Late one night, in the solitude of her penthouse, Li Yueran reflected on the past eighteen years. Every act she had orchestrated—the gentle gifts, the careful protections, the soft words—had been deliberate. And yet, the tenderness she felt toward Aiden was instinctive, a force that had grown alongside her obsession.
"I have waited eighteen years to see you," she whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of a photograph of him as a baby. "And now… I cannot let you go."
Meilin stood silently in the doorway, sensing the intensity, the quiet obsession that simmered beneath her mother's gentle exterior. "Mother… be careful," she said softly.
Li Yueran's lips curved into a serene smile, almost sad. "I must," she said. "But I cannot help what I feel. I will guide him gently… until the day he trusts me completely."