"Exactly." The socialite in the Chanel suit chimed in with a smile, "It's rare for Jasper to bring a female companion, yet here you all are, dwelling on such buzzkill topics."
She raised her glass toward Serena Stanton. "Miss Stanton, don't mind them. This group is always like this—never more than three sentences away from rehashing old gossips."
The rift between Adrian Shaw and Jasper Grant had long been public knowledge; Serena was used to such things.
She lifted her champagne to clink glasses with the socialite, offering a faint smile. "That's very kind of you."
Because Jasper treated Serena well, these self-indulgent heirs and heiresses would occasionally look after her, asking her questions with warmth.
Everyone raised their glasses; the atmosphere in the private room became lively immediately.
The bustle at the dining table continued. Once Serena had eaten her fill, Jasper led her to take their leave first.
The Shaw and Grant families were so lofty they were out of reach. If Jasper wanted to go, no one dared stop him—they saw them off with smiles.
On the way home, the Rolls-Royce wound through bustling streets, cruising along Crestwood Avenue, thick with the city's endless traffic.
The play of streetlights swept past the windows but failed to penetrate the car's interior.
Jasper rubbed his brow and asked her, "Isn't Elder Quinn's birthday coming up?"
"It's on the 25th this month."
"I'll be on a business trip on the 25th. Could you take the gift there for me?"
Serena nodded. "Of course."
For work's convenience, Serena lived alone and didn't stay at the villa with Jasper.
The car pulled into The Groman Apartments, circled the ring road hemmed in by lush greenery, and parked beneath Building Six.
Serena stepped out of the car. Before closing the door, she bid Jasper goodbye. "Jasper, I'm heading up."
Jasper nodded. "Get some rest early."
Back at home, after washing up,
Late at night, Serena lay in bed. Whenever she closed her eyes, the conversations from the restaurant's private room would involuntarily resurface in her mind.
Unable to sleep, tossing and turning, she suddenly remembered something and reached for the phone on her nightstand.
Her fingers slid across the screen; sure enough, there it was—a new email awaited her in the inbox, right on schedule.
Simon: "Claire, happy Friday. I wonder if your current business trip is going smoothly? Outside of work, how's your life? If you have some leisure, I'd love to hear your latest news."
Lowering her gaze, Serena drafted her reply.
Her words were calm and concise, mentioning only how the typhoon had delayed her schedule, instinctively omitting anything concerning Adrian Shaw.
Three years ago, Simon contacted her for the first time.
He introduced himself as someone she had helped during a pro bono litigation project, expressing his gratitude earnestly and offering heartfelt encouragement.
The feedback from a stranger made her feel the true value of studying law.
Perhaps moved by that warmth, she found herself sharing more, replying to his message with patience and care.
Gradually, as their correspondence increased, Simon became a pen pal she had never met in person.
Email lacked the urgency of instant messengers; she didn't have to worry about messages popping up at any time.
At first, perhaps out of concern for disturbing her, Simon only emailed on Fridays or weekends. Later, it became a weekend ritual for them.
On every holiday he would send his wishes, caring about her life without overstepping boundaries, sometimes sharing amusing jokes.
Sometimes, even when Serena sat expressionless through her late nights, an email from him could make her laugh over a line of legalese.
She imagined Simon as an optimistic, upright, perhaps a somewhat old-fashioned person.
*
Time passed soundlessly—day and night traded places, sun rose and moon set—and in a flash, the 25th arrived.
At dawn, the sky in the distance grew pale, morning light seeping through the gap in the curtains. The alarm clock on her nightstand rang again and again, as if summoning a sleeping soul.
A slender, snow-white hand emerged from the covers, groping to silence the noisy alarm.
A soft click sounded.
The world was stilled.
The soft glow of dawn spilled across the nightstand, illuminating a striking line printed on the book's slipcase there.
[My whole life has been nothing but a vulgar struggle to climb the social ladder.]
Serena threw back the quilt, got up, and slipped into her slippers, heading for the bathroom to get ready.
