Lily brewed her coffee a little stronger that morning — partly because she needed the energy, mostly because she was emotionally exhausted from existing.
Last night's events kept replaying in her head like a badly edited drama scene. Everything felt distant… fuzzy… embarrassingly cringe.
Had that really happened? Or had she dreamed the whole thing up?
(God, please tell me it was a dream.)
She shook her head for what had to be the fourth time since waking up — though "waking up" was generous, considering she'd rolled out of bed at noon.
Her private sanctuary, aka the servant quarters' kitchen, was the one place she could exist without accidentally bumping into a family member and being reminded that she, in fact, was the household embarrassment.
(Also, the main kitchen had people in it. And people meant conversations. Ew.)
Her social battery had died somewhere between dessert and disaster yesterday. Recharging it? Not happening.
Lily squinted at her phone while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
No new notifications.
No unread messages.
No Jinhai.
(Cue dramatic gasp.)
He still hadn't texted her the address for the studio session. For all she knew, the recording could've been this morning, and she was about to make her debut as "that flaky singer who never showed up."
It was already one in the afternoon.
Yes, she'd woken up late.
Yes, she'd stayed up scrolling through her WeChat chat with him like a lovesick teenager.
And no, she didn't regret it.
(Okay, maybe a little. But only because she looked unhinged grinning at her phone at 3 a.m.)
Was she excited about the studio session?
Absolutely.
Was it also possible she was excited about him?
…No comment.
Lost in her thoughts, Lily poured the coffee — or at least she thought she was pouring the coffee.
Until—
"AHHHHHHHH—HOT! HOT! HOTTTTT!"
Boiling liquid kissed her toes with the fiery passion of regret.
She jumped back, flailing like a malfunctioning robot, as her coffee mug overflowed in glorious slow motion. Brown liquid cascaded over the counter and puddled onto the floor.
Perfect. Just perfect.
First no text.
Now third-degree toe burns.
"Great start to the day, Lily," she muttered, hopping on one foot. "Maybe the universe can throw in a papercut next? Or a lightning strike? Really complete the look."
After icing her poor, traumatized toes and cleaning up the caffeine crime scene, Lily decided she'd earned the right to exist again. She stepped out of her room, passing the narrow balcony that overlooked the grand hall — and instantly froze.
There, in the middle of the luxurious chaos below, sat Ruilin — her dear stepsister — bawling her eyes out like a tragic heroine from a 200-episode drama.
Tissues were everywhere. Like, everywhere.
The sofa looked like it had snowed sorrow.
And right beside her sat Hui, patting Ruilin's back with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to comfort a weeping tornado.
Lily blinked. Once. Twice.
Then raised a very judgmental eyebrow.
(Oh no. Not another episode of "Ruilin's Emotional Breakdown: Deluxe Edition.")
Quietly, Lily ducked behind the wall, craning her neck to listen — purely out of anthropological curiosity, of course.
Between Ruilin's hiccups and dramatic sobbing, she caught the words—
> "He… Mingzhe… that asshole! I can't believe it… he broke up with me without a single thought! He said—he said he loves someone else!"
Lily's jaw nearly dropped.
Mingzhe?!
(Wait. Wait wait wait. Back up. Ruilin and Mingzhe? THAT Mingzhe?)
Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds.
Then everything clicked.
So when she'd seen them together at the gala that night — her beloved ex and her beloved sister — she hadn't been imagining things after all.
(Well, slap me with irony and call me karma.)
Of course it had to be Mingzhe. The same guy who'd dumped her with the same lazy line: "I love someone else."
Yeah, that someone else had been her stepsister.
(Honestly, men have no sense of originality.)
He'd gone on to date half the school afterward, probably thinking he was the main character. And now? He'd dumped Ruilin, too.
Lily bit back a grin.
(Tragic. Just tragic. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.)
She tiptoed away before her face gave away how delighted she was, humming a little tune as she slipped back into her room.
Instant mood lift: achieved.
She flopped onto her bed, opening her laptop. Reality check — she needed to start applying for colleges. Her dream? Art school.
(Preferably one far, far away from this emotional circus.)
If the whole singing and acting plan didn't work out, she'd settle for something behind the scenes — lighting, set design, literally anything that didn't require family dinners.
Scrolling through applications, she sighed. The tuition fee for a decent art school hovered around 100,000 yuan. Her family would rather sponsor a potted plant than her education, so… plan B.
She had 60,000 yuan saved.
Which meant she needed 40,000 more.
ASAP.
(Fantastic. I'm broke, ambitious, and slightly burnt on one foot.)
While waiting for Jinhai's nonexistent text, she opened a job app. A food delivery company was hiring immediately — flexible hours, good pay, commission-based.
(So basically, deliver noodles, get rich. Sounds doable.)
She applied on the spot, grinning.
If the studio session ever did happen today — big if — she'd go straight from the mic to the moped.
Because apparently, that was her life now.
Singer by day.
Delivery girl by night.
And secretly?
She was kind of okay with that.
