The Santana glided past like a creature from another world—a luxury car with sleek, graceful lines and a body so polished it gleamed obsidian under the sun.
Lin Miao couldn't help but lean forward ever so slightly, her eyes tracing the vehicle's path with a mixture of awe and longing. She had once ridden in such opulent cars before—during her days with Gong Zhan. Those were the golden days, when the car belonged to the prestigious Gong family and came with its own chauffeur. Everything about it screamed prestige and power.
She remembered sitting inside, spine perfectly straight, looking out through tinted windows at the pedestrians hurrying past, the cyclists weaving through traffic. In that moment, she had felt like a true heiress, a woman who belonged to the upper echelons of society.
