The clinking of cutlery and polished small talk filled the Li family dining room like white noise.
Lin Yuhan sat beside Shen Mochen, eyes half-lidded, fork untouched on his plate. His parents—still proud and clueless—smiled at guests like this engagement was a royal decree. Across the table sat Li Meilei, radiant and dangerous in equal parts, her voice already dripping with performance.
"Yuhan," Meilei cooed sweetly, "you've been so quiet tonight. Jet lag still holding you hostage?"
Her concern was fake. Yuhan didn't need proof—he'd heard that same tone used to kill gossip with a smile in university lounges and charity luncheons. Fake worry, real shade.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he took a slow sip of water and set the glass down with measured grace.
"I'm fine. In fact, I think I'm the clearest I've ever been." He let the words sit there, then added, voice smooth: "It's just… surprising. Seeing you looking so well-rested, Meilei."
A tiny flicker of something cracked in her polished expression. But Meilei recovered quickly, brushing invisible lint off her cream blouse. "Thank you! Self-care's everything these days."
Shen Mochen subtly turned his attention toward them. The air had shifted. He felt it too.
Yuhan tilted his head, studying Meilei like a biologist might observe a rat in a maze.
"Yes," he said slowly, "you'd have to be at your best, considering how much you've taken on lately. That kind of stress can really age a person."
Meilei blinked, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult.
Spoiler: it was both.
Shen Mochen's brow twitched—barely—but enough. He caught the undertone.
He remembered how Meilei had always inserted herself into Yuhan's business back then, always offering to "help" manage his shares, suggesting "delegation" while slowly draining him of power and presence.
"Oh, someone has to be strong," Meilei replied with a bright, toothy smile. She leaned slightly toward Mochen, hand brushing his arm like she had a right to it. "Right?"
Yuhan didn't even blink. He picked up his knife, cut into his untouched fish, and said without looking up,
"People who keep reminding others how strong they are… usually aren't."
Then he looked up. Directly at her.
"They're just trying to convince themselves."
The smile on Meilei's face didn't falter—but the sparkle in her eye dimmed. A flicker of fear? Of realization? Hard to say. She looked away first.
"Yuhan, don't tease your sister," their mother chided gently from the head of the table, entirely missing the tension curling under the surface.
"Just making conversation, Mum," Yuhan said lightly, glancing at Meilei again. "We are family, after all. And I do hope she keeps enjoying the spotlight. It suits her… You've always been good at acquiring things, haven't you, Meilei?"
That one hit.
Her jaw tightened, ever so slightly.
Good.
Before Meilei could regroup, Shen Mochen set his wine down with a quiet clink.
"Yuhan," he said, voice smooth but edged like a paper cut, "why don't you tell us about your trip? I heard it was… eventful."
Translation: I see what you're doing. Are you going to keep pushing?
Yuhan turned slowly, met his gaze, and smiled.
"Sure," he said lightly. "Let's talk about it another time. I wouldn't want to overshadow other people's performances tonight."
He didn't need to say more. Not yet. That wasn't the point.
Let them notice the shift. Let them wonder where the old Yuhan went. Let them sweat.
He sipped his drink again, this time savoring it.
This was the first of many subtle detonations. The kind no one sees until the dust settles and they realize they're standing in rubble.