He Hanchuan lifted his gaze, and with a slight nod, summoned Xiao Li, who had been waiting patiently nearby. "Sir?" "Get her cleaned up. Take her to the Meng Club." At his words, all color drained from Xiang Wan's face. The Meng Club—a lavish playground for the capital's elite heirs. He was sending her there for one reason: to strip away the last of her dignity, a cruel reminder that two years ago she had been an honored guest, whereas now… now she was nothing more than a despised felon, convicted of attempted murder. A bone-deep chill spread through her. "He Hanchuan," she asked, her voice low and filled with hate, "do you have to be so cruel?" Perhaps surprised she still had the nerve to question him, He Hanchuan let out a derisive laugh. "Two years, Xiang Wan, and you haven't learned a thing. Don't you understand the simple rule? When you're under someone else's roof, you bow your head." Xiang Wan lowered her head, biting her lip so hard it throbbed, and said nothing. Oh, she understood. All too well. Every ounce of her pride, her arrogance, her untamed spirit—it had all been ground out of her in prison. Perhaps her very submission was more irritating than defiance. He Hanchuan’s brow furrowed. He turned and walked back to his car. "Tell Meng Lan to take *good* care of our guest. Don't disappoint me." The black Bentley soon vanished into the swirling snow. Xiao Li hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to help Xiang Wan to her feet. "Thank you." A flicker of warmth touched her heart, and a sudden thought made her ask, her voice trembling, "How… how is Jiang Qingran doing?" Xiao Li seemed surprised by the question, his reply deliberately vague. "How well can a dancer be, when she's lost her stage?" A bitter, desolate smile touched Xiang Wan's lips. Of course. As long as Jiang Qingran was suffering, He Hanchuan would never let her go. ... More than two weeks passed since Xiao Li had dropped her at the Meng Club. He Hanchuan never reappeared; their encounter in the snow might as well have been a dream. And yet, here she was, standing very real in the lobby of the Meng Club. "Good evening, welcome to the Meng Club." She’d lost count of how many times she’d bowed today. As the latest guest disappeared inside, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching down to knead her numb left leg. Her colleague, Zhou Miao, glanced over with a sympathetic look. "The manager is something else," she muttered. "Everyone gets a break except you. I swear, she's just doing it on purpose because you're pretty." Xiang Wan just shook her head, her expression blank. "It's fine." "Why? If it were me, I would've quit ages ago!" In the two weeks they'd worked together, Zhou Miao had found Xiang Wan to be beautiful and good-tempered—the kind of person who should be well-liked anywhere. She couldn't understand why the front desk manager targeted her relentlessly, denying her breaks, making her clean up after drunk guests, never offering a single kind word. And through it all, Xiang Wan simply took it, like a lamb to the slaughter. "I can't quit. I have no money, and this place gives me a room and meals." Xiang Wan straightened up, forcing a faint smile. "Besides, I can't find another job." Seeing the conversation was going nowhere, Zhou Miao fell silent. Xiang Wan knew this spineless version of herself was pathetic to anyone watching, but endurance was her only choice. She had already failed her family by dragging them down with her; she couldn't afford to cause any more trouble. In the distance, two limited-edition sports cars pulled up to the plaza in front of the club. Three men and two women climbed out, laughing as they headed for the entrance. Xiang Wan quickly straightened, pasting on her standard professional smile. As the group approached, she bowed deeply. "Good evening, welcome to the Meng Club..." The group of wealthy socialites, out for a night of fun, paid the greeter no mind and swept past her towards the elevators. But the last woman in the group stopped abruptly as she passed Xiang Wan. She looked down, her brow furrowing as she studied the greeter's face, and then asked in a low, uncertain voice, "Xiang Wan?"