Saturday morning.
The sunlight fell diagonally through the hotel's French windows, glinting off rows of silver chairs wrapped in white silk ribbons.
It was the wedding of the century—
Victor Wang, director of BlueSky Media, and Lauren Ling, the company's golden girl.
Every guest was rich, famous, or pretending to be either.
Cameras flashed like a storm.
Reporters buzzed.
The bride's white gown shimmered under the chandeliers.
Lauren looked flawless.
Calm.
Gentle.
Like nothing could ever shake her.
The emcee's voice boomed through the ballroom speakers:
"Ladies and gentlemen— today, let us celebrate the union of two souls destined to meet…"
Evan Chen stood near the back, in a perfectly pressed suit.
He hadn't been invited.
But he was there anyway.
Someone once said:
Love makes a man gentle.
Hatred makes him elegant.
Evan looked devastatingly calm.
His hair was combed back neatly; his tie was impeccable.
No one would've guessed that, just a week ago, he was passed out drunk, covered in vomit, and being scrubbed by a stranger auntie.
Monkey Hou whispered beside him, nearly hyperventilating:
"Captain… what are we doing here again? We're not even on the guest list!"
Evan took a sip of champagne.
"Observing."
"Observing what?"
"Human hypocrisy," he said flatly.
Monkey blinked.
"Can't we do that somewhere that doesn't serve fifteen-dollar cocktails?"
Evan ignored him.
His eyes never left the bride.
---
At the front, Victor Wang was all smiles—
the kind that could buy stock options with charisma alone.
When he turned to face Lauren, his grin was confident, practiced, perfect.
He'd stolen his subordinate's girlfriend,
and now he was marrying her in front of the entire industry.
It was a power move.
A declaration.
A message that said:
"I win."
The priest raised his hand.
"Do you, Victor Wang, take this woman—"
"I do."
"And do you, Lauren Ling, take this man—"
Before Lauren could answer, the ballroom doors slammed open.
BANG.
Every head turned.
The staff froze.
The photographers gasped.
Even the violinists stopped mid-note.
Evan walked in.
The bright morning sun poured around him, outlining his figure like a cinematic entrance scene.
Monkey trailed behind, holding two briefcases and looking like he wanted to dig a hole and die in it.
Lauren's smile froze instantly.
Her pupils shrank.
Victor frowned.
"What is this?"
Evan walked down the aisle, slow, steady, calm.
The security guards approached.
He raised a hand.
"Don't bother. I'm not here to make trouble."
His voice carried clearly through the sound system—
smooth, articulate, almost polite.
He stopped halfway, looked at Lauren, and smiled faintly.
"Sorry I'm late," he said softly.
"I just came to return something that used to belong to me."
From his pocket, he took out a small black velvet box.
Inside—
a silver engagement ring.
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Lauren's face went pale.
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Evan Chen," he said coldly, "this is my wedding. Leave."
Evan looked up, eyes glinting.
"Oh, I will," he said. "Just as soon as I give back what's yours."
He walked forward, handed the box to Victor, and smiled again.
"This belongs to you now."
He turned to leave.
But before he reached the door, he paused—
glanced over his shoulder, voice cool as steel.
"Congratulations, Director Wang.
You finally got the woman you wanted."
A beat.
"But remember—
she once said she loved me."
The room fell silent.
Lauren trembled, clutching her bouquet.
Her carefully composed smile cracked—just slightly.
Evan looked at her one last time.
Then he left.
---
Outside the hotel, the wind was sharp.
Evan walked straight out into the bright air, loosened his tie, and exhaled.
Monkey caught up, panting.
"Captain—holy crap— that was INSANE. You could've gotten sued!"
Evan shrugged.
"I didn't break anything. Didn't yell. Didn't even insult anyone."
"Yeah, but you emotionally nuked the wedding."
Evan smiled faintly.
"That's not my problem."
He looked up at the sky—
clear, painfully blue.
"For the first time," he said softly,
"I actually feel clean."
---
That evening, his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He hesitated, then answered.
A cold, familiar female voice came through.
"Mr. Chen," she said, each word precise and chilly.
"This is Kora Keene."
Evan blinked.
"…The actress?"
"I have a proposition for you."
"What kind?"
"Revenge."
Click.
The call ended.
Evan stood there for a long time, the dial tone humming in his ear.
Then, very quietly, he smiled.