Lily brewed her coffee a little stronger that morning — partly because she needed the energy, mostly because she was emotionally exhausted from existing.
Last night's events kept replaying in her head like a badly edited drama scene. Everything felt distant… fuzzy… embarrassingly cringe.
Had that really happened? Or had she dreamed the whole thing up?
(God, please tell me it was a dream.)
She shook her head for what had to be the fourth time since waking up — though "waking up" was generous, considering she'd rolled out of bed at noon.
Her private sanctuary, aka the servant quarters' kitchen, was the one place she could exist without accidentally bumping into a family member and being reminded that she, in fact, was the household embarrassment.
(Also, the main kitchen had people in it. And people meant conversations. Ew.)
Her social battery had died somewhere between dessert and disaster yesterday. Recharging it? Not happening.
Lily squinted at her phone while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
No new notifications.
No unread messages.
No Jinhai.
(Cue dramatic gasp.)
He still hadn't texted her the address for the studio session. For all she knew, the recording could've been this morning, and she was about to make her debut as "that flaky singer who never showed up."
It was already one in the afternoon.
Yes, she'd woken up late.
Yes, she'd stayed up scrolling through her WeChat chat with him like a lovesick teenager.
And no, she didn't regret it.
(Okay, maybe a little. But only because she looked unhinged grinning at her phone at 3 a.m.)
Was she excited about the studio session?
Absolutely.
Was it also possible she was excited about him?
…No comment.
Lost in her thoughts, Lily poured the coffee — or at least she thought she was pouring the coffee.
Until—
"AHHHHHHHH—HOT! HOT! HOTTTTT!"
Boiling liquid kissed her toes with the fiery passion of regret.
She jumped back, flailing like a malfunctioning robot, as her coffee mug overflowed in glorious slow motion. Brown liquid cascaded over the counter and puddled onto the floor.
Perfect. Just perfect.
First no text.
Now third-degree toe burns.
"Great start to the day, Lily," she muttered, hopping on one foot. "Maybe the universe can throw in a papercut next? Or a lightning strike? Really complete the look."
After icing her poor, traumatized toes and cleaning up the caffeine crime scene, Lily decided she'd earned the right to exist again. She stepped out of her room, passing the narrow balcony that overlooked the grand hall — and instantly froze.
There, in the middle of the luxurious chaos below, sat Ruilin — her dear stepsister — bawling her eyes out like a tragic heroine from a 200-episode drama.
Tissues were everywhere. Like, everywhere.
The sofa looked like it had snowed sorrow.
And right beside her sat Hui, patting Ruilin's back with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to comfort a weeping tornado.
Lily blinked. Once. Twice.
Then raised a very judgmental eyebrow.
(Oh no. Not another episode of "Ruilin's Emotional Breakdown: Deluxe Edition.")
Quietly, Lily ducked behind the wall, craning her neck to listen — purely out of anthropological curiosity, of course.
Between Ruilin's hiccups and dramatic sobbing, she caught the words—
> "He… Mingzhe… that asshole! I can't believe it… he broke up with me without a single thought! He said—he said he loves someone else!"
Lily's jaw nearly dropped.
Mingzhe?!
(Wait. Wait wait wait. Back up. Ruilin and Mingzhe? THAT Mingzhe?)
Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds.
Then everything clicked.
So when she'd seen them together at the gala that night — her beloved ex and her beloved sister — she hadn't been imagining things after all.
(Well, slap me with irony and call me karma.)
Of course it had to be Mingzhe. The same guy who'd dumped her with the same lazy line: "I love someone else."
Yeah, that someone else had been her stepsister.
(Honestly, men have no sense of originality.)
He'd gone on to date half the school afterward, probably thinking he was the main character. And now? He'd dumped Ruilin, too.
Lily bit back a grin.
(Tragic. Just tragic. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.)
She tiptoed away before her face gave away how delighted she was, humming a little tune as she slipped back into her room.
Instant mood lift: achieved.
She flopped onto her bed, opening her laptop. Reality check — she needed to start applying for colleges. Her dream? Art school.
(Preferably one far, far away from this emotional circus.)
If the whole singing and acting plan didn't work out, she'd settle for something behind the scenes — lighting, set design, literally anything that didn't require family dinners.
Scrolling through applications, she sighed. The tuition fee for a decent art school hovered around 100,000 yuan. Her family would rather sponsor a potted plant than her education, so… plan B.
She had 60,000 yuan saved.
Which meant she needed 40,000 more.
ASAP.
(Fantastic. I'm broke, ambitious, and slightly burnt on one foot.)
While waiting for Jinhai's nonexistent text, she opened a job app. A food delivery company was hiring immediately — flexible hours, good pay, commission-based.
(So basically, deliver noodles, get rich. Sounds doable.)
She applied on the spot, grinning.
If the studio session ever did happen today — big if — she'd go straight from the mic to the moped.
Because apparently, that was her life now.
Singer by day.
Delivery girl by night.
And secretly?
She was kind of okay with that.
Lily was mid-scroll, comparing "motorbike rental rates near me" and "cheap college dorms with working Wi-Fi," when her phone suddenly buzzed.
She didn't think much of it at first—probably another spam message or one of those "Congratulations! You've won a rice cooker" scams—until she saw the name flash across the screen.
Jinhai.
Her heart did a literal backflip.
(Oh my God. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD.)
For a solid three seconds, she just stared at the screen, frozen. Then panic set in.
(Why is he calling? Why now? Why does my hair look like this even though he can't see me?)
Her brain scrambled into crisis mode. She frantically cleared her throat—once, twice, five times—as if she were about to perform a TED Talk.
"Okay, breathe," she muttered under her breath, pacing. "You're fine. You're chill. You're not a psycho who reread his texts twelve times last night. You are a normal human being. Totally. Normal."
Her phone buzzed again in her hand.
(Right. Answer it before he thinks you ghosted him, idiot.)
One more deep breath.
Another throat clear—just to be safe.
Then, with all the composure of a woman who was absolutely not losing her mind, Lily swiped to answer.
"...Hello?"
Her voice came out two octaves higher than usual.
(Nailed it.)
"Hello, Liang Princess. What are you doing?"
The voice on the other end was deep. Calm. Effortlessly confident.
The kind of voice that could probably sell toothpaste or start a war.
Lily froze. Her brain? Gone. Her vocabulary? Deleted. Her dignity? Missing in action.
(Why—why does his voice sound like that? Who allowed this level of majesty over a phone call?)
She opened her mouth, ready to say something—anything clever—
And what came out was:
"Umm… aaa… nothing."
(Nothing?! REALLY, LILY?! Out of the entire English language, that's what you went with? Nothing?!)
There was a soft chuckle on the other end. That smooth, low laugh that made her toes curl and her brain cells file for resignation.
"Well then," he said, tone dropping dangerously casual, "you've got five minutes, Lily. I'm standing downstairs. Don't keep me waiting too long."
Her heart stopped. Then restarted. Then started sprinting.
"YOU WHAT—" she yelped, half choking on her own breath—
But the line had already gone dead.
She stared at her phone, wide-eyed, like it had personally betrayed her.
(Downstairs?! As in downstairs downstairs? As in physically existing at this location? RIGHT NOW?)
She jumped off her bed so fast she nearly sent her laptop flying.
Her mind was in absolute chaos.
(Oh my god. He's actually here. He's HERE. Why is he here? Why didn't he text first? Why didn't I brush my hair? Why am I like this?)
Cue full-blown panic mode.
Because apparently, the universe had decided Lily Liang's morning wasn't chaotic enough already.