Jiang Zhi’er had been under Cheng Jingwei’s care since she was sixteen.

He had been entrusted with her upbringing—teaching her to be tactful and cautious, to navigate life’s path without fear.

As a second uncle, he was impeccable.

However, the young woman’s first love quietly bloomed on a fevered spring night. On the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, she finally gathered the courage to voice her hidden feelings—but the man’s reply was cold:

“You’ve just become an adult, and you’re already being so disrespectful.”

—

Cheng Jingwei, the youngest patriarch of a wealthy family, was reserved, composed, and ruthlessly self-disciplined.

Rumors surrounded him, yet no matter what people said, his life seemed destined to remain on its flawless, steady course.

Cheng Jingwei believed that, too.

Back then, he could never have imagined that his composure—his gentlemanly grace, his cultivated restraint, his inherited poise—would all begin to crumble years later, the moment he saw the young man standing beside Jiang Zhi’er.

In a dimly lit hallway, he reached out with his long, slender fingers and brushed her lips for the first time.

“Did your boyfriend teach you how to kiss?”

“Cheng Jingwei, what’s the point of being like this?”

Jiang Zhi’er’s eyes reddened as she bit back her tears.

“You’re acting like a third party.”

The man—always proud, powerful, and composed at the pinnacle of his world—bowed his head and answered quietly, each word deliberate:

“You want me.”

“Not him.”

The sword of Damocles that had long hung above her finally fell.

The girl who once chased love so desperately now held the sword herself—grasping the power of life and death.

Jiang Zhi’er hated being controlled by him.

Once, when he discovered her diary and she flatly denied having a crush on anyone, he scolded her for lying.

Later, after returning from a business trip, he held her on his lap and asked if she missed him. When she said no, he reprimanded her again.

And then, worse—he raised his hand and struck down, hitting the hem of her skirt.

His expression was stern, his tone that of an elder admonishing a child, forcing her to correct her “bad habits.”

“How can a child lie?”

—