The banquet hall was blazing with light, the champagne tower throwing off a glare sharp enough to make people squint.

At the center of the engagement stage sat an antique‑style bronze marriage box. On both sides, pale‑green porcelain screens held a few branches of gold‑red peonies still beaded with dew. Behind them, a giant double‑happiness screen—with intricate patterns traced in gold lacquer—stood quietly, the four gilded characters reading “Sullivan–Kingsley Union” burning bright in the middle.

But the thing that really grabbed attention was the engagement display board beside it.

The bride‑to‑be had that classic oval face, brows soft as distant mountains, eyes like ink melting into misty Jiangnan rain. The bright‑red Su‑embroidery cheongsam hugged her slender figure; her waist looked so thin a breeze could snap it. She had this gentle, old‑world vibe, like she’d just stepped out of an ancient painting.

Anyone walking past that display board couldn’t help sneaking a second look.

And the bride‑to‑be herself now stood under the lights, head slightly lowered, her usually gentle face wiped clean of emotion.

In front of her stood a man in a sharp suit, guilt written all over his face as he said,

“Miranda, I’m sorry. I can’t go through with this engagement. She came back. She needs me… without me she won’t make it. She relies on me too much. I don’t want to hurt both of you.”

Miranda Kingsley’s lashes trembled before she slowly lifted her eyes.

“Who is she? What’s her name?”

A flicker of coldness flashed in Richie Sullivan’s gaze. “What are you trying to do? She’s innocent. This is between us. Don’t drag her into it. Whatever your family loses today, the Sullivans will cover it.”

Miranda stared at the man in front of her, finding him suddenly unfamiliar—almost like a stranger wearing Richie’s face.

Yesterday he was still talking about their future, swearing he’d love her forever. And today, he didn’t hesitate for a second to cut her open just to shield another woman.

Her frosty expression made Richie feel oddly unsettled.

The Miranda he knew was like a porcelain doll under warm lights—soft, considerate, always gentle. Even when she got upset, she’d only pout a little.

So even now, she’d probably calm down soon, right? Understand his “reasons,” like she always did?

“So, the Sullivan family is willing to compensate for everything my family lost today? Your parents agreed too?”

“That’s right,” Richie replied, thinking he’d already handled things with more dignity than most. “Bring me the bill. The Sullivans will handle all expenses. Miranda, we just don’t have that fate. But we can still be friends, yeah?”

Miranda’s brows lifted slightly, her voice crisp and decisive. “Sure.”

Richie froze for a beat, not expecting her to accept it so quickly. Before he could react, Miranda had already brushed past him without a backward glance.

A slim figure slipped out of the lounge.

She didn’t rush, but every click of her heels sounded firm, like she was cutting ties with everything from before.

Right at the doorway, she finally stopped. Her back straightened, her face settling back into its usual gentle expression—except now there was a sharp edge flickering in her eyes.

Then she pushed the door open.

Outside, the emcee was speaking onstage. "Today, we are honored to witness the engagement of the Sullivan and Kingsley families…"

Before he could finish, an ivory‑pale hand lifted the mic from his grasp. A soft, flowing voice rose in the hall.

"I’m truly sorry to inform everyone that our Kingsley family has decided to cancel the engagement with the Sullivan family…"

The room instantly erupted.

Jeremy Kingsley and Yvette Kingsley shot to their feet.

Mr. Sullivan and Mrs. Sullivan, however, stayed seated as if nothing about this surprised them at all.

Miranda Kingsley let out a quiet, icy laugh in her mind. Of course the Sullivan parents knew. They had still held her hand this morning, pretending they were thrilled to welcome her into the family. What a joke.

Any lingering hesitation she had evaporated.

Her eyes reddened, and tears slid silently down her cheeks.

With a face full of anguish, she said, "This is all on us, on the Kingsley family. It’s my fault. I’m the only child—my parents only have me. The elders always say a family needs someone to carry on the line. I can’t be the one who lets the Kingsley family end with me. For my parents… for the family’s future… I had no choice but to end the engagement with the Sullivans."

