Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Lu Jingchuan lunged forward to snatch the microphone, his fingers dug so hard into my wrist that they nearly wedged into the gaps of my bones.

“Turn off the screen.” He stared at me, his voice kept dangerously low. “I can make your father’s surgery schedule disappear with a single word.”

The giant screen was cut to black by his people for a second. The banquet hall fell into a suffocating silence before the guest seating erupted into chaos the next moment. People stood up to record videos, others were already making calls, and the photography lights remained fixed on us like interrogation lamps.

I didn’t try to break free from him. Instead, I pushed the microphone an inch closer to my lips.

“Say that again,” I said, looking at him. “Let everyone hear you clearly.”

His expression shifted instantly. He tried to grab the mic again, but the host behind him instinctively moved to intervene, and the scene devolved into a scuffle. Taking advantage of this split-second opening, I pressed the backup control key on my phone. The giant screen flickered back to life, jumping straight to the second recording. The Chief Financial Officer’s voice was trembling, yet every word was crystal clear-the so-called three-million-yuan loan was a fake transaction trail orchestrated by Lu Jingchuan. It was a closed-loop fund transfer designed to seize the land belonging to the Xu Family’s old factory.

A representative of a partner company stood up from the audience. “Record this! Record the whole thing!”

Lu Jingchuan let go of me and spun around, roaring at the control booth, “Cut the power! Cut it all!”

The urgent voice of the tech guy came through my earpiece: “Miss Xu, the main control has been seized. I can only give you fifteen seconds of backup signal.”

Fifteen seconds was enough.

I clicked on the third surveillance clip. On the screen, Lin Qingyue entered my office in the middle of the night, plugged in a USB drive, modified emails, took screenshots, and sent them to marketing accounts. The entire sequence of actions was as practiced as a rehearsal. Her face was magnified on the giant screen, so clear that even the patterns on the ring on her finger were visible.

“It’s not me! There’s something wrong with the angle!” Lin Qingyue rushed out from the side hall, her makeup half-smudged. She clutched her lower abdomen, yet her eyes were still searching for the cameras. “Nianhe, you can’t frame me like this just to clear your own name-”

“Whose child you’re carrying is written clearly on the prenatal checkup report,” I interrupted her. “Do you want me to play the first page again?”

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Lu Jingchuan pulled her behind him, shielding her. For the first time, he completely tore off his usual gentle facade and hissed at me, “Xu Nianhe, if you dare make a scene today, I’ll make sure your whole family goes down with you.”

As soon as those words landed, my mother rushed onto the stage and grabbed my arm, her nails digging in painfully.

“Enough! Haven’t you embarrassed us enough?” Her eyes were bloodshot. “Finish the wedding first, then we’ll talk at home. Your father is still lying in the hospital-do you want to kill him?”

I stared at the hand she used to grip me, suddenly remembering how she used to push me in front of relatives when I was a child and say, “Nianhe is the most sensible.” I remembered every time I was clearly wronged but was told to “think of the bigger picture first.” Today, she was saying the same thing: appearances were more important than I was.

“Mom,” I pried her fingers off one by one. “What my father needs is to stay alive, not for me to get married on my knees.”

She raised her hand and slapped me. It was sharp and loud enough to make the front row gasp.

My face whipped to the side, and I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. Strangely, once that flash of pain passed, my chest felt hollow, as if a rope that had been strangling me for years had finally snapped.

I raised the microphone again. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was so steady it felt foreign even to me.

“Distinguished guests, today is not a farce; it is a public disclosure of evidence. I will submit the three pieces of material shown just now to the economic crimes investigation unit, the tax bureau, and the court immediately after the wedding. If anyone thinks I’ve forged them, you are welcome to call the police right now and collect evidence on the spot.”

Lu Jingchuan sneered. “You think anyone would dare take the case?”

I simply put my phone on speaker and dialed the number Cheng Xubai had sent me. The phone rang only once before the voice of the hospital’s medical department head came through, official and restrained: “Miss Xu, your father has completed his admission registration. The surgical team and guarantee procedures have all been confirmed and will not be interfered with by any third party. Please rest assured.”

The banquet hall fell silent for a heartbeat.

Lu Jingchuan’s pupils visibly contracted, as if he hadn’t anticipated this move. He reached out to snatch my phone, but I took a half-step back and held the call up high, letting all the cameras capture his reaching hand.

“Aren’t you the best at calculating costs?” I stared at him. “Then why don’t you calculate today how many years threatening a patient’s family is worth?”

People in the audience began to shout: “Call the police!” “Seal the originals!” “Don’t let them get away!”

Lu Jingchuan’s father, who had been standing in the front row, turned from ashen to deathly pale. His chest heaved violently twice before he collapsed backward. The Lu Family relatives screamed, and guests who were doctors rushed over to perform chest compressions. The scene fell into total chaos. Wine glasses shattered, chairs scraped against the floor, and camera flashes went off like a dense downpour of rain.

In the turmoil, Lu Jingchuan still tried to grab me, but he was held back by two security guards and several onlookers. He gasped for air, cursing at me across the crowd, “You’ll regret this, Xu Nianhe! You’ll definitely regret this!”

I looked at him for three seconds, then picked up the unsigned prenuptial agreement from the ceremonial tray. In front of everyone, I tore it in half, then into quarters, right along the red-marked clause titled “Post-marital Waiver of Equity.”

Scraps of paper fell onto my wedding dress like a long-overdue snow.

“Listen closely,” I said. “Starting today, I will no longer try to prove my innocence. I will only focus on making you pay the bill.”

As I walked off the stage, my phone vibrated incessantly. Trending notifications popped up one after another, and my work groups, media groups, and family groups were all blowing up. I didn’t reply to anyone. I simply opened my backup folder and sent all the evidence packages, along with a signed statement, to the reporting tip line and the notary office with a single click.

The moment the success notification popped up, my palms were drenched in sweat, but for the first time, they weren’t shaking.

The sound of sirens approached from the distance.

At the same time, a call from an unknown number flashed on the screen. I was about to hang up when I noticed the location was the hospital where my father was staying. I had to answer.

A lowered voice came from the other end: “Miss Xu, someone just tried to transfer your father’s original medical records. Come to the hospital right now.”