Celestine Haven was blanketed by a persistent drizzle that added a somber hue to the already tense atmosphere inside the Jiang family residence. At the center of the spacious, elegantly furnished living room sat Lan Yueran, a woman of grace and strength, but currently, her eyes burned with frustration. Across from her stood Jiang Yeming, the man she had married three years ago, a man her family had never truly accepted.
Feng Xuelan, Lan Yueran's mother, stood by the window, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes trained on Jiang Yeming.
"You've been living off my daughter's hard-earned money for years. You've brought nothing but shame to our family. How long do you think we'll tolerate your presence?"
Jiang Yeming stood silently, neither defensive nor apologetic. He had heard these words too many times to count. The only difference today was the tone—there was a finality to Feng Xuelan's voice that hadn't been there before.
"Mother, please…" Lan Yueran said weakly from the sofa. Her tone lacked conviction, more out of exhaustion than disagreement.
Feng Xuelan turned to her daughter, her face softening only slightly.
"Yueran, you're still young and capable. Why are you dragging yourself down with someone who has no ambition, no career, and no future?"
Jiang Yeming's fists clenched at his sides, but he remained composed. He looked at Lan Yueran, who couldn't even meet his gaze anymore. That was the part that stung.
"I'll leave," he said at last, his voice calm, almost too calm.
"But not because you threw me out. I'm leaving because I realize now—I was never wanted here."
He turned and walked toward the door. Feng Xuelan scoffed.
"Don't think this is some noble act. You should've left years ago."
As the door shut behind him, the silence that followed was more oppressive than the rain outside. Lan Yueran didn't move. She couldn't. A strange ache twisted in her chest, one she didn't want to examine too closely.
Jiang Yeming walked through the streets of Celestine Haven with no destination in mind. He had nothing on him but a phone and his wallet—he hadn't taken anything else from the house. For three years, he had tried to be a good husband. He cooked, cleaned, supported Lan Yueran's career, endured her mother's verbal assaults, and never once complained.
Yet, in the end, none of it mattered.
He ended up in a quiet coffee shop near the city park. It was almost empty, save for a few college students typing away at laptops. Jiang Yeming ordered a cup of black coffee and sat near the window.
He stared out, lost in thought. If he were honest with himself, part of him had always known it would come to this. Lan Yueran had never loved him—not truly. Their marriage had been born of impulse, a decision made during a turbulent time in her life. He had hoped that, with time, they could build something real.
But reality had other plans.
He pulled out his phone and stared at the lock screen. A photo of him and Lan Yueran from happier days. He deleted it. Then he scrolled through his messages—nothing. No calls. No texts. It was as if the three years they had spent together meant nothing.
—
Back at the Jiang residence, Feng Xuelan was in high spirits.
"Finally, some peace in this house," she said, sipping her tea. "That man was like a parasite."
Lan Yueran didn't respond. She kept staring at her phone, half-expecting a message from Jiang Yeming. But it never came.
That night, sleep eluded her. Her bed felt too large, too cold. She got up and went to the kitchen. Without thinking, she opened the fridge and pulled out the container of dumplings Jiang Yeming had made just the night before. She heated them, sat at the table, and ate in silence.
Each bite felt like guilt chewing through her instead.
Three days passed.
Word of the split hadn't reached the public yet. Lan Yueran, a rising star in the real estate industry, continued to run Visionary Developments, the company she had built from the ground up. Her colleagues noticed she was more irritable, more distracted. But none dared to ask.
Then came a problem she couldn't ignore.
Goldrise Holdings, one of their major suppliers, suddenly pulled out of their contract. The timing couldn't have been worse—Visionary was on the verge of launching a massive commercial project in the heart of Celestine Haven, and the materials Goldrise was supposed to deliver were essential.
She tried contacting their CEO. No response.
The next day, she received a cryptic message:
"Meet me in person at The Velvet Crown Lounge if you want to discuss the contract."
The Velvet Crown Lounge wasn't a place for casual business. It was a luxurious, members-only venue where deals were brokered under the veil of whiskey and jazz. She didn't want to go—but she had no choice.
What she didn't know was that someone else had also seen the message.
Jiang Yeming stood at a distance, his phone in hand, watching her enter the lounge through the surveillance feed he'd discreetly tapped from the club's security node earlier that afternoon. He had never truly stopped watching over her—not since the day he had made a promise to Lan Zhenghao, Yueran's father.
"If anything happens to my family, Yeming, you will step in. Contract or not. You protect them like your own blood."
And Jiang Yeming had sworn he would.
Even after being pushed out, he couldn't just walk away. Not when trouble circled Lan Yueran like vultures sensing weakness. He had noticed the withdrawal of Goldrise before she did. He suspected it wasn't a business decision, but a veiled threat—one that had deeper connections to the Iron Vultures, Red Fang, and maybe even Jiang Jianhong.
So he followed her, not as a husband anymore—but as a silent guardian bound by duty and something deeper he didn't dare admit.
When he saw her escorted into the third-floor VIP suite, his gut twisted. He checked his concealed weapon out of habit, then quietly entered through a back door he had unlocked hours ago. Whatever awaited her inside, he would handle it.
And when he heard the voice on the other side of the door—the demand for a "night" in exchange for the contract—he didn't hesitate.
He kicked the door open.
"Get your hands off my wife," he said, his voice low and deadly.
Lan Yueran turned, stunned.
Jiang Yeming?
Wei blinked in disbelief.
"Who let you in?"
Yeming didn't answer. He walked in calmly, his eyes locked on Wei. The tension in the room thickened.
Wei sneered.
"You're not in your little kitchen anymore. This is real business, not a soap opera. Leave now, or—"
He didn't get to finish.
In a blur of motion, Jiang Yeming slammed Wei's head into the table. The glass shattered. Wei collapsed, groaning.
Lan Yueran's eyes widened. She had never seen Jiang Yeming like this—calm, precise, and dangerous.
The lounge security arrived moments later, but Jiang Yeming had already stepped away, hands raised.
"I'm leaving," he said simply.
The guards hesitated, then let him go.
—
Outside the lounge, under the cold night sky, Lan Yueran caught up to him.
"Why did you come?"
Jiang Yeming didn't look at her.
"Because you needed help. Even if you don't want me, I won't let someone like Wei touch you."
Lan Yueran bit her lip.
"You could've been arrested."
"I've been through worse."
Silence fell between them.