Birthday night. Lin Zhi was drunk.
She straddled Fu Juanzhou, nails digging into his throat, words slurred yet razor-sharp:
"I want you to sign a lock-up… sign it… no touching anyone else… four years… no, ten…"
Fu Juanzhou gripped her waist, flipped her into the mattress, voice low and vicious as an oath:
"Fine. But you give me preferred liquidation rights.
If you ever try to leave first,
I will liquidate everything you have.
Including the rest of your life."
Lin Zhi laughed, but tears fell,
burning like molten lead on his chest.
That night, for the first time, the reflection in the Huangpu River went quiet.
No blood. No numbers.
Only two hearts, on the same bed,
beating—at last—at exactly the same frequency.