In the deep autumn of Lucheng, the air was bitingly cold.
That night, Qiao Jika stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her apartment, gazing down from the 57th floor with a cold detachment.
Her eyes fell upon the Huangpu River, a witness to the fleeting opulence of Shanghai through the ages.
Tonight, the Huangpu River was destined to grace the headlines of tomorrow's media, for it was the stage for the most dazzling fireworks display Shanghai had seen in a decade.
The only man in her life, her fiancé Qi Hua, was at that very moment holding the hand of her closest friend. Under the radiant sky, on the river's surface shimmering like diamonds from the fireworks, he solemnly declared to the priest, "I do!"
Qiao Jika knew that as soon as the vow was uttered, a diamond ring the size of a pigeon's egg would be slipped onto the bride's slender, pale ring finger. Then, just as it had been when she and Qi Hua were engaged, he would kiss her—a kiss so convincing that everyone present would believe in love without a shadow of a doubt.
But to hell with love!
When she was the heiress of the Qiao Group, he had professed his love to her.
When her father jumped to his death, her mother took poison, and the Qiao Group declared bankruptcy, he had told her, "From now on, you can only be my mistress!"
And so, the grand wedding she had poured her heart and soul into planning for herself had, in the blink of an eye, become the bridal attire for a woman named Tong Xiaoxiao.
Yes, bridal attire!
The white gown the bride was wearing had been designed and tailored by the best designer in France, flown in especially for this occasion!
Just like that, she had gone from being the rightful wife to a mistress, bearing the marks of yesterday's passion, transitioning from a life of openness to one of secrecy.
Yet, she couldn't leave him, because leaving would mean her brother, lying in the hospital, dependent on machines and medication to sustain his life, would stop breathing immediately.
...
With a swift tilt of her head, Qiao Jika downed the small glass of vodka she held. It had become her habit, though she couldn't quite remember when it started, to keep herself in a state of mild intoxication.
This way, she could ignore the nightmares deeply rooted in her memory, and when Qi Hua licked and penetrated her body, it wouldn't feel as repulsive. She thought to herself, "This must be what they mean by 'drunken stupor and dreamlike death'."
Down by the river, fireworks blossomed into countless romantic double hearts, with what appeared to be a Cupid's arrow piercing through the center. These specially ordered fireworks, meant to celebrate love, now cruelly highlighted her own misery, beautifully setting the stage for a love story that began with abandonment and betrayal.
Qiao Jika felt compelled to witness it herself. After all, it was a wedding that Shanghai hadn't seen in a decade, one she had meticulously planned for over three hundred days, finally unfolding in all its glory today. How could the mastermind behind it all just stand here and watch from afar?
Her trench coat, wristwatch, perfume, and handbag—all from Versace—were the last remnants of her luxury after her family's bankruptcy. To attend such a globally anticipated wedding, dressing shabbily would mean she couldn't even get close to the banks of the Huangpu River tonight.
...
Descending from her 57th-floor apartment was easy and straightforward. Qi Hua hadn't stationed anyone at her door, confident that she wouldn't cause a scene. For the sake of her family's dignity and her brother's life, she would obediently offer her silent blessings from behind the glass window.
This was Qi Hua's understanding of Qiao Jika, and she knew he was right. Even as she descended the stairs and made her way toward the ferry terminal at the Bund, Qiao Jika's sole intention was to catch a glimpse of the wedding scene she had meticulously planned, to see how it had all come together.
She didn’t plan to get close, to reveal herself, to cry, or to make a scene. Her tears had long since dried up, lost in the abyss of grief that had consumed her when her father’s body had shattered from a fatal fall, leaving a sea of blood before her eyes. Not crying wasn’t a sign of indifference—it was because her heart had shattered beyond repair. Broken hearts don’t gather tears.
“Just take a look and leave,” she thought, but the idea was far too naive. It wasn’t until she boarded the ferry alone that Qiao Jika realized how foolish her actions truly were. She had assumed she could slip in quietly and leave just as unnoticed. She had thought her Versace outfit was understated enough to blend in with the guests, avoiding any prying eyes. But she had underestimated the insatiable appetite for gossip and the media’s relentless ability to dig up stories.
And she certainly hadn’t anticipated that, with just one turn on the ferry, she would come face-to-face with the bride, who had just changed into a new gown and was making her rounds to toast the guests.
