His voice was like the devil's whisper, shattering her stubborn facade with ease.

Lin Yanyan stared at that hand—slender, pale, with strong, defined fingers. It was a beautiful hand, yet it had once been like a demon's, choking the life out of her. No matter how she struggled or begged, he had only narrowed his eyes and watched her coldly. Once, she had longed for this hand to hold her, but after years of waiting, he had wrapped it around her sister’s waist.

Back then, Lu Xintou had stood right in front of her, embracing his mistress’s daughter and declaring, "This is the woman I love. If you lay a finger on her, I’ll send you straight to hell."

Was this the man she once loved? Was this the kind of first love that was worth remembering? Did she even need to see him again?

Perhaps coming to this reunion had been nothing more than a self-inflicted humiliation.

Lin Yanyan looked at him coldly, then picked up her old, worn-out bag from the sofa and walked out in silence.

"You really don’t want to see me?" Lu Xintou turned around, flashing that roguish smile.

Zhang Xiao scurried over, trying to smooth things over. "Sis Yanyan, Brother Lu rarely comes back. This is a rare chance for you two to meet. Sit down, talk things out—after all, it’s a class reunion. So many things we never got to say!"

"If you invited me here just to parade this scum in front of me, then forget it!" Lin Yanyan snapped. "Zhang Xiao, we were classmates for years. I won’t even bother with the gratitude for your ‘hospitality.’"

She tried to leave, but two of Lu Xintou’s bodyguards suddenly blocked the door.

Lu Xintou swayed over, sipping his red wine as he approached her, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "Your mom’s dead. Your dad abandoned you and your brother for that mistress. The family business collapsed, and you had to mortgage the house. Your grandmother’s sick, your brother’s a good-for-nothing. You work at Jinghui Venture Capital as a low-level sales rep, making a base salary of 1,500 yuan—900 after insurance deductions. Three months of zero sales. On the verge of unemployment. At 26, your bank account has three digits… Lin Yanyan, tell me—what do you have left? Your life is already over. Hah…"

Lin Yanyan glared up at him.

Lu Xintou leisurely took another sip of wine, his every movement exuding superiority—as if he were royalty and she was nothing but filth beneath his feet.

"I know what you’re thinking. Your eyes are burning with rage. Here’s a chance—I’ll let you do whatever you want."

Lin Yanyan still stared at him coldly.

Suddenly, Lu Xintou pulled her close, whispering in her ear, "Let’s play a game. If you lose, you drink a shot of baijiu. If you outdrink me, I’ll let you do whatever you desire. If you lose, you stay here—no matter what I do, you don’t run."

Lin Yanyan struggled, but he added, "Aren’t you the one who used to drink and party fearlessly? Dare you play?"

She stared into his face—so handsome, so perfectly sculpted, those mesmerizing eyes. And yet, to her, it was the ugliest face in the world. She wanted to slap him, smash his skull with a bottle of alcohol, anything to destroy him. When hatred burned this deeply, perhaps madness was the only answer.

Then she laughed—a cold, eerie sound, yet laced with an inexplicable thrill. "If I win, you’ll really let me do anything?"

"Of course," Lu Xintou said smoothly, running his fingers through her hair. "Even if I’m the scum in your eyes, do you think I’d go back on my word?"

He probably thought she was desperate for money. But what she truly craved was smashing her palm across his face, then crushing his skull with a bottle. Drunk enough to dare, sober enough to regret nothing—this was how deep her loathing ran.

"Fine," Lin Yanyan agreed.

Lu Xintou smirked, releasing her and returning to the table at the center of the room, spreading his arms in welcome.

Lin Yanyan stepped forward. Zhang Xiao, sensing something, clapped excitedly, egging everyone on.

Lu Xintou ordered Zhang Xiao to prepare the dice. Before Zhang Xiao could act, the women nearby eagerly volunteered, playing the role of attentive hostesses. Lu Xintou even had his male secretary bring out gloves—typical of a scum, playing a game with gloves for "class."

Lin Yanyan steadied herself, waiting as the baijiu was lined up on the table, half the surface covered. They used the room’s tea cups—modest in size, but at 50-proof, even one shot was brutal.

She called for a glass of milk. Lu Xintou gestured graciously, playing the perfect gentleman. Of course, she didn’t refuse—but his smirk as she drank it seemed suspicious, as if he were plotting something.

They began with dice guessing. Lin Yanyan won. Lu Xintou downed his shot effortlessly, licking his lips afterward and staring at her with that devilish grin.

