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Did I? We had only just met. I didn’t know why she had chosen to sit with me, why she was filling the air with pointless conversation. Maybe Dannie sent her to fish for information, but if that was the case, she was terrible at her job.

Sometimes, you could just sense things about people. Laura seemed a little lost in life.

Dannie on the other hand, was one of those unreadable types, the kind you could never quite figure out.

“Yes,” I finally said, giving her the answer she wanted to hear.

“I guess you’re right,” she murmured, setting down her fork and leaving the last piece of cake untouched. “Everyone thinks I’m nice. All my so-called friends. They use me to get places, pay for things, scare off guys who bother them.”

“I understand,” I said quietly.

Her eyes searched my face, as if trying to determine if I truly meant it. “You do?”

“Yes.”

The young woman studied me a moment longer before leaning back in her chair. “How do you get rid of people like that?”

“Learn to say no.”

“Nonononono,” she said quickly, dragging out the word. “Like this?”

“Not quite. You need to say it like you mean it.”

“No!” she said louder this time, her voice ringing with more conviction.

“Like it would cost you an arm.”

“NO!” Her voice echoed through the room, drawing a few curious glances. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning the shade of a ripe tomato.

“That’s more like it,” I said, unable to suppress a small smile.

“That was kind of fun,” she giggled, her laughter light and musical. “What about your family? Have you ever said no to them?”

She picked up her fork again and finished off the last bite of cake.

“Depends on who we’re talking about,” I admitted. I had always let my mother walk all over me, too afraid to break her heart after my father left.

I angled my head slightly, trying to get a better view of what June was up to. But there was no sign of her—I suspected the old lady hadn’t finished showing her off to her peers.

“I couldn’t say no to my family,” I said quietly.

“Don’t feel bad about that. I’m guessing half of the people in this world have the same issue,” she replied. “Except, I’m actually an orphan. My family… they aren’t my real family.”

I wasn’t expecting that. She must have had quite a bit to drink tonight to open up to me like that.

“Can I share something with you?” I asked, lowering my voice.

“What?” She leaned closer, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “You can tell me.”

“My father abandoned us for a different family.”

Her face softened. “Oh no, I’m sorry.”

These days, it wasn’t much of a secret. He had been seen in public with his mistress and their son, as if we had never existed.

“Are they nice to you? Your adopted family?” I asked, steering the conversation back to her.

“Grandmother is nice. And Dannie? Oh well, he’s just cold. I guess with our age gap, we never really had much in common to talk about.”

“There are two sides to a coin. Is one side better than the other?” It was something clever I had read in a Zen book once, though I couldn’t quite remember how the rest of it went.

Her posture straightened slightly, anticipation flickering across her face as she waited for me to elaborate. I searched my mind, but nothing else came.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said finally, her tone thoughtful.

“If only the world were as clear as black and white,” I murmured, letting my words trail off, aware that I had once again failed to sound profound.

She was young, with her whole life ahead of her. Whatever wisdom I thought I had couldn’t possibly prepare her for the road she needed to walk herself. Our lives were too different. I couldn’t live hers, and she couldn’t live mine. What worked for me might not work for her.

“You’ll figure it out in your own time,” I added softly.

“Persimmon.”

I blinked, frowning at her sudden declaration. “What?”

She pointed at her mouth. “The last cake. It’s persimmon.”

“Right. The cake.”

“Never would have guessed. I thought it might be orange or peach, judging by the color. Isn’t life just full of surprises?” She smiled to herself, as if the realization had unlocked something deeper.

I nodded, even though I knew she wasn’t really asking for my opinion. She had just experienced a lightbulb moment.

I’d had a lightbulb moment of my own.

It made sense now why she seemed so detached when they gathered for a family photo earlier. She didn’t feel like she belonged.

“Do you need a drink?” I asked, feeling the weight of my thoughts pressing heavier by the second.

Soon, I would have to leave and face the music—leave June with Dannie while I handled the chaos brewing in Shanghai.

I shook my head, but the image of Chen Gong, covered in blood, refused to fade.

I needed something stronger to push it away.

“Not really. Are you going to eat that?” Laura nodded toward my untouched cake, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“No. Knock yourself out.”

I slipped away toward the bar, which was tucked inside a smaller room near the ballroom entrance. It was quieter here—a welcome contrast to the noise outside. There was only one bartender and a lone patron: a woman slumped over the counter, her face buried in the crook of her arms.

“Can I get a whiskey, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s free of charge. Drink as much as you like,” the woman sat up, giggled as she replied quickly, supporting her chin with her palm.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the glass of golden liquid. It burned in all the right places as I took a sip.

I turned to head back to the ballroom. As much as I welcomed the calm in here, a part of me felt the need to keep an eye on June while I still could. My rational brain told me she was safe—surrounded by people who adored her. But instinct told me otherwise.

A loud thud shattered the quiet.

I spun around to find the woman collapsed on the floor, limbs sprawled awkwardly.

The bartender and I rushed to her side. She wasn’t heavy, but with so much alcohol in her, she was nothing more than dead weight. We carried her to a small armchair against the wall. Once she was secure, the bartender returned to his station to fetch her a glass of water, leaving me alone with her.

“Leng chai…”

The words pierced through the haze of alcohol. It meant ‘handsome man’ in Cantonese. But in a different tone, it could also mean ‘child’. The voice was dense and low, damaged by years of smoking.

A voice I hadn’t heard in years.

My chest tightened.

“Auntie Five,” I whispered.

The woman who had been behind my kidnapping.