Huang Yanyan's POV:
The morning light crept through the curtains of Yang Wei's modest house on the outskirts of Wuhan, casting thin golden streaks across the hardwood floor. It was too gentle, too serene for the chaos churning inside me. I sat on the edge of the couch, my fingers digging into the worn fabric, my chest tight with something I couldn't name—anger, confusion, maybe betrayal. The air smelled faintly of tea and old wood, a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of the Huang family penthouses or the polished gleam of Wu Haoyu's sleek apartment. This place felt too ordinary, too real, and yet it housed the man who had just turned my world upside down.
