At Han Zhiyun's twenty-first birthday party, she got so drunk that she stopped a man in a black shirt on the second floor of Jinyao.
She reached out to touch his face. "You're really handsome."
Lu Shiyao gripped her wrist, his hold firm. "Miss, you've had too much to drink."
"It's my birthday today. I'm in charge." She tipped her face up, proud as a bird that had never been caged. "Whatever I want, I get."
The morning after, Han Zhiyun tossed him two thousand yuan.
It was the last happy birthday of her life.
At twenty-two, her father jumped from a building, her mother went to prison, and the family fortune vanished overnight. She fell from the clouds into the mud, unable to afford even her tuition. With nowhere else to turn, she gritted her teeth and went to Jinyao to make a living.
When they met again, Lu Shiyao sat in a leather chair in his second-floor office, his tie perfectly straight.
She stood in the doorway holding a tray, her face pale.
He looked up, the curve of his lips neither warm nor cold. "We meet again, Miss Han."
