I tried WeChat Hansen once I settled at Yuting’s. No reply. Just silence.

  Now, late in the afternoon, he finally calls.

  I pick up, heart pounding, ready to tell him everything—about Mengjie, the murder, the detective. But before I can say a word, he hits me with another blow.

  “Shishi, Yafeng’s throwing a party tonight. He wants you there.”

  His voice is brisk. No warmth. No concern.

  “Who’s Yafeng?” I ask, already bracing.

  “You’ve seen him. Chairman Yao’s son.”

  Heat surges through me. My temple throbs. I remember him. He dragged me upstairs by my hair like I was a broken doll.

  “No,” I snap. “I’m not going.”

  “Listen,” Hansen says, voice hardening. “It’s not up to you. Honestly, it’s not even up to me.”

  I grip the phone tighter. “Is this how you treat the woman you claim to love? After promising to make me the happiest woman in the world?”

  “Spare me the theatrics,” he mutters. “This is how the world works. If I fall, you fall with me.”

  The sobs come fast. I can’t stop them. I hate that he hears them.

  His tone softens. "Shishi, I know it's unfair. I'm asking too much. But we depend on them. I'll make it up to you. You've always wanted a trip to Hawaii, right? Just the two of us. After the big operation in June, I'll take you."

  Hawaii. Again. He’s promised it three times. Each time followed by silence, excuses, another bruise.

  “I know I’ve let you down,” he continues. “But this time it’s real. We’re going to make serious money. I’ll retire. Buy a house in Hawaii. Peaceful life. Just us.” He cajoles.

  Then he pleas: “But first, we need to make the King of IPO happy.”

  I clutch the phone so tightly my knuckles turn white. Tears stream down my face.

  “I don’t have clothes,” I whisper. “I’m at Yuting’s.”

  "What are you doing there?" His tone sharpens. "It's twenty minutes from home. The party starts at eight. You have plenty of time to change."

  I want to tell him about Mengjie. About the detective. About her sweep for the murderer in our house. About her suspicion of the husband. But I hesitate. I don't want to plant ideas in his head. I don't trust him.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, voice hollow.

  “I’ll tell him you’ll go,” Hansen says quickly. “And please do. It’s about our future.”

  Then he hangs up.

  I collapse onto the bed, bury my face in the pillow, and weep. Not just from fear. From the slow realization that I’m no longer a person to him. Just a favor. A commodity.

  Yuting has been directing the housekeepers. Now she returns, her heels clicking softly across the floor.

  “You can’t take your eyes off them…” she begins, then stops when she sees me.

  She sits beside me, smooths a hand over my back.

  “Thinking about Mengjie again?” she asks gently.

  I shake my head.

  “Hansen is whoring me out,” I whisper. “Just like you said they would.”

  Her face goes pale. Just for a moment. Then something shifts. A calculation behind her eyes.

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  Her voice changes. No longer soft. No longer sisterly.

  “Tough it up, girl,” she says. “That’s life. Pleasing men—that’s our job. That’s our choice.”

  "We chose this the moment we became second wives." She says with a shrug.

  I look up at her. She seems like a different person. Cold. Strategic. Distant.

  I see it clearly now. If I can't hold onto Hansen, I have no value to her. I wouldn't be surprised if she has the housekeepers pack my things the next minute.

  This is what the world has become.

  Love is leverage. Loyalty is currency.

  And every relationship is dictated by power.

  Yet there’s truth in Yuting’s words. I need to toughen up.

  I wipe my tears, push myself upright.

  “I need to go home and change,” I tell her.

  She nods with approval. “Good girl. Let me know if I can help.”

  I thank her, gather my things, and practically run out of her house.

  Two blocks away, I turn sharply, making sure I’m out of sight. I park, hands trembling as I dig through my purse. The detective’s card is still there—her number circled in red.

  I dial. My heart thuds with each ring. Voicemail.

  “Captain Xu, this is Shishi Tang…” My voice falters. I don’t know what to say. “Please call me back. I need your help.”

  I hang up. Then realize—I didn’t leave my number. Plus, she almost certainly won't recognize my name.

  Just as I gather the courage to call her again, my phone rings. It's her number. I answer immediately.