The moment she said that, the whole hall blew up.

"Richie Sullivan has health issues?"

"He looked perfectly fine…"

"Wait, you mean *that* kind of problem?"

"The Kingsleys aren’t exactly short on money or status. Even if the match was decent, if Richie Sullivan can’t have kids, wouldn’t that leave the Kingsleys with no heir?"

"Yeah, meanwhile the Sullivans still have three sons at home."

All eyes swung toward Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, and the rising wave of whispers made the two of them shoot to their feet.

Miranda Kingsley had always acted so gentle, so well‑behaved, that even the Sullivans started wondering for a second if their son really *did* have some kind of problem.

Meanwhile, she was still crying like her whole world had collapsed, her voice trembling. "Richie and I grew up together. He didn’t want things to end like this either. Please… everyone, stop talking about it. Just give him some dignity."

That finally snapped Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan out of their daze. They were so furious they pointed straight at her and snapped:

"Who are you calling the problem here? It’s my son who dumped you! Don’t you dare smear him like that!"

"Miranda, you usually seem so polite. How can you say something so out of line?"

Yvette Kingsley reacted instantly.

She had always treated her daughter like a treasure, and no matter what happened, she stood firmly on Miranda’s side. Now that someone was literally yelling in her daughter’s face, she stepped up without hesitation.

"Our family would never accept a son‑in‑law who can’t even have kids, nor would we want in‑laws who can’t show my daughter the basic respect she deserves. Whether this engagement happens or not is up to you. If you don’t want it, fine. Miranda’s got people praising her everywhere she goes. Men are all over the street—why would we care about one who can’t even… deliver?"

Miranda knew her mother had a fiery streak.

But she hadn’t expected her to go *that* hard. Mrs. Sullivan’s face went chalk‑white, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t breathe.

"You—you—you—"

After a good long struggle, she finally slammed the table and roared, "Who do you Kingsleys think you are? You really think the Sullivan family *needs* your daughter? Your family's practically falling apart, and you still dare lecture my son? Him being willing to marry her was a blessing your ancestors earned!"

With her bright red nails flashing, Mrs. Sullivan jabbed a finger at Miranda.

"Look at the daughter you raised—pretends to be all sweet and proper, but can’t even keep a man! This engagement is off!"

Miranda suddenly wiped the tears from the corner of her eye. When she lifted her head, there was a soft, almost serene smile on her lips—just like always.

"Who said it’s off?"

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the entire hall, pulling everyone into silence.

"Mrs. Sullivan, after what you and your son have said to my family today…"

Miranda Kingsley stepped down the platform one slow pace at a time, her red qipao catching the light like a ribbon of flame.

"No matter what Richie Sullivan does now, I'm not marrying him."

She turned back toward the crowd. Her eyes still held that soft, gentle glow she was known for, calm to the point that it made hearts tremble.

"But…"

Her voice lowered, light as a breath. "The engagement banquet goes on. Nothing changes."

The whole room blew up instantly.

Miranda let her gaze drift across the guests, then suddenly froze. Past the wide‑open doors of the hall, a figure moved in the dim corridor outside.

A man.

The lights out there were dull, barely catching on the tall outline leaning into the shadows. A plain black T‑shirt made his frame look even straighter, almost effortlessly striking.

A black baseball cap was pulled low, and a mask hid most of his face, leaving only the sharp bridge of his nose exposed.

The moment Miranda lifted her head, his eyes locked with hers—dark, unreadable, like a storm was brewing behind them. The kind of quiet pressure that hits right before thunder breaks, or like a light suddenly going out in the dead of night.

Something flickered in her chest. She moved through the hall without hesitation and, in front of everyone, caught his wrist.

Leaning closer, she kept her voice barely above a whisper. "Come with me. I need a favor."

A hint of amusement flashed in his eyes.

She looked up at him, stubborn and steady. "Name any condition you want. Deal?"