She played the second round with the same calm, winning again. Lu Xintou drank without complaint, though no one dared cheer—only Zhang Xiao occasionally muttered encouragement.

The third round, Lin Yanyan lost. The women shrieked louder than if the Chinese national team had scored a goal. She didn’t hesitate, tilting her head back and chugging it down. The aftertaste was bitter, her lips tingling, her throat burning. She frowned slightly, but it was manageable.

Round after round, the alcohol took its toll. Her vision blurred, faces doubling, then tripling. High-proof liquor was unforgiving, and even the strongest drinker would struggle. All she could do was outlast Lu Xintou.

She studied him across the table—silhouetted against the light, his face obscured, only those dark eyes glowing faintly like distant stars. Someone had set the lights to strobe, making the room spin like a galaxy, intensifying her dizziness.

Lin Yanyan gave a bitter laugh and collapsed onto the sofa.

Lu Xintou stepped forward, bracing his hands on the armrests, leaning down to her. "Why do you hate me so much?"

She opened her eyes, staring back. "And why did you do this to me?"

He didn’t answer, only pressing his lips into a cruel smile.

Her gaze fell to the star-shaped pendant around his neck—the one her sister, Lin Zishuo, had given him. Just hearing her name made her stomach churn.

"Till death do us part, I vow to you, hand in hand, we’ll grow old together." That had been her father’s promise to another woman—their love child.

She had once despised that name, but the man she loved had held her sister’s waist, whispering, "Zishuo… Zishuo… I love you!" Each word had been a dagger to her heart. She had lost—to Lin Zishuo, in family and in love. Why did she hate Lu Xintou so much? Was he really asking out of ignorance?

Lin Yanyan’s voice was hoarse. "One last drink. One final round. Winner takes all."

Lu Xintou chuckled. "Sure."

The others assumed there was some hidden affection between them—why else would he be so gentle? Single women looked on jealously, married ones sighed in pity. After all, who in A City could compare to Lu Xintou? Even the city’s most eligible bachelor, Fu Er’gongzi, paled in comparison. Rumor had it Lu Xintou had come tonight just for Lin Yanyan—whatever favor she had, it must be enormous.

Zhang Xiao rolled the dice for the final round. Lin Yanyan was too weak to care. The game was simple, but even this last round was almost too much. She mumbled a number, then heard the cheers—and Zhang Xiao’s hesitant voice: "Sis Yanyan… you… you lost."

Lost? Yes. She collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the sofa, and suddenly retched.

Lu Xintou walked over, holding a glass of red wine, crouching before her. "Still drinking?"

She clutched her mouth, suppressing the sour bile rising in her throat, her glare burning with hatred.

Lu Xintou said, "Do you know why I’m doing this?" He pried her hand away and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

The curly-haired woman jealously muttered, "Why’s Brother Lu being so nice to Yanyan? Could it be… he likes her?"

Lu Xintou stood, raising his glass and looking down at her with mocking eyes. Then, with a laugh, he answered, "Why am I being so nice to her?" He lifted the glass above her head—and poured it out.

The dark red liquid cascaded down her hair, dripping onto her shoulders, staining her clothes, her face, pooling on the floor. The sweet scent of wine filled her nose, but even this humiliation left her too weak to resist.

The classmates screamed. The women covered their mouths, stepping back in shock. She was a wreck, a spectacle for them to gawk at—and they were her classmates. She had been utterly humiliated in front of them all.

Lu Xintou’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Because I hate her."

Lin Yanyan, eyes bloodshot, glared up at him. "Lu Xintou, we have no grudge!" She practically screamed, tears welling up.

Lu Xintou said, "Lin Yanyan, the hatred between us is far worse than you can imagine."

"Why?" she demanded—but the moment she saw his pendant, everything clicked. The past flooded back: Lin Zishuo falling down the stairs, her scream echoing through the school building… and their mother leaping from the twentieth floor.

Tears streamed down her face. She grabbed a bottle of liquor, rising to her feet, ready to drag Lu Xintou down with her—but Zhang Xiao and the others restrained her, holding her back as she screamed, "Lu Xintou, I’ll die with you!"

No matter how hard she struggled, they held firm. Zhang Xiao kept pleading, and she couldn’t even get close to Lu Xintou. No matter how pathetic she looked, how much of a mess she was, she couldn’t reach him. He stood far away, laughing at her, poised and elegant like an emperor.

In the end, Lu Xintou led his men out in triumph, while Lin Yanyan collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent.

The others continued singing and dancing, ignoring her. No one cared how much she vomited. It was all a cruel mockery.