Chapter 1: The Confession

Everyone in the capital’s elite circles knew that Song Qingchen—the supreme power behind the Song empire—had an adopted niece whom he spoiled rotten.

I used to think my life would follow the typical brainless rich-girl script: spend money diligently, party hard while growing up, and eventually marry out of one luxury mansion and into another. End of story.

Until the “real heiress” made her entrance.

It was pouring buckets that day. Trapped in the gated community, she happened to knock on Song Qingchen’s door. The second I laid eyes on her, my romance-novel-obsessed sixth sense set off deafening alarm bells.

Look at her! Slender, yet perfectly proportioned in all the right places. Her jawline was sharper and clearer than my entire life plan. Even a cheap ten-buck dress off Pinduoduo couldn’t hide the effortless, innate grace of a true female lead.

To top it off, her face was practically a carbon copy of my parents’. Well, crap. The rightful owner was here to reclaim her life.

“Shuyan, pour our guest a glass of warm water,” Song Qingchen called out, bringing her inside before casually turning his attention back to his laptop.

“Sure.”

I stared at her palm-sized face, locked in an intense internal battle over whether I should voice my crazy theory. Right at that moment, a flood of memories from the future suddenly shoved its way into my brain, confirming my gut feeling: the girl standing before me was indeed my parents’ long-lost biological daughter.

In that “prophecy,” after reuniting with their real daughter, my parents wept bitter tears of joy. Amidst the tearful family reunion and touching displays of filial piety, I—the “fake adopted kid”—instantly became the eyesore in the room.

Knowing full well that my actual birth parents were long dead, Song Qingchen suggested sending me abroad, subtly hinting that if I knew what was good for me, I’d clear out and make way for their precious princess. But because I couldn’t let go of the over ten years of family warmth I’d known, I stubbornly refused to leave.

That was when my personal hell began. It was one thing for my parents to favor their own blood, but even my young uncle, Song Qingchen, did a complete 180. He oppressed me, framed me, and treated me with ice-cold indifference. If the real heiress so much as sneezed, the blame would somehow circle around until I was the one taking the fall.

Over time, the relentless injustice twisted me into a bitter, rebellious, and argumentative mess. And the more I threw tantrums, the more delicate and pitiful the real heiress looked—a pure white lotus that everyone felt compelled to protect.

The soap opera reached its climax when the entire world turned its back on me. Wandering the streets aimlessly, I was struck by a car and met a bloody end. My body wasn’t even discovered until it had begun to decompose.

“Ah!”

A soft gasp snapped me back to reality. Lost in my head, I had let the cup tilt, splashing scalding water straight onto her fingertips.

Before I could even open my mouth to apologize, Song Qingchen bolted over. He pulled me back forcefully, stepping between us as if he genuinely believed I was about to lung forward and bite her.

In that split second, my heart went ice cold, my lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile. So the “female lead aura” was real after all. They’d met just once, the DNA test hadn’t even been run, and yet the scales in Song Qingchen’s heart were already tipped entirely in her favor.

Any lingering desire to fight my fate evaporated into thin air. Why bother fighting a losing battle? Saving my own skin was the priority.

On the other side of the room, the future female lead had already picked herself up. She calmly turned on the tap to rinse her hand under cold water, then pulled a band-aid out of her backpack and applied it herself. That composed, independent demeanor was classic Song family style. If it had been the old me, I would have made a massive scene, crying and throwing a fit until Song Qingchen coaxed me back to smiles.

When the rain finally let up, she politely voiced her thanks and turned to leave. A flash of something complex crossed Song Qingchen’s eyes. He pulled out his phone and pulled the most classic line in the book:

“It’s fate that brought us together. Let’s exchange WeChats.”

I froze for three whole seconds. Living with him for over a decade, this was the first time I had ever seen Song Qingchen proactively ask for a girl’s contact info.

Once she was out of sight, Song Qingchen walked over and naturally took my hand, his voice softening. “Shuyan, don’t misunderstand. I just wanted to verify a few things. Did the water splash on your hand earlier? Let me see.”

He lowered his head, his long eyelashes fluttering slightly. I couldn’t tell if I was hallucinating from the shock of the “prophecy,” but beneath his perpetually impassive gaze, there seemed to be a surge of repressed, feverish excitement.

Right. Who wouldn’t be thrilled to discover a blood niece who was both gorgeous and capable?

Images of the future flashed through my mind again. The time he suspected me of stealing the real heiress’s trophy, landing a backhand across my face so hard I saw stars.

At the thought, I coldly yanked my hand back, my voice dripping with venom.

“Uncle, it’s not like I’m your girlfriend. What is there for me to misunderstand?”

Song Qingchen’s brows knitted together slightly. He was only twenty-seven, but having sat at the top for so long, he was used to breathing fire and calling the shots. No one ever dared to talk back. Seeing me snap, he deliberately changed the subject.

“Song Shuyan, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll have the staff prepare it.”

“You!” I spat out the shocking response in frustration, before stomping upstairs in a huff.

It didn’t matter anyway. Soon enough, I wouldn’t be Song Shuyan anymore; I’d be Chen Shuyan. According to the script, this very villa was where Song Qingchen would frame me for the first time—and where he would eventually ban me from ever setting foot in again.

