The biting January wind whipped around Ling Yiran, a skeletal figure in a fluorescent sanitation worker's uniform, as she swept the deserted street. Three years in prison had left her with calloused hands and a dull ache in her bones, especially tonight as the cold bit deep. Her once-delicate features were now etched with a quiet weariness, her almond eyes lacking the youthful spark they once held.

She paused, leaning on her broom, the ache in her fingers reminding her of a far worse pain. Just then, the distant sound of laughter and a roaring engine broke the silence. A bright red Ferrari screeched to a halt beside her, its occupants — a group of drunken, sneering young adults — spilling out onto the pavement. Her stomach clenched. It was Sun Tengyang, a rich kid she'd once chastised, and his lecherous gaze sent shivers down her spine.

"Well, well, if it isn't Young Master Xiao's ex-girlfriend," he slurred, advancing on her, his eyes full of malicious intent. The others chuckled, mocking her fall from grace. Ling Yiran recoiled, her heart pounding a desperate rhythm against her ribs. She was alone, vulnerable, and the street, strangely, was empty.