We stop near the windows, far enough from the main crowd that we won’t be overheard but not so far that it looks like we’re hiding.

The city lights spread out below us through the glass, beautiful and distant.

Feifei stands beside me, not looking at me, her champagne glass held with perfect posture.

The silence stretches.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know how to start this conversation, don’t know what she wants from me, don’t know if there’s anything I can say that would make this better.

She breaks first.

"How have you been?"

The question is polite and neutral, the kind of thing you ask an acquaintance you haven’t seen in a while.

"...Fine," I say. "You?"

"Busy. The VP position keeps me occupied."

"I saw. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Another pause.

This is excruciating.

We’re talking like strangers, going through the motions of polite conversation while carefully avoiding everything that actually matters.

"The estate is treating you well?" she asks.

"Yes. Grandmother has been... welcoming."

"I see."

Her expression doesn’t change, doesn’t soften, she’s keeping me at arm’s length with perfect politeness.

I want to ask if we can meet somewhere private, to ask if she’ll unblock my number so we can actually talk without an audience watching our every move, to ask if there’s any possibility of fixing this.

But looking at her face, at the carefully maintained distance in her eyes, I know now isn’t the time.

"Work has been good?" I ask, because I don’t know what else to say.

"Very. The merger opened up several opportunities. We’re in a much stronger position now than we were before."

The merger that happened because of my marriage, because I’m carrying Bael’s heir, because I took the place that was supposed to be hers.

She doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to.

It sits there between us anyway.

"That’s good," I manage. "I’m glad things are going well for you."

"Are they?"

The question comes out sharper than the rest, just slightly, enough that I notice the crack in her professional facade.

"Going well for you, I mean," she continues, voice smoothing back out. "Are you happy?"

I don’t know how to answer that.

I don’t know if she’s asking because she cares or because she wants to confirm that karma caught up with me.

"It’s an adjustment," I say carefully.

"I’m sure."

Another silence.

Longer this time.

More uncomfortable.

I can feel people watching us even from across the room, their attention a physical weight, everyone dying to know what we’re saying to each other, what drama might unfold.

Feifei glances past me toward the crowd, her expression flickering for just a second before settling back into neutral professionalism.

Then she looks back at me.

And for the first time tonight, I see past the polished exterior to something underneath.

Something that might be hurt.

"You know, Runze," she says quietly. "I thought about it for a long time. And I understand that you really didn’t know Wuchen Bael was the person I was getting engaged to. I understand that."

My chest tightens.

"But it still hurts."

The words are soft, not accusatory, just... honest. Raw in a way that makes my throat close up.

She takes a small breath, her fingers tightening slightly around her champagne glass.

"It wasn’t the engagement breaking that hurt," she continues, and her voice is still quiet, still controlled, but I can hear the emotion underneath it now. "It was that my brother didn’t trust me enough to tell me."

The words land like a punch to the stomach.

Because she’s right.

I had five weeks.

Five weeks between waking up in this body and finding out about the pregnancy.

Five weeks where I could have gone to her, could have confessed, could have asked for help.

And I didn’t.

I kept it secret, avoided her, let the situation spiral until it exploded in that room with Mother and Feifei walking in on me holding the pregnancy test.

That was my choice.

Not the original Runze’s.

Mine.

I was the one who decided it was easier to hide, to avoid, to let the disaster unfold rather than face her and admit what happened.

I want to explain that I was scared, that I didn’t know what to do, that I woke up in a stranger’s body carrying a stranger’s child and panicked.

But none of that changes the fact that she’s right, I had five weeks, and I chose not to tell her.

So I just stand there silently.

Because what can I possibly say that would make it better?

Feifei watches me for a moment longer, and something in her expression shifts.

Not softer exactly, but maybe... sadder.

"I should get back," she says finally. "People will talk if we’re gone too long."

"....."

"Take care of yourself, Runze."

Then she’s walking away, back toward the main crowd, her posture perfect, her expression composed.

Leaving me standing by the windows alone.

I watch her go.

Watch her rejoin a group near the center of the room, slip back into easy conversation like the last few minutes didn’t happen.

Like we didn’t just have the most painful exchange of my life.

My chest feels tight.

She’s right.

About all of it.

I had five weeks and I didn’t tell her.

Didn’t trust her enough to confess.

And now she’s the one who got hurt, the one who had to deal with the scandal and the humiliation and the broken engagement, all because I didn’t think she deserved to know.

I turn back to the window, staring out at the city lights without really seeing them.

That’s it then.

That’s all I get.

One quiet line that cuts deeper than any screaming match could have.

*It was that my brother didn’t trust me enough to tell me.*

And I have no defense.

No explanation that would make it better.

Because she’s right to be hurt, right to keep her distance, right to look at me like I’m someone she doesn’t recognize anymore.

A server passes by with a tray of champagne glasses.

I grab one without thinking.

The glass is cold in my hand, condensation already forming on the surface, and I stare at it for a moment before taking a sip.

It’s dry, crisp, probably expensive.

I don’t taste any of it.

Feifei’s words keep echoing in my head.

*My brother didn’t trust me enough to tell me.*

And the worst part is, she’s not even angry.

Just hurt.