In elite high society, money was endless, but human warmth was paper-thin. The Song family held the absolute championship title for cold-bloodedness. Growing up, my parents had never been close to me. They constantly criticized me for being too loud, too unrefined, academically hopeless, and completely devoid of the quiet grace expected of a proper heiress.

Years of cold violence had pushed me to the brink of depression. In the midst of that despair, I had clung to Song Qingchen—the only young uncle who tolerated all my flaws. Even though he always wore an icy expression, he at least accepted me for the brainless girl I was.

Because I had viewed him as my ultimate anchor, I couldn’t bear the thought of him taking someone else’s side to tear me down. Overwhelming disappointment soon ignited into a fire of resentment.

Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I walked past Song Qingchen’s study. Normally, this room was locked behind a million security codes; he was a severe germaphobe with an obsessive need for privacy, strictly forbidding anyone from stepping inside, including the cleaning staff.

Yet today, the door was left cracked open just a sliver.

Driven by a surge of curiosity, I pushed the door open quietly and slipped inside. It was pitch black—darker than my own future. I reached out and flipped the light switch.

…I froze dead in my tracks. Right in the center of the main wall, in the most prominent spot imaginable, hung a massive blown-up photograph of me.

It was taken on my eighteenth birthday. In the picture, I was wearing a tacky pink princess dress, light makeup on my face, making a wish with my eyes closed under the warm glow of candlelight.

The Song family had been in business for three generations; cold-blooded ambition was baked into their bones, so they never cared for cheesy rituals or family gatherings. That year, before I could even blow out the candles, my parents had grabbed their briefcases and rushed off to a meeting, leaving me all alone with Song Qingchen.

Looking down at his desk, aside from his discarded jacket, there were several scratch pads he hadn’t cleared away. Some were completely covered in my childhood nicknames, while others… were filled with hand-copied Buddhist scriptures.

This terrifying blend of yandere obsession and spiritual devotion sent a chill straight down my spine, making my scalp go numb. Successful men really did have unique ways of operating—wishing to break the law while simultaneously trying to accumulate karma?

“Shuyan, come down for dinner.”

Song Qingchen’s voice suddenly sounded right by my ear, maintaining his usual deep, composed tone. He grabbed my wrist, pulled me out of the study, and locked the door behind us in a flash. Though he appeared calm on the surface, I caught the deep crimson creeping up the tips of his ears, and the heat radiating from his palm sent goosebumps down my arm.

A “normal” uncle would never hang a giant portrait of his niece in the middle of his study like a prized family heirloom. Then again, no one in the Song family was normal to begin with.

“If you don’t like the photo, I’ll take it down tonight,” he said casually, offering a perfectly reasonable cover for his unhinged behavior.

I turned to look him dead in the eye. “Uncle, the issue isn’t whether I like it or not. The issue is why you hung it there in the first place.”

“Shuyan,” Song Qingchen’s eyes darkened significantly. “I am your uncle… Within those boundaries, I will always treat you well.”

I nearly laughed out loud. Reaching out, I gently adjusted his collar, just as he used to do for me. “Is that so? That doesn’t sound like the rumors at all. People say you’re a living tyrant—ruthless, calculating, and taking whatever you want by force.”

“Those apply to business interests. You are not a business interest.” His face remained completely expressionless, his voice steady without a single ripple.

Knowing he was about to tactfully send me away, I deployed my trap, dropping my voice into a tone as sweet as honey. “If you don’t want to see me for a while, I won’t bother you anymore. But… aren’t you afraid I’ll be so angry that I’ll never look at you again for the rest of my life?”

Song Qingchen’s movements froze mid-air. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned stark white, but deep within his eyes flickered a long-suppressed, guilty spark of hope.

I knew manipulating someone’s feelings was a bit low. But every time I thought about the future where he backhanded me at least five times, any lingering compassion vanished into thin air. Nothing to feel guilty about!

“Shuyan,” his voice turned raspy and thick. “What… what do you want me to do?”

Trapped under my “innocent” stare, Song Qingchen surrendered with a heavy sigh, leaning his back against the dining table. Upon it sat several dishes he had personally cooked for me, steam still rising from the plates.

In the past, whenever I pouted or threw a fit, this powerful, intimidating man would willingly roll up his sleeves to cook for me, even offering to feed me himself. I had been far too oblivious to realize that the way he looked at me had crossed the line of uncle-niece affection a long, long time ago.

“Uncle, I just want to know… what exactly am I to you?”

I played dumb, closing the distance step by step. He instinctively stepped back until his hips hit the edge of the table. Nowhere left to run. The space between us shrank to a dangerous proximity; his long legs shifted slightly as the final wall of his rational defense officially crumbled.

The man who once commanded fear in the business world now stood before me trembling, cautious as a convict awaiting sentencing. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, as if terrified that speaking a fraction too loud would send me running: “Song Shuyan, I like you.”

It was a helpless, resigned confession—a man staking his entire life on a single gamble. As if hypnotized, Song Qingchen wrapped his arms around my waist, slowly lowering his head.

Right at the exact moment our lips were about to meet—

BANG!