  “Hi, Shishi,” she says. Her voice is somehow both commanding and soothing, like silk over steel.

  “Yes. It’s me,” I reply, breathless.

  Before I can explain, she says, “I’m heading back to the crime scene. Why don’t you meet me at your house?”

  I nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Yes. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Be careful,” she adds—same words as early morning. I can’t tell if it’s habit or genuine concern.

  When I arrive, she’s already there, standing by my door. The other officers are gone. Across the cul-de-sac, Mengjie’s house sits in eerie silence, crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze.

  Captain Xu is tall, powerful. Yet, her presence calms me. When she smiles, my heart stutters.

  Her eyes speak, and right now they're telling me to keep quiet.

  I unlock the door and let her in.

  “How’s your day?” she asks gently as I close the door behind us.

  My throat tightens. When I look into her compassionate eyes, I break down completely. The dam bursts—all my fear, betrayal, and desperation pour out at once. My shoulders shake with each sob, and I struggle to breathe.

  She steps closer, places a hand on my back. “It’s okay,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

  She’s a stranger. But somehow, the only person I trust.

  I grip her arm like a lifeline. She lets me lean into her, my head resting on her shoulder, tears soaking her sky-blue uniform.

  We stand like that for minutes. Then she guides me to the couch.

  She sits beside me, silent. A steady anchor while I collapse under the weight of it all—Hansen’s betrayal, Mengjie’s death, Yuting’s coldness, and the party I’m expected to endure.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper between gasps. “I’m trapped. They’re all using me. If I go to that party tonight…”

  My voice breaks, unable to finish the sentence.

  She hands me a tissue. “Tell me everything,” she says softly. “Start from the beginning.”

  And I do.

  The words tumble out—raw, unfiltered. From the day I met Hansen, to Tuesday night, to today’s call. Every humiliation. Every fear. Every time I felt like I was disappearing.

  She listens. Occasionally nods. Offers a quiet word. But mostly, she lets me talk.

  When I finish, she asks, “Do you have the address of the party?”

  I pull up my phone and show her the message Hansen sent.

  She dials. A man answers, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  “Hanlin, I’ve got a reliable source. There’s a party tonight—prostitution, drugs, the whole show.”

  “No, not big names. Just a Minister’s kid.”

  “Hundred percent. I’ll send the location. Don’t crash it—just break it up.”

  “Yes, I owe you one.”

  “Sure. A drink.”

  “I’m sending it now.”

  She hangs up, and types a message.

  “You don’t need to worry about the party anymore,” she lifts her head, smiling.

  Then she shifts. “I have a couple questions about Hansen’s call. Did he say what kind of operation he’s working on?”

  “He didn't say, just said he’ll make serious money that he can retire.”

  “Did he say when his operation ends?”

  “He said June. Nothing more.”

  “Okay. I want you to do something. Dress in your best party outfit. Send him a selfie. Tell him you want to book tickets to Hawaii. Ask what date.”

  I obey so quickly, it takes me by surprise.

  She watches me head upstairs. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll be right here.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I descend the stairs.

  Her eyes widen.

  I’m wearing the crimson qipao I’d saved for special nights with Hansen—nights that never came. The silk hugs my curves, shimmers under the light. The slit reveals just enough leg to be dangerous. Gold earrings. A diamond necklace. Hair swept into an elegant updo, tendrils framing my face. Red lips. Smoky eyes. Cheekbones catching the light.

  She says nothing. Just watches. But her eyes flash.

  “I sent the selfie,” I say. “I don’t know when he’ll reply.”

  I open WeChat. And just as I open the chat window, a message pops up.

  June 14th.

  Captain Xu gives me a quiet, approving smile. “Would you mind if I stayed here tonight?”

  “Yes—please. Thank you,” I say, the words tumbling out. Relief floods my chest, loosening something tight. The air feels lighter. I can finally breathe.

  She nods, calm and steady. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll need you to come to the station. Repeat everything you told me. That way, we can initiate a formal protective program.”

  Her voice is reassuring, but firm. A promise wrapped in protocol.

  “Don’t worry,” she adds, her gaze holding mine. “I’ll be with you.”

  And somehow, that’s enough.

  For the first time in days, I feel the ground beneath me. Not solid, but present. Not safe, but survivable.