8 An Elegant Disturbance

The sleek elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Irene Qiao stepped out as if the floor had been waiting just for her.

Tall and graceful, she wore a white satin blouse tucked into tailored beige trousers, her heels clicking with authority. Her dark hair was swept into a low, effortless knot, the kind only Parisian women seemed to perfect. LUMIGO's Shanghai headquarters, buzzing with anticipation all morning, seemed to inhale and pause at the sight of her.

Shen Miao stood near the front, clipboard in hand, maintaining the kind of composure she'd mastered over years of being overlooked, then needed, then envied.

"Irene," said He Ran, stepping forward. "Welcome."

His voice was warm—too warm, Shen Miao thought.

Irene's lips curved into a slow, familiar smile. "Ran. You haven't changed a bit."

He offered his hand for a shake, but Irene bypassed it with a light air kiss to both cheeks, the Parisian way. He Ran chuckled softly, not pulling away.

It struck Shen Miao in the ribs—not pain, exactly. More like... heat. Jealousy's quiet fire licking just beneath her skin.

---

They walked through the main office together, Irene's voice rising with laughter as she pointed to little things that reminded her of their college days—an abstract sculpture, the coffee scent, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Do you remember our late-night debates over branding strategy in Professor Moreau's class?" she asked.

He Ran smiled. "How could I forget? You argued like a litigator."

"And you always pretended you weren't competitive," she said, bumping his shoulder lightly.

Shen Miao followed a step behind, the clipboard suddenly too heavy in her hand. She told herself it didn't matter. That He Ran had told her Irene's feelings were one-sided.

But the ease between them… the way he let her linger so close…

That wasn't how he acted with just anyone.

---

Later, in the executive meeting room, Shen Miao took her place at the head of the table beside He Ran. Irene settled on the other side, her posture confident, voice smooth as she began her presentation.

"As LUMIGO expands globally," Irene said, "I'll oversee the coordination between Paris and Shanghai. This campaign is special, and I want to treat it with the intimacy it deserves."

She glanced toward He Ran—then, deliberately, at Shen Miao.

"Of course, I'll be working closely with the original campaign lead. Shen Miao, I've heard a lot about you."

Shen Miao forced a polite smile. "All good things, I hope."

Irene tilted her head. "Naturally. Ran speaks very highly of you."

Ran. Not Mr. He. Not Director He. Just Ran—like they were still in college and the rest of them were guests at their table.

---

When the meeting adjourned, Irene and He Ran lingered behind, talking in low voices by the glass wall.

Shen Miao packed up her notes slowly, giving herself reasons to stay a bit longer.

"I have a place near the Bund," Irene was saying. "We should catch up properly—maybe dinner?"

He Ran hesitated. "I'll have to check my schedule."

Irene smiled knowingly. "You always had an excuse."

He Ran laughed softly. "I'm not a student anymore.

Shen Miao clenched her binder. That was enough.

She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Director He. Ms. Qiao," she said curtly, then walked past them as if the moment hadn't bruised her heart.

The casual way Irene said his name, the way he laughed back—it wrapped around Shen Miao's throat like a silk noose.

She walked away, head high, heart cracking.

The sound of their shared laughter echoed in her ears long after she left the room. Her steps were steady, but inside, she felt like she was walking through a storm.

She didn't wait to hear his excuse. Shen Miao walked out with her pride stitched to her silence—and her jealousy screaming through every heartbeat.

He Ran turned. "Shen Miao, wait—"

But she was already gone.

---

She stepped into the elevator, eyes fixed on the metallic doors. The hum of the closing space gave her a strange comfort—silent, cold, safe from everything she didn't want to feel.

She stood alone in the elevator, hands tight at her sides. Her reflection in the mirrored panel showed no cracks, but inside, her heart was splintering.

She told herself not to feel this way. That He Ran had told her the truth. That she had no right to feel anything at all.

But that didn't stop the jealousy.

Didn't stop the ache.

Didn't stop the memory of her seventeen-year-old self, scribbling a name in her journal and wondering who she would lose to.

But her thoughts, traitors as always, slipped backward—years ago.

—A Jealously Flashback—

It was sports day, their final year of high school. Shen Miao had been assigned to help organize snacks and drinks for the participants, which meant a whole day in the shaded tent with cartons of energy drinks and plastic cups.

She had worn her hair in two braids that morning, secretly hoping He Ran would notice.

And he had.

He'd passed by mid-afternoon, towel around his neck, sweat on his forehead, and a sunlit grin that made her chest ache in the best way.

"You look like a lost pigtail fairy," he'd teased, snatching a bottle of juice from her hand.

"Fairies don't hand out sports drinks," she'd retorted, but she smiled.

Then it happened.

A girl from Class 11 came over—tall, ponytailed, bold. She giggled and handed He Ran a homemade lemon cake wrapped in parchment.

"I made this for you," she said. "To congratulate you on winning the relay."

He Ran blinked, confused but polite. "Uh… thanks."

Shen Miao had stood frozen with a cup of orange soda halfway to her mouth. She watched the girl bounce away, cheeks flushed.

He Ran looked at her, holding the cake awkwardly. "Want to split it?"

"No," she said flatly. "Enjoy it with your fan club."

He blinked again. "Wait, are you—" He stopped mid-sentence, his lips tugging into that devilish, boyish smirk. "Shen Miao… are you jealous?"

"I'm not," she lied—badly.

He grinned wider. "You are."

She'd turned away, face burning. But behind her fluster, she heard him say softly, "Cute."

Now...

The elevator dinged at her floor, pulling her back to the present.

Shen Miao stepped out, her heart twisted with too many feelings.

The difference was—

Back then, she was jealous of a girl who made him cake.

Now, she was jealous of a woman who once lived in his world.

And somehow, that made it hurt so much more.