The LUMIGO Annual Fashion Gala was never just an event. It was the event — where elegance met ego, cameras never blinked, and secrets sometimes slipped beneath champagne bubbles.
He Ran never cared for it. But tonight was different.
He was already there, suited in midnight black, collar sharp, presence commanding. Still, he found himself glancing at the entrance more often than usual.
Where is she?
And then she arrived.
Shen Miao descended the steps of the grand hotel like the air shifted to make space for her. She wore red — not just any red, but a shade that made hearts skip and photographers freeze. A soft, silk gown hugged her figure and cascaded like fire with every step.
He couldn't move.
The world dulled around him, conversations turned distant, lights dimmed — except the spotlight that existed only in his gaze.
He Ran's POV:
She doesn't know what she does to me.
Every time she walks into a room, I forget why I built walls in the first place.
And tonight... she's not just stunning. She's mine. At least, I want her to be.
He met her halfway across the hall, offering his hand like it was instinct.
"You came," he said, almost reverently.
"I was invited," she replied, lips tilting into a barely-there smile.
"And I'm still recovering from it," he muttered under his breath.
Before she could reply, flashbulbs popped — paparazzi already gathering steam as cameras captured the two of them, standing too close for colleagues, not close enough for lovers.
He Ran leaned slightly in, voice low near her ear. "We're already a headline."
Shen Miao didn't step away. "Then let's give them something to write about."
A smile flickered across his lips. God, she had no idea how dangerous she was — especially to him.
---
Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers and curated perfection. Industry elites mingled. Music floated above heads. Waiters offered drinks like passing memories.
He Ran rarely left her side.
Shen Miao noticed it — the way his hand would occasionally rest on the small of her back, guiding her gently through crowds. How his gaze flickered protectively whenever someone looked a little too long.
"You're hovering," she teased after their fifth round of casual small talk.
"I'm CEO," he countered. "I'm allowed to hover."
"You're jealous."
He raised a brow. "I'm observant."
But before she could roll her eyes, the crowd shifted — and Irene appeared.
In a body-hugging black gown and a smile laced with sweet venom, she approached with a champagne flute.
"Beautiful event," Irene said, gaze shifting toward Shen Miao's neckline. "And stunning dress, Shen. I wouldn't have guessed you'd pick red."
Shen smiled. "I figured black would be too obvious tonight."
Irene's smile faltered — only slightly. "Well, enjoy the evening. You've certainly... caught attention."
As she walked away, He Ran's fingers brushed Shen Miao's wrist — grounding her.
"You're handling her well," he murmured.
Shen Miao took a sip of her drink. "I used to fight people like Irene with words. Now I use silence. It hurts more."
He chuckled, gaze softening.
---
Later in the night, the music shifted to something slower, sultrier. Couples drifted to the dance floor, hands finding waists and shoulders, smiles finding lips.
He Ran turned to her.
"Dance with me."
She hesitated. "I don't know if—"
"Shen Miao," he said, gently but firmly, "it's just a dance."
Except they both knew it wasn't.
She let him lead her to the floor, fingers slipping into his. His touch was warm — not demanding, but certain. Their bodies aligned, close enough to feel each breath but with enough tension to tremble between moments.
As they moved, the world blurred again.
"Everyone's watching," she whispered.
"Let them."
His hand slid to the curve of her waist, his thumb brushing against bare skin. Her heartbeat kicked up.
He dipped his head slightly, eyes searching hers. "Do you still imagine what it'd be like if I came back?"
She swallowed. "Sometimes."
"And now that I'm here?"
She didn't answer — because her eyes gave it away.
They weren't dancing anymore. They were hovering — caught between memory and desire, between past and promise.
His lips moved closer.
Almost.
Almost.
Then—
Flash. Flash. Flash.
A cluster of photographers, clicking at rapid fire. A gasp from a corner. Someone whispered, "Are they about to kiss?"
They froze.
He Ran didn't care. He leaned even closer, lips just beside her ear.
"I don't care if the world watches. I care if you do."
Shen Miao blinked — dizzy, dazed, but still holding on.
"I'm not ready," she said quietly.
"I'll wait," he replied instantly. "As long as it takes."
---
Later that night, after the gala, Shen Miao sat alone in her apartment, shoes off, gown draped over the arm of her sofa. Her phone buzzed with a message.
[He Ran]: "I meant every word."
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
Then typed:
[Shen Miao]: "Then don't disappear this time."
A pause.
[He Ran]: "Never again."
She closed her eyes — her heart still thudding from a dance that wasn't just a dance.
---
Meanwhile…
At LUMIGO HQ, late into the night, Irene sat in her office with a drink in hand. On her desk was a copy of the week's press schedule.
Headline: "CEO He Ran Caught in Near-Kiss with Rising Strategist Shen Miao."
She traced the title with her fingernail.
"So it begins," she whispered.
And outside, an anonymous delivery boy dropped a bouquet of deep red roses at Shen Miao's doorstep.
A simple note tucked between them:
"I missed you more than I can say."
—Flashback: The First Runway—
Back in their final year of high school, the school's cultural fest included a student-organized fashion show — nothing fancy, just fabric scraps, DIY creativity, and way too much glitter.
Shen Miao hadn't signed up. She preferred backstage planning — until her classmate dropped out last minute.
"You're the only one who can pull it off, Shen!" the coordinator had begged. "Please — just walk once. One outfit."
She gave in.
The outfit was a simple sky-blue dress stitched by the fashion club — airy, a little uneven at the hem, but it shimmered under the lights. She hated heels, but she wore them anyway.
What she didn't expect... was to see He Ran on the list too.
He didn't model. He didn't even show up to most practice sessions. But there he was, casually walking onto the stage in a black school blazer and undone tie, looking like he'd stepped out of a youth drama.
Girls whispered.
She rolled her eyes — until his gaze met hers.
"You didn't tell me you were doing this," she said backstage, nervously adjusting her dress strap.
"You didn't either."
"I got pulled in last minute."
"So did I," he replied. Then, quieter, "Maybe fate wants us here."
She stared at him. "Do you believe in that?"
He shrugged, but his eyes lingered. "When it comes to you... sometimes, yeah."
---
When their names were called — "He Ran and Shen Miao, duo walk!" — her heart tripped harder than her heels.
He held out his arm.
She hesitated only a second before linking hers with his.
They walked under the stage lights, surrounded by claps and cheers — but it all faded for her. All she felt was his warmth beside her, the steady rhythm of his steps, and the small squeeze of comfort he gave her hand when her ankle almost wobbled.
She looked up.
He wasn't smiling for the crowd.
He was smiling at her.
And somewhere in the front row, their teacher snapped a photo — one she'd later print and tape into her diary with a scribbled caption beneath:
"The day we looked like we belonged together."
---
Back in the Present...
As Shen Miao walked through the grand gala ballroom in her red gown, cameras flashing and hearts racing, she felt it again — that exact feeling.
That he was beside her, even when everything else blurred away.
Only this time, the heels were higher.
The stakes, heavier.
And the smile on his face — heartbreakingly real.