The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Yan family estate, a relentless drumbeat against the silence that had consumed the spacious study.
Yan Xiuran stood at the center of the room, his back straight despite the crushing weight of their stares.
His father sat at one of the chairs, hands folded, expression unreadable.
Across from him, Song Lianhua watched with quiet satisfaction, her silk cheongsam immaculate.
Yan Ruoyan sat on the couch, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
At the far end of the room, Yan Weisheng stood silently, gaze lowered, saying nothing.
"I never expected this of you, Yan Xiuran," Yan Tianhao said, his voice as cold as the marble floor beneath them.
It echoed through the vast space, past the towering bookshelves and priceless calligraphy that lined the walls. His gaze—calculating, unforgiving—bore into her like a blade.
Yan Xiuran had seen that look before.
When he discarded useless employees.
When he crushed competitors.
When he ruined lives without so much as a frown.
Now, it was directed at her.
Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Father, what—"
"Silent."
The single word cut her off like a death sentence.
Across the room, Song Lianhua stood in her elegant silk cheongsam, a soft, mocking sigh escaping her lips. "Xiuran, you should have known better than to take what doesn't belong to you."
"What do you—mean?" Her voice caught in her throat.
Documents were spread across the heavy mahogany table.
"What is this?" she asked.
Yan Ruoyan, her half-sister, smirked as she rose gracefully from the couch, picking up one of the folders.
"Financial treason," she announced, her voice laced with mock disappointment. "Fabricated expense reports, unauthorized fund transfers—embezzlement at the highest level." She let out a soft sigh, as if truly heartbroken.
Yan Xiyan body stiffened.
Song Lianhua then added, "You funneled over 50 million yuan from Yan Corporation's private accounts into offshore holdings under a shell company—one that, coincidentally, no longer exists."
She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "How clever. Hiding it just long enough to make it disappear."
"Fraud," she continued, flipping a set of documents onto the mahogany table. "Falsified contracts, ghost employees, funds withdrawn under fabricated business expansions. And oh—" She turned to Yan Tianhao, placing a gentle hand on his arm, "—selling off Yan Corporation's assets to our competitors—Shen Enterprises, Shen Yuze."
That was when Yan Tianhao's gaze darkened.
Silence pressed down like a storm about to break.
Yan Rouyan clicked her tongue, shaking her head as if she were genuinely saddened. "Brother, I knew you were ambitious, but to betray the family like this…"
Yan Xiuran's blood ran cold.
No.
She reached for one of the documents, her hands trembling slightly as she scanned the contents.
Bank records. Signatures. Transactions traced back to her name. Contracts that linked her to competitors.
Each one more damning than the last.
"I—I never did any of this." Her breath hitched as she flipped through another folder. "These are fake."
"How disappointing," Song Lianhua mused, her voice as soft as silk, yet laced with venom. "Instead of reflecting on your mistakes, you deny them? Xiuran, we raised you better than this."
Yan Xiuran's head snapped up.
"I never did any of this!" she repeated, her voice raw.
"Father, you know me. I dedicated my entire life to this company. I buried my real self because you needed a son, and I gave you one. I did everything for the sake of Yan Corporation—why would I ever do something to destroy it?"
Yan Tianhao's expression remained unreadable. "Because greed knows no loyalty."
She inhaled sharply. "You think I would risk everything I worked for?"
"You tell me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "The evidence is here. And you have nothing to prove otherwise."
Yan Xiuran's knees buckled, and before she could stop herself, she fell to the floor, kneeling before him. Her pride screamed at her, but desperation clawed at her chest.
"Father," she whispered, her voice raw, pleading, breaking. "Please. These are fake. I don't know who did this, but I swear—I had nothing to do with it."
She searched for something—anything in Yan Tianhao's face.
A trace of doubt, a flicker of hesitation.
There was nothing.
Instead, a soft chuckle reached her ears, silky and deliberate.
Her breath hitched.
She lifted her gaze—and met the eyes of Song Lianhua.
It clicked.
A slow, creeping horror slithered into her veins.
Her blood turned to ice.
It was her.
Song Lianhua had orchestrated this.
Every piece, every step. She had been waiting, watching, setting the board into place until the moment was right to strike.
Yan Weisheng had recovered. He was stable now.
They were getting rid of her.
The perfect son who had kept the company intact, the one who had sacrificed everything to uphold the Yan name—she had served her purpose. Now, she was nothing more than a loose end.
Song Lianhua had been waiting for this moment.
Xiyan's lips parted, but no words came. A shaky breath escaped instead. A realization so cruel, so absurd, it almost didn't feel real.
"It was you," she whispered.
Song Lianhua arched a delicate brow, feigning surprise, her expression a picture of innocence. "Me? Xiuran, you wound me. How could I possibly frame you?"
Because you've been planning this since the beginning.
Her hands trembled. She turned sharply to Yan Weisheng, desperation bleeding into her voice.
"Weisheng, you know me!" she urged. He had to know. He had to see through this.
"You know I could never do this kind of thing. I handled everything for you. Who made sure you had the best treatment? Who—" Her voice caught, something raw clawing at her throat.
"When your liver failed, who gave you theirs?"
Silence.
A single moment stretched between them—heavy, suffocating.
For a flicker of time, something passed through Yan Weisheng's eyes.
A hesitation, a shadow of guilt—
And then it was gone.
He inhaled softly, steeled his expression, and looked at her as if she were nothing.
"The evidence is right there," he said quietly.
Distant. Cold. Final.
"Stop lying, Xiuran."
Her breath stilled.
Something inside her cracked—splintered—shattered.
Something she had spent her entire life holding together.
Her lips curled, bitter laughter bubbling up before she could stop it.
"You bastard."
The words barely left her mouth before a deafening crack rang through the room.
A sharp slap.
Pain exploded across her cheek, her vision bursting white at the impact.
The force sent her sprawling onto the cold, polished marble floor. Her palms smacked against the surface, catching her fall, but the sting barely registered.
A metallic taste bloomed on her tongue.
Blood.
Above her, Yan Tianhao loomed like a god passing judgment. His presence swallowed the room, his face carved from stone, eyes as cold and unyielding as the world he ruled.
"Do not forget your place," his voice cut through the silence like a blade, heavy with disdain.
No anger. No disappointment. Just finality.
"You," he said, looking down at her, as if she were filth.
"Are the bastard here, Xiuran."