🥶 Part I: The Unfeeling Shield
Meiyu woke up the morning of the deposition feeling hollowed out. The warmth of the unfiltered Chenxu was gone, replaced by the chilling weight of her choice. The Crane, the heart of the man she loved, was sealed in the metal box back at the penthouse. She only had The Lens (Kwon's Shadow) tucked into her blazer pocket, a cool, logical weapon of war.
Meiyu dressed in a black, high-collared suit that looked less like clothing and more like armor. Her face was set in the neutral, unflappable expression of 'The Architect,' devoid of any residual warmth or vulnerability.
Chenxu met her in the foyer. He was dressed impeccably, his posture rigid, his face an almost-perfect replica of his old, controlled image. The magic of the Shadow had shifted him: he was stable, professional, and emotionally distant.
"Good morning, Meiyu," Chenxu said, his voice flat, professional, and utterly lacking the spark she loved. "I have reviewed the case notes. I find the legal strategy... financially sound."
He offered her his arm. Meiyu, forcing a faint, professional smile, linked hers through it. The large diamond ring on her finger felt heavy, cold, and fake.
"Maintain the professional façade, Meiyu. His control is at eighty-five percent. Do not attempt emotional contact," The Lens advised, its sapphire light emanating a low, steady hum of clinical preparedness.
🏛️ Part II: The Legal Battlefield
The deposition room was small, severe, and tense. Chenxu sat opposite Eun-Joo and her sharp-eyed lawyer. Meiyu sat beside Chenxu, radiating an aura of impenetrable, high-value commitment.
Eun-Joo was flawlessly composed, but her eyes held a cold, venomous edge of desperation. Her lawyer led the questioning, establishing the premise that Chenxu's current behavior was a symptom of longstanding emotional volatility, making him an unreliable contract partner.
"Mr. Chenxu," Eun-Joo's lawyer began, his tone smoothly sympathetic. "Your current fiancée, Ms. Lin, is a relatively new presence in your life. We have documentation of your history with my client, Ms. Min Eun-Joo. Isn't it true that in 2018, you experienced a severe emotional crisis that required immediate public relations intervention?"
Chenxu's face remained neutral, his control holding fast. "In 2018, I experienced a period of personal realignment. It was a necessary structural change to my professional outlook."
Eun-Joo leaned forward, her voice soft and dangerously empathetic. "Chenxu, look at me. It's just us, behind closed doors. Don't you remember that night you called me, sobbing, because you felt utterly empty? Because the fame was a cage? Doesn't that emptiness still linger beneath the surface?"
This was the trap. Eun-Joo wasn't asking a legal question; she was asking a raw, emotional one, trying to trip his unfiltered self into confessing the deepest truth of his loneliness.
Meiyu felt a powerful urge to squeeze his hand, to give him a simple, loving defense. But she couldn't.
The Crane is sealed away. The shield is cold.
🧊 Part III: The Lens's Counterattack
"Counter-attack with objective financial analysis," The Lens directed, its pulse quickening. "Her emotional appeals are a weakness. Exploit the logic of stability."
Meiyu didn't speak. She subtly shifted her hand, the huge diamond flashing in the fluorescent light, resting her arm squarely on the table for everyone to see. She then used a small, calculated movement, the one the Shadows called the 'Dismissive Glare of Wealth,' simply raising her eyebrow at Eun-Joo.
Chenxu, seeing the cold, professional display of commitment and control, instantly mirrored it.
"Ms. Min," Chenxu said, his voice regaining its public, commanding modulation. "My past 'realignment' was a necessary step toward the long-term monetization of my personal brand. My professional stability is now guaranteed by my engagement to Ms. Lin, whose acumen ensures my emotional health is viewed as a calculated, profitable asset. Any instability Ms. Min witnessed in the past was simply a temporary lack of robust financial guidance."
The room fell silent. Eun-Joo's lawyer stared, stunned. Chenxu had just turned an emotional confession into a bulletproof financial statement.
Eun-Joo's elegant composure finally snapped. She slammed her hand on the table. "This is absurd! You don't love her! You're using her to look stable! Your only motivation is your image!"
⚔️ Part IV: The Ultimate Defense
This was the pivotal moment. Eun-Joo had just committed a major professional mistake: turning the deposition into a personal, unprovable attack.
Meiyu leaned forward, her voice cutting through the tension—cold, precise, and utterly lethal.
"Ms. Min," Meiyu began, her gaze unwavering. "We are here to discuss a breach of contract based on alleged emotional volatility. I am here as Mr. Chenxu's fiancée, and as his primary emotional architect."
She paused, letting the silence draw out. "Mr. Chenxu has been forthright. His motivation is stability. My motivation, Ms. Min, is to ensure that the man I love—the man who can now look at his past without needing a complete mental shutdown—is never again preyed upon by those who mistake vulnerability for weakness."
Meiyu then delivered the final, crushing blow, echoing the analytical disdain of The Lens. "The plaintiff's case suggests my fiancé is volatile. My ring and my presence suggest he is a strategic, long-term asset. The plaintiff's attempt to destabilize him now, under oath, only proves her entire case is based on professional malice, not emotional damage."
Eun-Joo's lawyer frantically cut her off. The battle was over. Meiyu's icy professionalism, powered by the ruthless logic of The Lens, had completely dismantled the emotional trap.
đź’” Part V: The Cost of the Shield
The deposition was adjourned shortly after, Eun-Joo's case utterly defeated by the weaponized logic of the engagement.
Outside the courtroom, Chenxu was surrounded by Mr. Kim and his entourage, celebrating the financial victory. He was smiling, his polished public mask firmly in place. He was safe.
Meiyu lagged behind, feeling an overwhelming, painful emptiness.
Chenxu turned back, his expression controlled, but something in his eyes—a tiny flicker of confusion—broke through.
"Meiyu," he said, walking back to her. He reached out, not to hold her hand, but to adjust the collar of her armored suit. "That was... masterful. You were utterly ruthless. You are the finest professional defense I have ever encountered."
He looked at her, searching for the connection that had been there only days before. "I feel completely protected. But... I feel like I owe you something. I can't quite... identify the debt."
Meiyu realized the horrific truth: the Crane was still sealed away. The kiss, the secrets, the love—the genuine reality—was now gone to him, replaced only by a sense of professional gratitude. He didn't remember the warmth, only the efficacy of her defense.
"You owe me nothing, Chenxu," Meiyu said, her voice flat, the Icy Architect's mask glued tight. "It was strategically sound. That is all."
She turned and walked toward the waiting car, the large diamond on her hand mocking the emptiness in her heart. She had saved him, but she had lost him.