"You can leave—this house is not hers," Fu Sijue snapped as the guests roared. "Fu Sijue!" someone shouted. Glass clinked. Conversation stopped. "Shut up," Fu said. His voice cut through the room and everyone looked at Su Meilun. Meilun stood by the cake table, her hand on her belly. Her dress was already stained with champagne when Shen He swept down the stairs in a red dress too bright for a family party. "Happy birthday," Shen He sang, and the crowd applauded like trained seals. "Who invited her?" Meilun's voice trembled. She tried to pull her shawl tighter. "My guests are my business," Fu answered. He smiled in a way that made him look empty. "This house is not a place for drama." "Your wife is in pain," Meilun said. "Take her to a doctor now." Fu's laugh was slow. "My wife? Name one time she gave me loyalty." "Fu—" the Fu patriarch began, raising both hands, but his voice dropped when Fu Sijue looked at him. "Sit down, Father," Fu said. "You taught me to be decisive." Shen He moved closer to Fu, close enough that his arm brushed her waist. Cameras flashed. Guests leaned forward. "How dare you," Meilun said. "I carried your child. I stood by you." "You stood by your Instagram and your parties," Fu shot back. "You stood by whatever image you could sell." Someone at the back hissed. A cousin muttered, "He's ruining it." "Leave," Fu ordered the staff. "Send