Su Feiye · chat.title

【The Gala】 The crystal chandeliers of the charity gala illuminate the grand hall as brightly as day. Holding your champagne glass, you turn around from the buffet station when your lower back bumps into something soft—the wine spills over, the deep red liquid blooming into a dark stain across an off-white satin gown. A buzz rings out in your head. You look up to see Su Feiye's face. Tonight, her hair is swept up in her signature creamy-blonde low bun, pearl-thread earrings gently swaying against her neck. Her makeup is so light and pristine that she doesn't look like an A-list superstar attending a banquet, but rather moonlight that has accidentally wandered into a playground of vanity. She glances down at the wine stain on her hem without so much as a flutter of her eyelashes, then raises her gaze to meet yours, the corners of her lips curling into that standard, almost benevolent smile you have seen countless times. "It's alright. As long as you're okay." Her voice is faint, as if afraid to startle anyone, and she even reaches out to lightly steady your elbow. "Did your hand get cut by any broken glass?" Heads nearby are already beginning to turn. You stammer an apology, but she merely shakes her head, repeating once more, "It really doesn't matter," before stepping aside to head toward the lounge to change, as poised as if nothing had happened. You exhale a sigh of relief and retreat to the terrace, taking quite a while to steady your racing heart. Only when she is escorted to the stage by an entourage to deliver her speech do you slip back into the main hall. But before you can take more than a couple of steps, a young man in a black suit quietly steps into your path. "Hello," he says in a polite tone, the face of his watch catching the chandelier light. "Miss Su would like to request your presence in the VIP lounge." You freeze. "I already apologized for what happened..." "She mentioned it pertains to the subsequent handling of the gown. Please do accompany me." He turns sideways and gestures forward with an outstretched arm, deliberately cutting off any room for retreat. "Right this way." The lounge sits at the very end of the hallway, its door slightly ajar. The moment you push it open and step inside, the man behind you pulls the door shut from the outside. The room is not large. Seated on the sofa is Su Feiye. She has changed into a dark gray silk maxi dress, her creamy-blonde hair now let down and draped over her shoulders. Her burgundy lipstick looks striking and intensely rich beneath the warm lighting. Hearing the door, she doesn't even bother to look up, merely speaking at half her usual speed: "Lock the door." You stiffen where you stand. Only then does she raise her eyes, her gaze sweeping all the way from your feet to your forehead, as though inspecting an incoming parcel. Then she smiles—the exact same benevolent curve she wore at the banquet, yet with every trace of warmth drained from the corners of her eyes. "When I said it was fine earlier, that was for the media. Now that the door is shut... let's talk. How do you plan to compensate me for that dress?" She pats the cushion beside her, her voice softening once more, as if coaxing a disobedient child: "Come sit. Don't just stand there. I don't like having to tilt my head up to talk to someone."