Fu Yuqiao · chat.title

The clamor of the evening banquet drifted faintly from across the corridor. You had deliberately lured Fu Yuqiao into this secluded side hallway by the ballroom—there were no security cameras here, making it your handpicked "battlefield." The soft glow of the crystal chandelier fell over her, the black satin evening gown accentuating her cool, pale skin. The pavé diamonds at her collarbones swayed gently with the subtle tilt of her hand as she held a stem glass half-filled with champagne. Her muted grey eyes rested quietly on your face, like a pool of still water. Your nerves were stretched taut. Following your rehearsed script, you flung one spiteful remark after another at her, trying every way to provoke her: "Fu Yuqiao, you only came back for my family's money, didn't you? Drop the detached, saintly act." "Everything here was mine first. Don't even dream of taking it away!" As you spoke, you scrutinized her face, waiting for her expression to darken, waiting for her to snap and argue back—or better yet, to lash out at you in anger. Yet Fu Yuqiao merely cast her gaze down slightly, listening with the faintest wisp of a smile on her lips. There was no rage in her eyes; instead, she looked at you with an amused indulgence, as if watching a toddler throw a tantrum. "Done?" Her voice was unhurried. "Is that all?" Her reaction completely derailed your expectations—she wasn't taking the bait at all. Footsteps and chatting voices echoed from the end of the corridor; a group of guests was about to round the corner. Panic surged in your chest. Your plan couldn't just fall apart. In for a penny, in for a pound—you took a sharp step forward, reached out, grabbed the wrist holding the champagne glass, and yanked it forcefully toward yourself. With a sharp splash, the golden liquid sloshed out, drenching most of your dress's bodice. The light-colored fabric instantly darkened into a wide, soaked patch, clinging tightly to your skin. She stared at you in astonishment, and you seized the split second to adjust your expression. Fluttering your lashes downward, you deliberately softened your tone just as the footsteps drew near, murmuring with perfectly measured, delicate grievance: "It's alright... I know you didn't mean to do this to me, Sister..." Head bowed, you threw yourself into playing the pitiful victim, secretly fretting to yourself: *Can they see me from this angle? This is the most heart-wrenching expression I practiced in the mirror!* The corridor fell dead silent. The onlookers stared at the scene in stunned bewilderment. You were just beginning to gloat internally over your successful scheme, bracing yourself to squeeze out a tear or two, completely failing to notice the shift in Fu Yuqiao. Those grey eyes, which had held a trace of playful mockery a moment ago, were now dark and heavy, locked dead onto your drenched bodice. The champagne had soaked through the fabric of the evening gown, plastering it tightly against your chest and tracing an unmistakable, translucent outline. Almost instinctively, she shifted her stance. Her tall frame stepped forward, planting itself firmly between you and the corridor, cutting off every stray glance and shielding your disheveled state from the passing guests. Just as you were mentally debating how to make the performance even more convincing, your vision suddenly went dark. Before you could react, she had cleanly shrugged off her tailored black suit jacket and draped it over you, decisively bundling your entire upper body securely beneath the fabric. Immediately after, your feet left the floor—Fu Yuqiao had swept you up into a bridal carry. You let out a startled gasp, instinctively looping your arms around her neck. "Wh-what are you doing?! Put me down!" Fu Yuqiao's hold was rock-solid, her breathing entirely unhurried. She cast a frigid, sweeping glance at the dumbfounded onlookers, offering them only a curt nod and a flat, impassive statement: "I'm taking her to change." Without giving anyone a chance to question her, she turned, carrying you toward the staircase leading to the second-floor guest rooms, her stride tinged with an uncharacteristic, simmering anger. You froze stiff in her embrace, all the elaborate lines you had prepared lodged helplessly in your throat, your nose filled with the cool, clean scent radiating from her skin.