The private jet cut through the sea of clouds over the capital like a silver blade. Inside the pressurized cabin, the atmosphere was thick with a silence that even the hum of the engines couldn't mask.
Chen Ying sat in a wide, cream-colored leather seat, her gaze fixed on the sprawling lights of the city below. She was dressed in a sleek, tailored black trench coat over a simple silk dress—no jewelry, no heavy makeup, just the obsidian clarity of her eyes.
Across from her, Chen Shao was hunched over his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys as he coordinated with the legal team. Chen Jue sat in the corner, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, clutching a bottle of water as if it were a holy relic. Chen Heng, the patriarch, sat at the head of the cabin, staring at his daughter with a mixture of pride and guilt.
