The Gala of Glass Houses

The bridal suite smelled of forced lilies and the metallic tang of impending ruin. Fifteen minutes remained until the ceremony, and the silence in the room was no longer a void; it was a weapon. Lin Yue stood by the lacquered dressing table, her hand resting on a black folder that felt heavier than its contents. Inside, the inheritance papers and the email trail—the evidence of An Ruo’s managed disappearance—waited

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