1 Warren Ashford was the graceful young gentleman of our circle, warm and polite to everyone. Everyone except me. He hated my fragile, pitiful appearance and said it looked like I was trying to seduce people. He also refused to let any boys come near me. I endured his isolation and petty cruelty for six whole years. In the seventh year, I escaped abroad to study. I never wanted to return to that circle again or live under his shadow. After finishing three years overseas, I married my childhood friend. On the third day after returning to North City, I went to a private club on the east side for my best friend Sophie Lane’s birthday party. Someone recognized me. “Is that Celeste?” “Looks like her. Haven’t seen her in years.” I walked forward through the crowd and saw Warren leaning by the bar. Our eyes met briefly. Three years had passed, but everything he had put me through still made me tense when I saw him. Fortunately, he soon looked away. His arm rested on the back of the chair beside a girl, and he was listening to her say something. When the girl laughed, he laughed too, lazily turning the wineglass in his hand. He treated me like air and didn’t look this way again. I still wasn’t used to occasions like this, so I went out to the terrace. I opened my phone. Nathan Reed hadn’t replied. The last message was from when I was on my way to the club. He had replied, Tell me when you arrive. Now there was only my lonely message in the chat. Arrived. He was handling work. We had just gotten our marriage certificate and were already living apart. But he had said that once his current project wrapped up, he would come to North City. I turned the screen off, then on again. Typed two words. Deleted them. Typed four more. Sent them. I kind of miss you. Behind me, someone pushed open the terrace door. I turned around. Warren stood at the entrance, the cigarette in his hand glowing and dimming. He glanced at me, exhaled a smoke ring, and said, “What, three years apart and now you won’t even greet me?” I leaned against the railing, my palm slightly damp. Warren stood three steps away, eyes fixed on my face. He was a little thinner than three years ago. The line of his jaw was sharper, his shirt collar open. Those eyes were still as dark as ever. When he looked at someone, it felt like being watched by a hunter. Warren lifted his hand and flicked the ash from his cigarette. It fell into a Hermès ashtray, a small scattering of gray-white. “Three years abroad, and you forgot how to speak?” “Warren,” I called softly. “Long time no see.” He looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly. I was fifteen that year. My mother had died a month earlier, and my father sent people to bring me from the south to North City. The day the car drove through the gates of the Kingston estate, the sky was gloomy. The living room was empty. The crystal chandelier above my head was so bright it hurt my eyes. A maid told me my room was at the end of the second-floor corridor. That room was huge. Bigger than my entire home in the south. From the window, I could see the rose bushes in the garden, trimmed neatly. The only legitimate son of the Kingston family, my half-brother, had died that summer. His mother had passed away long ago, and my father had spoiled him until he became arrogant and unruly. After he accidentally learned of my existence, people said he lost his temper that night, smashed things, then drove out. In heavy rain, he went racing on the mountain road. When he took a bend, he crashed into the guardrail and died on the spot. Later, I saw his photo in my father’s study. He and my father looked very much alike. High brow bones, and when he smiled, a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth. For some reason, seeing him so bright and alive in that photo filled me with guilt. The first time I met Warren was in the Kingston living room. He had been my brother’s best friend. They went to school together, played basketball together, skipped class to play in a band together. The Ashford and Kingston families did business together, and the children of both families had grown up mixing in the same circle. That day, the butler had taken me shopping. I had barely taken off my shoes when I saw him sitting on the sofa. He raised his eyes and looked at me for a long time. Only then did he look away and take a sip of tea. The next day at school, I heard someone call me “Kingston’s illegitimate daughter.” Later, someone spilled coffee on my uniform in the changing room. Gum was stuck to my chair. Filthy notes appeared in my desk. During running practice, someone shoved me from behind, making me scrape my knee bloody on the ground. The teacher said in class that classmates should respect one another. The room was quiet for a while. After class, everything was the same. In that circle, Warren was the leader. My father was grieving his son and had poured all his energy into business. Naturally, he wouldn’t pay attention to children’s games. I had once thought about trying to please Warren. But whenever I got near him, his disgust for me grew stronger. He said, “Celeste’s mother was a temptress, and so is she.” When he said it, he was standing by the hallway window, sunlight falling on him, making him shine. When my mother and father got together, my father’s first wife had already died. Warren wasn’t unaware of that. But he still said such cruel things. The boys beside him laughed along. Some people didn’t know my background and talked to me. A boy from the honors class upstairs saw that I had