WHEN THE FOG CLEARS
After exiting the highway onto the ring road, traffic control forced a temporary detour.
Someone intercepted my car. A man dressed in a crisp shirt and black jacket approached with a respectful expression: “Miss Evelyn, Mr. Liam invites you to join him.”
Chloe looked extremely curious: “Who’s that? Which Mr. Liam?”
We were directed to a low-profile private club. There, I finally reunited with Liam after all this time.
He stood facing the floor-to-ceiling window, broad-shouldered, one hand propped against the windowsill while his other hand loosely held a cigarette, its ash glowing faintly in the breeze.
Hearing footsteps, he turned around. Seven years had passed; compared to his previous wild, unrestrained energy, Liam now possessed a heavy, grounded aura—steady, powerful, yet his gaze was unexpectedly fierce and straightforward.
“Evelyn——”
He extinguished the cigarette, collected his expression, and smiled: “Long time no time. I took the liberty of welcoming you back, hope you don’t mind.”
Liam—inheriting his family legacy, he was the only princeling among the elite playboys who actually held real power. He entered the military at eighteen, later pursued a master’s degree at the National Defense University, climbing steadily through the frontlines. Right now, he held even more weight than his old man.
We knew each other quite early. In his rebellious youth, he was a stubborn troublemaker who loved stirring up trouble, sneaking out of the family courtyard just to climb trees and rob bird nests.
Back then, I used to wear a red dress, standing under the tall tree and catching the fruit he tossed down.
And I’d have to keep watch for him, worrying: “Big Brother Liam, don’t fall down.”
His most rebellious stunt was stealing his grandfather’s antique pistol to go fishing, getting caught and taking a severe beating.
Thinking back, the awkward tension faded away, and I shook his hand: “You’re a busy man, I’m honored.”
I never replied explicitly to his text message, yet his network was so vast he knew my exact arrival time—hardly surprising.
Liam merely smiled and left it at that.
Throughout dinner, he balanced propriety perfectly—neither overly aggressive nor distant, attentive to every minor detail.
Hearing about my plan to launch a media company, he immediately recommended two seasoned industry professionals on the spot.
After the meal, Chloe praised him endlessly in the car: “Evelyn sister, this gentleman is totally into you! Let me tell you, he is top-tier. His face beats celebrities, and compared to that scumbag Julian, he’s miles ahead. You really ought to consider him.”
I rubbed my temples: “Stop talking nonsense, we’re just old childhood friends.”
Though I never asked, given Liam’s family background, he must have been married long ago.
His mother was exceptionally formidable; among the capital’s elite, only a handful of families met her standards. I just didn’t know whose daughter was the lucky match.
Chloe shook her finger, stubbornly confident in her intuition: “The way he looks at you—like a tiger eyeing a rose—so mesmerizing yet dangerous.”
She loved gossiping about these things. Back in London, she even leaked a top actress’s blind item to the press, getting docked pay by her company.
I brushed it off as a joke, keeping it entirely out of my mind.
From then on, I threw myself entirely into building my company.
Fortunately, progress was smooth. From startup registration to recruitment, I handled everything personally.
The company was located in the capital’s premier commercial district, and my 39th-floor CEO office offered a sweeping view of the CBD.
Chloe’s dream of becoming a top star didn’t materialize quite as she hoped, but my boutique agency finally gave her that platform.
During this time, my interactions with Liam weren’t frequent, mainly because my focus was locked on corporate growth and time was tight.
He remained unhurried, inviting me out for meals whenever he had free time. Through our interactions, I learned a startling truth: he was still unmarried, which surprised me greatly.
Only once did I agree to his dinner invitation, only to completely forget about it while buried in paperwork, remembering two hours later when time had already passed.
When I rushed down to my office lobby in a panic, I found him sitting quietly in the visitor lounge alone, having waited for who knows how long.
Other than that, we maintained a civilized distance. Yet whenever I ran into thorny hurdles, someone would always magically appear to clear the path—even without me asking, I knew whose handiwork it was.