Chapter 11 It seems I never truly understood her past.

The media’s overwhelming coverage had turned Gu Yiqiao into the center of gossip. His ex-wife, the woman he nearly married, had been framed and died unjustly. Even without evidence, people spoke of it as if they had seen it with their own eyes, each tale more vivid than the last.

Those who stir public opinion rarely care about the consequences. For them, attention and traffic are all that matter. In the end, they win by nailing the truth down with the weight of public outrage. If someone steps forward to clarify, a simple apology suffices to sweep the matter away—the cost is too low. This has become the new trend in media, a sign of a sick society. Zhang Guoguo understood this well, for once, someone had manipulated opinion to destroy her. Now, she used the very same methods that once hurt her to become a driver of public discourse herself, as casually as sipping coffee at home.

Perhaps influenced by the shift in public opinion, Gu Yiqiao began to re-examine his feelings for An Ruier. There was never any love between them—marrying her was simply obeying his parents' wishes, a union to solidify social status between Locke Group and Yaozun International.

Now, Yaozun International’s stock had plummeted due to the scandal involving its princess, An Ruier. The entire An family was reaching out to Gu Yiqiao, hoping he would join them in issuing a statement to prove An Ruier’s innocence and save the collapsing market. Yet Gu Yiqiao had vanished, and no one could find him.

Zhang Guoguo saw the news during breakfast, though Luo Minglang seemed even more concerned than she.

"Yiqiao has really fallen hard this time," he said. "I warned him before, An Ruier is no good. It’s a pity—he’s lost everything. No matter how he tries, it’ll be hard to recover! What a shame about his ex-wife, she loved him so much."

Zhang Guoguo set down her chopsticks, picked up a fried dough stick and continued eating, her words trailing off, "How do you know she loved him?"

"Shen Linyue loved Yiqiao as if he were her life. Everyone in G City knew. I always said, even if Yiqiao betrayed himself, Shen Linyue would never betray him. Have you forgotten?"

"It seems you trust his ex-wife more than Yiqiao himself. Right or wrong, she’s gone now."

With a sigh, she spoke; Luo Minglang reached across the table, took her hand, and looked at her with unwavering devotion. "Guoguo, marrying you is my greatest honor. From the moment I fell in love with you, you became my life. For the rest of my days, I will love you with all I have. I won’t let anyone hurt you, nor let you feel the slightest sadness. Believe me."

Luo Minglang was so sincere. All she could do was nod, unable to find words. But what moved her most was that, when the world had turned its back on her, there was someone she barely knew—Luo Minglang—who believed in her innocence.

After breakfast, Luo Minglang returned to the company to handle urgent matters from the American branch, while Zhang Guoguo drove out.

She arrived at Galaxy Garden and, gazing from a distance, saw Gu Yiqiao leaning there.

It was the first time she had witnessed this man so desolate; something in her heart ached. If he had trusted her, even a little, things might not have come to this.

Just as she was about to go over, unable to restrain herself, Chen Menglu appeared by his side first.

Chen Menglu placed a bouquet of lilies nearby, then said to Gu Yiqiao, "Mr. Gu, the departed are gone. My condolences."

Gu Yiqiao looked at the unfamiliar woman before him. "Are you Linyue’s friend?"

"Yes, we were classmates in America. When I heard she had passed away, I rushed back to see her off."

"Thank you," he replied, turning his gaze back to Shen Linyue’s portrait. "Do you have time later?"

The question made Chen Menglu quietly excited, but she contained herself and replied, "Yes."

"Then tell me about Linyue’s life in America," he said suddenly, and his eyes grew moist. Perhaps feelings are only fully discovered at a breaking point. At this moment, he was filled with remorse.

He reproached himself for his lack of trust, his lack of care. It was only now, as he remembered how she died before his very eyes, that he realized the depths of his loss. That feeling—was love.

Quietly, holding back tears, he whispered, "I don’t think I ever really knew her past."