scored well on the monthly English exam and came over to discuss it with me. Warren saw it and told me he hated how I always looked delicate and pitiful, as if I was deliberately seducing someone. The next day, that boy came to class with bruises on his face. After that, no other boy dared to approach me. Because of him, my high school years were a nightmare. I had no friends. Everyone was afraid of Warren. Except Sophie. But I had also seen what he looked like when he turned his anger on her. So I could only stay away from her. I endured it like that until high school graduation. When filling out college applications, I sat in my room all night, repeatedly comparing past admission scores. My father wouldn’t let me leave North City. In the end, I chose the school farthest from Warren. I was on the east side, and he was on the west. Half the city lay between us. On the first day of school, red banners hung at the gate, and plane trees shaded half the sky. For a while, I thought I had left Warren’s shadow behind. One day, I was studying at the library, sitting by the window with a calculus textbook spread open before me. Sunset shone through the window and landed on the page in a small orange patch. My phone lit up. It was a message from a boy in Warren’s circle, asking which floor I was on. I didn’t reply. Two minutes later, my phone lit up again. He sent a photo taken from the library entrance. I saw your bike. It’s in the front row. I stared at that photo for a long time. Then he sent another message telling me to behave on campus. I turned my phone face down on the desk. The next semester, one of Warren’s friends joined the student union. That year, during scholarship evaluation, my application materials were returned because one certificate lacked an official stamp. On the day the scholarship results were posted, I stood in front of the bulletin board for a long time. The wind was strong, making the glass of the board buzz. My name wasn’t on the paper behind it. When I went to Academic Affairs to supplement the document, the teacher told me to come earlier next time. This time, the public notice had already been finalized and couldn’t be changed. Later, my roommate invited us to hotpot for her birthday. When I pushed open the door, I saw three boys from Warren’s circle at the next table. One of them recognized me and nudged the person beside him. The boy beside him turned back and looked me up and down. I knew that look. He said nothing, only whispered something to his companion, and they all laughed. My roommate asked what was wrong. I said nothing and sat with my back to them. That day, I ate a lot. The spice made tears come out. My roommate asked what was wrong, and I said it was just too spicy. Before my defense, a senior in my department added me and asked if I wanted to team up. I accepted. He messaged me for two days. On the third day, he suddenly deleted me. I didn’t ask why. Later, I ran into him once at the cafeteria. When he saw me, he hurriedly lowered his head and turned away with his tray. All those years, I didn’t even know who I was afraid of. Warren wasn’t beside me, but he was everywhere. Those people were the same as him. They didn’t need to truly do anything. One look, one sentence, one message, one group chat suddenly going silent, and every door would close. I spent all that time preparing to study abroad. I thought that if I went far enough, Warren’s hand couldn’t reach me. There were many exams required for studying abroad. While other classmates went out to eat and travel, I woke up at five every morning to memorize vocabulary. The library auntie recognized me and saved the same seat for me every day. One night, it rained heavily, and I didn’t have an umbrella. She shoved hers into my hands and said, “Go home quickly. Don’t get soaked.” I held that umbrella while walking along the campus road. The rain poured down as if someone had tipped the sky over. But I felt safe. When the offer arrived, I stared at the word Congratulations on the computer screen for a long time. I had received a full scholarship. I no longer needed to spend the Kingston family’s money. Then I printed the email, folded it, and put it in a drawer. The next summer, I dragged two suitcases to the airport. When the plane took off, I looked down from the window. North City grew smaller and smaller beneath the clouds, finally becoming a gray little patch. “Was life abroad good?” Warren asked. Evening wind blew by, carrying a chill. My thoughts returned. “It was good,” I said. He glanced at me and pressed the cigarette butt into the ashtray. Then he walked toward me and stopped in front of me. I had nowhere to retreat. He was more than half a head taller than me. I smelled faint tobacco on him, along with a trace of cedar. “For you.” He took a small object from his pocket and held it out. I looked down. It was a seal the size of a thumb, made from gray-green stone. A small crouching creature was carved at the top. There were fine cracks in the seal’s body, making it look quite old. “It’s not expensive,” he said. “I bought it from an old shop in Edo a while ago.” He turned the seal over. A character was carved at the bottom in seal script. I didn’t recognize it. “It says Celeste,” he said. “Your name.” I didn’t reach for it. He weighed it lightly in his palm. “Take it.” “No need.” “Sophie has one too.” He held it out again. “Take it.” I reached out. The seal landed in my palm, heavier than it looked, the stone cool against my skin. I closed my fingers around it and felt the raised and