After a simple breakfast, she grabbed her bag and headed to Tower One, The Globe Tower, for Bridgeway Law Firm.
Stepping out of the elevator, Serena walked unhurriedly toward her office.
Along the way, each colleague was busy with their own tasks; seeing her with files in hand, they greeted her one after another: "Lawyer Stanton."
After graduating, Serena was selected through campus recruitment, standing out amidst fierce competition to join Bridgeway Law Firm.
As a top Red Circle firm, Bridgeway was among the earliest partnership law firms in the country, with offices worldwide—including Tokyo, New York, Silicon Valley, and Portryn.
On her last business trip to Portryn, Serena worked with colleagues there to set up a double-layer trust structure for mainland tech entrepreneurs, optimizing taxation and asset segregation.
Pushing open her office glass door, she set her purse on the leather chair, picked up her bone china cup, and worked the coffee machine to brew a cup.
The faint hum of the machine sounded, coffee aroma wafted out. She'd just brewed it, hadn't even taken a sip yet, when the office door was knocked.
Her subordinate Fiona Finch entered with documents: "Lawyer Stanton, here's the due diligence report on the BVI company."
"Just leave it there," Serena said. "Has Lawyer Sutton arrived?"
Fiona shook her head. "I haven't seen her yet, she probably isn't here."
Serena acknowledged, told her to go on with her work.
The bottom of her coffee cup made a soft sound as it tapped the glass desk. Serena took out her phone to message Lauren Sutton, since today was Elder Quinn's birthday—they'd finally decided to meet at the Quinn Residence.
Not long after she put her phone down, the ringtone rang.
It was a Portryn number—likely about the contract for the trust structure.
She kept busy straight through to the evening.
The end of the workday arrived. Serena didn't work overtime, but packed up and left.
The office was bright as daylight.
In the break room, Fiona Finch was chatting with a close colleague while making coffee.
"BVI sent over the docs just before midnight. I have to keep working tonight. Still, it's not as bad—back when I interned, my supervisor nitpicked everything, found trouble for no reason, would refuse to fix an issue in the contract but obsess over punctuation. Drove me crazy."
"Looks like pretty much everyone in the next office has left; it's us workhorses that have it the worst. Not only do we work regular hours, we have to juggle time zones and coordinate overseas."
"Their manager left, so now there's no one to crack the whip, but soon they'll have a new boss—some big shot who just came back from a top New York firm!"
"Isn't that someone surnamed Quinn? That legal dynasty—three generations in law. Cameron Quinn of the Supreme Court, and a bunch of other superstar judges and lawyers are Quinns."
"If Lawyer Quinn parachutes in with her impressive background, doesn't that mean Lawyer Stanton has no chance at promotion?"
Serena pretended not to hear, making her way out of the firm at a steady pace.
Cameron Quinn's birthday was held in the family's own garden villa—not flamboyantly publicized, just a select gathering of close acquaintances.
Night fell. Serena, with her gift in tow, drove to the Quinn Residence.
The gift—a Floating Dragon Inkstone—was a priceless inkstone Jasper had purchased from a master at great expense, full of regal dignity, and perfectly suited for Elder Quinn's calligraphy hobby.
The four-story Shanghai-style villa gleamed with light, blending Eastern elegance and French flair.
The entire first floor was dedicated to private soirées.
At this moment, two men in suits stood by the vine-clad banister, glancing over at her as she arrived.
Serena paid them no mind, handed the gift to a servant, and immediately called Lauren.
The ringtone sounded for seven or eight seconds before the call connected.
"Lauren, I'm here. Where are you?"
She spoke as she glanced around.
Directly behind the banister was a tea room, its one-way glass wall glimmering.
Adrian Shaw had been playing chess with Cameron Quinn, looking indifferent, when something outside caught his peripheral vision; he looked outside.
As if sensing something, Serena's gaze paused for several seconds as it swept past the dark glass, staring straight at him.
Separated by an impenetrable glass curtain wall.
Impossible to truly meet eyes, yet their gazes collided, a spark flashing in an instant, gone as quickly as it came.