“Mm… I just wanted to talk to you about the engagement banquet.”
On the phone, Vivian Wen briefly outlined her plan. Simon Min listened silently, without interrupting once. When she finished, he simply replied—
“Got it.”
“Mr. Min, you’ll come this weekend, right?” Vivian’s voice held a trace of unease. “If you’d like, I can transfer the deposit first.”
If she paid him, he’d have no reason to back out.
“No need.” His refusal came quick, clipped, and certain.
Sensing her anxiety, he added a moment later, his tone steady and low:
“Don’t worry. I don’t go back on my word.”
Something in that quiet confidence made her heart settle. Though she hadn’t known him long, she found herself trusting him—instinctively, completely.
“All right, see you this weekend.” Vivian hung up, a lightness in her tone.

Twenty minutes passed.
Inside the boardroom of Min Group, murmurs rippled among the executives.
Their boss—who normally ignored calls during meetings, or at most answered curtly for a minute or two—had been gone for twenty.
Who on earth had he been talking to?
The sound of the door opening silenced them instantly. Simon Min strode back in, composed as ever, the same unreadable calm on his face.
Something serious must’ve happened, they all thought, straightening their backs.
But Simon merely sat down, flipped open the document in front of him, and said, “Continue.”
The tension deflated.
The staff exchanged bewildered glances before cautiously resuming the meeting, each secretly exhaling in relief.

That Weekend — The Engagement Day
Vivian woke to the sound of knocking. Half-asleep, she shuffled to the door and opened it.
Helen Zhao stood outside, dressed to perfection—her makeup flawless, her crimson silk dress shimmering under the light. In her hands, she held a pink chiffon gown.
“You’re still sleeping?” Helen’s tone was half-chiding, half-sweet. “Come, darling, look what I brought you! I had this custom-made just for tonight. It’s an exclusive designer piece—you’ll absolutely dazzle everyone at the banquet.”
Her eyes curved into a smile, but deep inside, malice glittered.
She’d had the gown altered. A few discreet cuts in the seams—just enough to tear at the right moment, right in front of everyone.
Vivian took the dress politely, her lips curling into a faint smile.
“Thank you, Aunt Zhao. It’s perfect—I really did need an evening gown for tonight. I’ll definitely wear it to the banquet.”
Then she closed the door gently, turned around—
and tossed the pink dress straight into the trash bin.

That evening, Haicheng Grand Hotel gleamed beneath its chandeliers. Guests in lavish attire filled the lobby, laughter and chatter floating through the air.
Helen Zhao stood at the entrance, face radiant with feigned humility, greeting each arrival with rehearsed warmth.
She’d spent weeks pulling strings to get these “prominent” figures to attend—
what she didn’t realize was that, in Haishi’s true hierarchy, these so-called elites were merely middle tier. She didn’t even have the standing to touch the city’s real upper crust.
“Mr. Shao, you’re here!” she exclaimed as a black Mercedes rolled to a stop outside.
A portly man in his fifties stepped out, his gold chain gleaming under the lights. Victor Shao, known for running underground casinos in his early years before laundering his fortune into hotels and KTV clubs. Of all her guests tonight, he was the most “influential.”
“Ah, Mrs. Wen,” he drawled, eyes shamelessly roaming over her figure. “I’ve heard about you for a while. Didn’t expect Mr. Wen’s wife to be this young and beautiful. He’s a lucky man indeed.”
Helen forced a coquettish smile. “Mr. Shao flatters me. Please, come in!”
She escorted him personally to one of the front tables. Throughout the short walk, his gaze never left her, his “accidental” brushes making her skin crawl. But she swallowed her disgust—men like him were useful, dangerous, and not to be offended.
Only when she’d finally escaped back to the entrance did she allow herself a quiet exhale.
Scanning the room, her smile stiffened. Almost all the guests had arrived—
but the bride-to-be was still nowhere to be seen.
Her irritation rising, she turned to Ryan Lu, who was helping with the reception.
“Call Vivian,” she ordered sharply. “Tell her to hurry up.”
Ryan nodded, taking out his phone. But just as he pressed dial—
A collective gasp rippled through the hall.
Everyone turned toward the grand entrance.
Helen Zhao followed their gaze—
—and froze.
There, under the chandelier’s soft golden light, Vivian Wen stepped into the hall.
Her long hair was swept elegantly over one shoulder, her makeup flawless yet understated.
The pure white gown she wore shimmered like liquid light with every step, its silhouette graceful and timeless. A delicate smile touched her lips—gentle, serene, yet distant, as though untouched by the world.
For a moment, the entire hall seemed to still.
Under that light, she was no longer just the bride-to-be—
she was an angel descending to earth.