sunken strokes at the bottom. “Thank you,” I said. He looked at my clenched fist, his lips moving slightly. A burst of laughter came from the banquet hall. Someone was cheering for the cake cutting. The music changed from piano to jazz, and the sound of the saxophone flowed lazily out. I lit my phone and glanced at it. No message. “Waiting for someone?” Warren’s gaze followed mine to the screen. “No,” I said. I tucked the seal into the inner pocket of my clutch. Warren still hadn’t left. “You’ve changed a little,” he said. “Have I?” “You used to not dare look at me.” I didn’t answer. My phone vibrated. I turned it over. It wasn’t Nathan. It was a data reminder from the carrier. Warren’s gaze fell on my phone. His lips moved, as if he was about to say something. “Warren!” Sophie pushed open the terrace door and walked in. She wore high heels, moving quickly. The flush on her face was a little deep. “What are you doing here?” She glanced at me, then at Warren. “Miss Shaw is here, looking for you outside.” Warren didn’t move. Sophie added, “Your fiancée. Bianca Shaw.” Warren’s expression darkened. He frowned, voice low. “She isn’t my fiancée.” Sophie blinked. She tilted her head to look at Warren’s expression, then turned back to me. Her gaze paused between us. Then she reached out and linked her arm through mine. Her fingers were hot, carrying the smell of alcohol, and she leaned slightly against me. “Celeste,” she said. “I think I drank too much. My head feels dizzy.” She leaned on my shoulder. “Take me to the lounge to lie down for a bit.” She tugged my sleeve. I supported Sophie, and she draped her hand over my shoulder while waving at Warren. “You go entertain Miss Shaw yourself,” she said. “Don’t keep her waiting.” Then she leaned close to my ear and lowered her voice. “Go.” The lounge door was ajar. I pushed it open and helped Sophie onto the sofa. When the door closed, I turned around. Sophie sat cross-legged on the sofa, looking at me. Her eyes were clear. “What did Warren say to you?” “Nothing much.” “Stay away from him,” Sophie said, disgust flashing in her eyes. “He’s not a good person.” “Only you dare say that.” “I’m not afraid of him. My family doesn’t depend on his. He can’t control me.” She turned her head to look at me. “Are you afraid of him?” I didn’t speak. She took my hand. “I know these years were hard for you.” Her fingers tightened slightly. “Back then, I wasn’t firm enough.” “Don’t say that. You helped me a lot.” Only Sophie lent me notes. Only she dared to wait for me at the school gate and go home with me. “Celeste, don’t worry. I’ve grown up now, and I have ability. I’ll always stand on your side. If any of them dare bully you again, I’ll be the first to refuse.” Warmth rose in my chest. “Sophie.” “Mm?” “I’m married.” Her hand froze. “When did that happen?” “When I first came back.” She pulled her hand back and turned her whole body toward me. Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again. “To who?” “Not someone from this circle. You don’t know him,” I said. “His name is Nathan Reed. He was my childhood neighbor in the south.” “Where in the south?” “Suzhou.” “Suzhou.” She frowned and repeated, “Nathan Reed.” “Mm.” “What does he do?” “Research. Materials science.” Her brows didn’t loosen. She repeated his name slowly. When she reached the third word, she suddenly grabbed my arm. Her speech sped up. “Did he publish a paper on…” “Stability of perovskite photovoltaics.” “I’ve read that paper.” She became excited. “Last year he published a review in a Nature sub-journal. Our research group discussed it in a group meeting.” As she spoke, her voice changed. She wiped the corner of her eye and sniffed. “Why are you crying?” “Can’t I be happy?” She still clutched my arm. “Next time I go to Suzhou for a conference, you have to arrange for me to meet him.” “Okay.” “I’m not being polite.” “I know.” She still wanted to say something, but the lounge door opened. Warren stood at the entrance. His gaze swept around the room and landed on me. “Celeste, come out. I have something to say to you.” Sophie was still holding my arm. She glanced at Warren, then at me. I patted the back of her hand. “It’s okay.” The corridor was covered in thick carpet, making footsteps soundless. Warren walked ahead slowly. Then he stopped and turned around. I didn’t know what there was to say between us, so I casually brought up a topic. “Sophie said your fiancée came…” “There is a family marriage arrangement,” he interrupted. “The Shaw family is pushing it forward. The elders from both sides have met.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and leaned against the corridor wall. “Bianca Shaw is very proper. She graduated from a prestigious school, plays excellent piano, and handles social situations well. Our families have business dealings too. Everything fits.” He looked at my face. “What do you think?” I found it inexplicable. “Sounds good.” His brows shifted slightly. “Celeste, I didn’t come to talk about her.” He paused. “Your father is getting older. The Kingston family’s affairs are so vast, and they all rest on him alone. Have you thought about how many more years he can carry it?” I didn’t answer. “You studied abroad for three years. What are you planning now that you’re back? A woman can’t support such a huge family business alone. The Kingston family needs someone reliable.” He bit the word reliable very clearly. Ten years ago, he had loved manipulating me psychologically. How was he still doing this now?
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