped through the gates of her family's villa, she noticed the four black cars parked in neat rows in the courtyard. Luxury sedans—each belonging to the Chen family.
Her heart sank.
Great. Not home for one night and the world collapses.
She slipped inside quietly, opening the front door just an inch to listen.
Inside, deep voices echoed through the living room.
"Tianhao, we must think long-term," an elderly voice said firmly—Zhao Jihong, Zhao family patriarch, and Zhao Wang's grandfather. A man the entire city feared offending.
Lan Tianhao, her father, sounded smaller than she had ever heard him. "Yes, sir, it's all my fault. My two daughters have brought shame to your family."
"Nonsense," Zhao Zhenhua, Zhao Wang's father, sighed. "I raised a disappointing son. Zhao Wang is responsible too. It's regrettable we've come like this today."
Lan Xia exhaled slowly, bracing herself. She hadn't expected the broken engagement to blow into a full family confrontation within hours. And hearing her family's humiliation laid out like an autopsy made her chest ache.
She hesitated—step inside, or quietly escape to her room upstairs?
But the answer came from behind her.
"Oh? So the eldest Lan daughter, who couldn't bother to come home last night, finally returns?"
Zhao Wang's voice was cold. Bitten off. Sharp enough to cut skin.
She didn't have to turn around to know the expression on his face—resentment simmering under forced calm, eyes narrowed in judgment.
She forced herself not to react. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
She stepped forward.
But before she could cross the threshold, a hand clamped around her arm.
Hard.
Zhao Wang pulled her back. "Where were you?"
Her patience snapped in a quiet, controlled way. She took a deep breath, composed her face into a stiff, perfect smile, and looked him in the eye.
"Zhao Wang," she said softly, "now that we've broken off the engagement—and all of Zinhai City has heard the news—does it still concern you where I go or don't go?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He hated her calmness—hated that he couldn't read her emotions—hated that she didn't crumble like he expected her to.
She simply held his gaze with polite indifference, as if they were strangers at a business meeting.
He gritted his teeth. "Lan Xia, you really don't know what's good for you."
She smiled faintly, her eyes cold as winter water. "Zhao Wang, we're the same."
Rewritten Chapter 8 (Completely Different Version)
Lan Xia smiled—a small, controlled curve of her lips—and peeled Zhao Wang's hand off her arm. Her movements were elegant, practiced, almost dismissive.
She turned her back, ready to walk through the door.
But Zhao Wang wasn't done humiliating her.
In one quick, angry motion, he grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her toward him. The force nearly made her choke.
His voice, sharp and poisoned by rage, lashed out behind her like a whip.
"So this is it? Lan family's eldest daughter can't even stay home for one night. Can't wait a single day after breaking off the engagement before running off to play around?"
He leaned closer, breath hot with accusation. "That's why you're coming back at this hour, isn't it?"
Then he spat the words she never thought he would dare to say.
"Lan Xia, you acted pure for years. But I didn't know you were such a cheap little sl*t."
For half a second, the world went soundless—until someone inside the villa roared.
"Zhao Wang! You ungrateful brat! What are you saying?" It was Zhao Zhenhua, his father, furious.
Lan Xia tore herself free, smoothing her collar with stiff fingers. Her expression remained calm, but her knuckles were white.
Before she could say anything, a frantic female voice rushed forward.
"Oh my God! Lan Xia, what happened to you last night? Why didn't you come home? We were all so worried!"
Lin Huiyue—her aunt—ran toward her dramatically, reaching out as if to hug her. But Lan Xia stepped away, her polite smile returning instantly.
"No need, Aunt Lin. I'm fine."
Annoyance flashed in Lin Huiyue's eyes, but she covered it quickly with a concerned facade.
"Come inside, child. Your mother waited up all night. Why didn't you call?"
But the moment Lan Xia stepped through the door, her aunt suddenly raised her voice—loud enough for every person in the living room to hear.
"Why is her skin red and purple everywhere? Lan Xia, did you get into a fight last night?"
Instant silence.
Twelve pairs of eyes turned to Lan Xia's exposed skin—faint bruises peeking from her collar, marks on her arms, on her neck.
Some stared in shock.
Some in embarrassment.
Some—like Lan Jingyi—stared with poorly disguised delight.
"Oh my God, mom, those marks are they?" Jingyi gasped from the staircase, pretending to be horrified.
Zuo Tianhao's face twisted red. "You shameful girl! Where did you go?!"
His voice cracked with fury. Their family was already hanging by a thread—and now this. Her bruises were exactly the kind of evidence the Zhao family didn't want to see.
"You—! You—!" He sputtered, too angry to form words.
But Zhao Zhenhua stepped forward instantly, gently placing a firm hand on Tianhao's shoulder to hold him back.
"Brother Tianhao, calm down. They're children. Let them settle their own mess."
He glanced at Lan Xia with something like pity—or calculation. "Besides, in this matter, Zhao Wang was at fault first. Everyone knows it. Don't be too harsh on the girl."
His tone was soft. But his eyes were not.
The Zhao amily had always preferred Lan Xia. She was legitimate, well-raised, and dignified. Jingyi, an illegitimate child, had always been beneath consideration.
But things had changed.
Lan Xia hadn't come home last night. The bruises on her skin said everything without words.
Zhao Zhenhua sighed dramatically. "Forget the past. Let's discuss preparing Zhao Wang and Jingyi's engagement."
Lin Huiyue brightened so fast it was almost laughable. Lan Jingyi lowered her head, pretending to hide her excitement—though her smile trembled with how hard she was fighting it.
Zhao Wang looked at Lan Xia again. Searching her face. Searching for anything—hurt, shame, jealousy, panic—anything that would prove she wasn't made of stone.
But she only stood there quietly, back straight, face serene, like none of this concerned her.
Her stillness made him furious.
He took two steps toward her, eyes glaring.
"Lan Xia," he growled, "come talk to me now."