Lily was mid-scroll, comparing "motorbike rental rates near me" and "cheap college dorms with working Wi-Fi," when her phone suddenly buzzed.
She didn't think much of it at first—probably another spam message or one of those "Congratulations! You've won a rice cooker" scams—until she saw the name flash across the screen.
Jinhai.
Her heart did a literal backflip.
(Oh my God. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD.)
For a solid three seconds, she just stared at the screen, frozen. Then panic set in.
(Why is he calling? Why now? Why does my hair look like this even though he can't see me?)
Her brain scrambled into crisis mode. She frantically cleared her throat—once, twice, five times—as if she were about to perform a TED Talk.
"Okay, breathe," she muttered under her breath, pacing. "You're fine. You're chill. You're not a psycho who reread his texts twelve times last night. You are a normal human being. Totally. Normal."
Her phone buzzed again in her hand.
(Right. Answer it before he thinks you ghosted him, idiot.)
One more deep breath.
Another throat clear—just to be safe.
Then, with all the composure of a woman who was absolutely not losing her mind, Lily swiped to answer.
"...Hello?"
Her voice came out two octaves higher than usual.
(Nailed it.)
"Hello, Liang Princess. What are you doing?"
The voice on the other end was deep. Calm. Effortlessly confident.
The kind of voice that could probably sell toothpaste or start a war.
Lily froze. Her brain? Gone. Her vocabulary? Deleted. Her dignity? Missing in action.
(Why—why does his voice sound like that? Who allowed this level of majesty over a phone call?)
She opened her mouth, ready to say something—anything clever—
And what came out was:
"Umm… aaa… nothing."
(Nothing?! REALLY, LILY?! Out of the entire English language, that's what you went with? Nothing?!)
There was a soft chuckle on the other end. That smooth, low laugh that made her toes curl and her brain cells file for resignation.
"Well then," he said, tone dropping dangerously casual, "you've got five minutes, Lily. I'm standing downstairs. Don't keep me waiting too long."
Her heart stopped. Then restarted. Then started sprinting.
"YOU WHAT—" she yelped, half choking on her own breath—
But the line had already gone dead.
She stared at her phone, wide-eyed, like it had personally betrayed her.
(Downstairs?! As in downstairs downstairs? As in physically existing at this location? RIGHT NOW?)
She jumped off her bed so fast she nearly sent her laptop flying.
Her mind was in absolute chaos.
(Oh my god. He's actually here. He's HERE. Why is he here? Why didn't he text first? Why didn't I brush my hair? Why am I like this?)
Cue full-blown panic mode.
Because apparently, the universe had decided Lily Liang's morning wasn't chaotic enough already.
Lily stood frozen for three whole seconds after the call ended.
Then everything hit her at once.
"HE'S DOWNSTAIRS!" she whisper-screamed, clutching her phone like it was a weapon. "HE'S ACTUALLY DOWNSTAIRS."
(Okay. Breathe. It's fine. You are a calm, collected adult woman who—ohmygodyoulooklikeawreck.)
She spun toward her cupboard like a woman possessed.
The doors flew open, and chaos officially began.
Her closet was a battlefield of questionable fashion decisions — half the clothes were crumpled, some still smelled faintly of last week's perfume, and her favorite top was mysteriously missing (probably sitting in the laundry).
She yanked out an oversized hoodie.
Too casual.
(You'll look like you just rolled out of bed—which, let's be honest, you did.)
Then a dress.
Too fancy.
(You're going to a recording studio, not your own engagement party, calm down.)
Then jeans.
Too tight.
(Great. Now you can't breathe and you're late.)
"Why don't I own NORMAL clothes?" she muttered, half buried in a pile of fabric, her hair now sticking up like an electric broom. "Something that says: Yes, I'm professional, but also Yes, I'm effortlessly cool, and also No, I didn't spend 20 minutes talking to myself about what to wear."
(Oh my god, what if he's timing me? He said five minutes. Five minutes. That's like... three outfit meltdowns and one emotional breakdown.)
She glanced at the mirror.
Her reflection looked like someone who'd lost an argument with gravity.
"Perfect," she muttered. "Exactly the image I want to give the man who called me 'Liang Princess.'"
Finally, she settled on a fitted white top and loose Jean shorts. Casual but cute.
(Yes. Perfect. Approachable but not desperate. Stylish but not trying too hard. Basically the female equivalent of saying 'oh this old thing?' when you spent an hour picking it out.)
She ran a hand through her hair, and did something she never did - slapped on some pink lip balm, and grabbed her phone.
Heart pounding.
She stopped right in front of the door.
Her hand hovered over the knob.
(Okay. You've got this, Lily. Just… walk out there. Smile. Pretend you didn't have a mini breakdown over outfit choices. You're fine. Totally fine.)
She took one deep breath—
And opened the door.
Standing right outside her door was Han, holding a sandwich in one hand and frozen mid-knock like some judgmental food delivery man.
"Holy moly, Lily. Where are you off to looking like that?"
Lily blinked. "Is it… a bit too much?"
