Chapter 8: Subtly Holding the Upper Hand

“……”
Nan Xiao’s eyes widened.

Grandpa Xie had revoked her divorce agreement?
That was too sudden!

And in this day and age—how could he still look down on celebrities? Celebrities made way more money than most people, for heaven’s sake.

“Grandpa, please don’t do this.”
She stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “It was wrong of me and Chengyu to go through with the divorce without telling you. But it wasn’t a rash decision—we’ve thought about it deeply. We just… aren’t meant to live together.”

She lowered her head at the end, her expression tight with something close to shame.

The truth was, she and Chengyu weren’t incompatible—they’d never *lived* together.

For three years, Chengyu hadn’t come home once. She’d been left alone in that massive villa, a ghost in a gilded cage, a punchline in North City’s high society circles.

Grandpa Xie knew all too well how much she’d suffered. His tone softened instantly, his hand reaching out to grip hers.

“Xiaoxiao,” he said gently, “it’s Chengyu who’s failed you. You’ve been through so much these past three years—you’ve endured things no one should have to bear. I know. I *know*.”

Every time they mentioned Chengyu’s absence—directly or indirectly—Grandpa Xie wore that same pained, guilty expression.

Nan Xiao pressed her lips together tightly. No longer did she defend Chengyu like she used to. She just listened, silent, letting the words hang in the air.

When Grandpa finally ran out of things to say, she walked into the hallway and dialed Chengyu’s number. She needed to tell him about the reversal—the divorce was off.

Three rings. No answer.

Nothing.

She didn’t know what he was doing, but whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t worth picking up a phone.

After a moment’s pause, she decided to go back to Grandpa Xie. She’d tell him again—clearly, honestly—that she truly didn’t want to be with Chengyu anymore.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

The caller ID showed North City. Not a scam, probably. She answered.

She never expected who was on the other end.

“Ms. Nan? It’s me. We met yesterday at the Chanel counter in Starlon Plaza. Do you remember?”

The voice on the line was soft, smooth—like silk wrapped around glass. Nan Xiao froze.

Only two people had been at that counter yesterday: Chengyu… and Xu Ruoxin.

She hesitated, then asked, “Miss Xu… is there something you need?”

When Xu Ruoxin introduced herself, she didn’t say her name outright. Instead, she used vague phrasing—“we met yesterday,” “I’m someone you might recognize.”

There were two reasons for that.

One: calling her “Ms. Nan” while withholding her own name gave her an edge—her position was hidden, hers the unseen hand.

Two: by keeping her identity ambiguous, she subtly obscured her real role in Chengyu’s life.

Not her fame as an actress—no, this was about something deeper. Something private.

Nan Xiao was a screenwriter. She understood the psychology behind words. She saw right through Xu Ruoxin’s little game.

But she didn’t react. Just asked plainly, “What do you want?”

“I heard Chengyu say you’re at home,” Xu Ruoxin said. “Let’s meet.”

Nan Xiao’s fingers curled slowly around the phone. Her knuckles turned white.

They were supposed to be partners—confidants. So Chengyu could casually share something as personal as *where she was* with Xu Ruoxin?

Of course. Xu Ruoxin carried his child. Of course they were close. Of course he’d tell her anything.

But why didn’t she ask, *“Could we meet?”* Why did she command, *“We’ll meet”?*

Did Xu Ruoxin really think she was easy to push around?

A small smile tugged at Nan Xiao’s lips.

Yes, she *was* easy to push around—when she couldn’t fight back. But she wasn’t some doormat. She wouldn’t swallow her pride just because someone thought she’d let them walk over her.

“Miss Xu,” she said, voice quiet but sharp, “I don’t want to meet you.”

Silence.

A beat. Then another.

Xu Ruoxin hadn’t expected that. The pause was long enough to feel like hesitation.

Then—soft laughter.

“You don’t have a choice,” Xu Ruoxin said.

Nan Xiao’s breath caught. Her fingers, still gripping the windowsill, tightened so hard her bones ached.

She stood there in the hallway, phone pressed to her ear.

After a few seconds of silence, she spoke.

“Fine. Send me the address.”

She hung up.

Stared at the text message from Xu Ruoxin.

Then she turned, left the Xie mansion, and drove to a café on Chenghua Street.