The iron gates of the Chen Manor swung open with a heavy, rhythmic groan that sounded to Chen Ying like the tolling of a funeral bell for her past self. For years, this sprawling estate had been a fortress of coldness, a place where her footsteps were ignored and her existence was a mere footnote in the family's grand narrative.
As the black car glided to a silent halt in the circular driveway, the evening sun cast long shadows across the meticulously manicured lawn, turning the white marble of the manor into a pale, ghostly grey.
Yang Muchen sat in the darkness of the backseat, his posture regal yet tense. His eyes were fixed on the profile of the woman beside him.