Han took one slow, exaggerated look at her outfit — head to toe — then deadpanned, "Yes. You look depressingly ugly."
(Wow. The support in this household is overwhelming.*)
"Oh shut up, Han," she snapped, shoving her phone into her pocket.
"I'm serious," he said around a bite of his sandwich. "Where are you even going at this hour? It's, like, one in the afternoon. Normal people are napping."
"Work," Lily blurted out automatically.
That got his attention. Han froze mid-chew. "Work? Since when do you work?"
Lily's jaw dropped. "Why do I look jobless to you?"
Han didn't even hesitate — he just gave her that slow, silent stare that said yes, absolutely, one hundred percent.
(Okay, rude. But also fair.)
"Oh come on, Han," Lily groaned, throwing her hands up. "You could've just lied and said no."
He grinned, clearly enjoying himself now. "Do you need me to drop you off? I'm free."
(Oh great. Because nothing says independence like your cousin chaperoning your first day of fake employment.)
Lily waved him off. "No thank you. Somebody's already here to pick me up."
The second the words left her mouth, she regretted it.
Han's entire body turned—like a radar locking onto a target. "Somebody?" he repeated slowly. "A new friend?"
(Abort mission. Abort. Mission. Immediately.)
Lily's smile twitched. "A… colleague," she managed, the word sounding about as believable as her saying she was a brain surgeon.
Han narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh."
(He's not buying it. Oh God, he's going to follow me. I'm going to have to fake a medical emergency.)
Before he could say another word, Lily clapped her hands together and backed away. "OkaygreattalkbyeHan!"
And she bolted.
Down the hallway, past the grand staircase, straight through her lingering shame.
(Run, Lily, run before the interrogation begins.)
Luckily, the universe threw her a bone — Ruilin was no longer weeping on the couch. (Thank the drama gods.)
Lily slowed for half a second at the front door, catching her reflection in the shiny vase — adjusting her hair, smoothing her jacket.
(Okay. You look fine. Totally fine. Like a responsible adult who didn't almost die picking out this outfit.)
And then she stepped outside—
—and there he was.
Jinhai.
(Yup. Best view of the day. Possibly the year. Maybe my life.)
-----------------------------
HAN'S POV
Han had just been heading toward Lily's room with a sandwich in hand — a peace offering, of sorts, for existing under the same roof as their family — when the door nearly smacked him in the face.
Lily stood there, wide-eyed and suspiciously… sparkly.
"Holy moly, Lily," he said, blinking. "Where are you off to looking like that?"
The first thing that hit him wasn't her outfit — though that was new enough to warrant concern — it was the absolute explosion of clothes behind her. Her bed looked like a clothing store after a hurricane.
And she was wearing lip gloss.
Lip gloss.
The girl who thought tinted lip balm was "too much effort."
Han's sandwich paused halfway to his mouth. (What in the world is going on here?)
"Is it a bit too much?" she asked, clearly fishing for validation.
"Yes," he replied instantly. "You look depressingly ugly."
The glare she shot him could've melted concrete. Han grinned — classic sibling reflex.
But then his grin faltered.
He'd noticed her laptop open on the bed earlier — job listings, college websites, financial planning tabs. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
She was really doing this.
(She's actually job hunting. Because Mom and Dad won't give her a cent. Because she has to survive on her own.)
The thought made something in his chest twist painfully.
His stupid, brave little sister was trying to hold her life together while their parents pretended she didn't exist.
"Where are you going this time of day?" he asked carefully.
"Work," she said, a little too fast.
"Work?" He blinked. "Since when do you work?"
"Why do I look jobless to you?" she shot back.
Han just stared at her. (Yes. That's exactly what you look like.)
"Oh come on, Han. Saying no wouldn't kill you," she muttered, brushing past him.
He smirked. "Want me to drop you off? I'm free."
That's when it happened.
The tiniest flicker of panic flashed across her face.
"No, thank you," she said, smiling too hard. "Somebody's already here to pick me up."
Han froze mid-bite. (Somebody?)
"A new friend?" he asked slowly.
She blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
(Oh, she's lying. She's doing the blinking thing. The blinking thing never lies.)
"A colleague," she said, forcing a grin that screamed suspicious.
Han narrowed his eyes. "Uh-huh."
Before he could press further, she practically bolted down the stairs.
"See ya, Han! Gotta go!"
He watched her disappear, a blur of denim and panic.
Han sighed, then took another bite of his sandwich.
(Something's fishy. She never moves that fast unless it's for snacks or emotional damage.)
He wandered over to the window beside the hall, leaning casually as he chewed.
And there — right outside the manor gates — was the reason behind Lily's mysterious "colleague."
A tall guy stood by a sleek black car, hoodie up, mask on, posture relaxed. Even from a distance, Han could tell the man was absurdly good-looking — the kind of "good-looking" that made people question their moral compass.
When Lily came into view, the guy straightened slightly — and winked.
Han bit into his sandwich again, smirking to himself.
"Oooooo… now who is this?" he murmured under his breath. "They're definitely not meeting up for work."