"Before anything is decided," Su Wan said, her voice calm and unhurried, "perhaps we should understand why three unfamiliar women have entered the Lu Residence at this hour."

Silence followed. The room’s focus shifted from her to the women by the door. Old Master Lu’s gaze sharpened as it moved from Su Wan to them, and the others felt the change.

Su Wan continued, her tone unchanged. "Especially after what happened last night."

The implication was clear: attack, intrusion, unknown variables. The three women were no longer merely inconvenient—they were unverified. Second Madam’s fingers stilled against the armrest, and Lu Meiqi’s expression tightened as her intended direction slipped from her grasp.

Old Master Lu leaned back slightly. "Who brought them in?"

No one answered. The servants shifted uneasily, uncertain whether to step forward or remain invisible.

Old Master Lu’s gaze returned to the women. "Speak." It was not loud. But it carried authority.

The first woman hesitated. Her hand pressed slightly more firmly against her abdomen, her eyes lowering before lifting again with visible effort.

"I... was told to come," she said softly.

"By whom?" Old Master Lu asked.

She faltered. "I... don’t know his name."

That uncertainty did not help her.

The second woman remained silent, her gaze moving carefully across the room, observing rather than participating.

The third stepped forward slightly. Her composure did not break.

"I received a call," she said, her tone more controlled than the others. "I was told this household would take responsibility."

The words settled into the space between them. Not loud. Not dramatic. But weighted.

Responsibility. It was a dangerous word to introduce without context.

Old Master Lu’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes hardened. "Responsibility for what?"

The woman did not answer immediately. Instead, her hand moved—slowly, deliberately—resting against her abdomen. The meaning was not declared. But it was seen.

A murmur moved through the room, low and restrained but impossible to contain entirely.

Lu Meiqi’s gaze sharpened instantly. "Are you implying—"

"Enough." Second Madam’s voice cut in before the sentence could be completed. Not to defend. To control.

Lu Shaohan had not spoken. Not once. But his presence had shifted. His gaze moved across the three women, assessing, measuring, then flicked briefly toward Su Wan. Not questioning. Not accusing. Watching.

On her seat, Su Wan did not move. But inside—something had already changed.

She had expected one. Prepared for one. Controlled that variable. But this—two more—unplanned, unaccounted for—meant something else was moving beneath the surface. Something she had not yet seen.

Her gaze lowered briefly, thoughtful, then lifted again. Sharper now. Because this was no longer a situation she had created. This was a situation someone else had entered. And that was more dangerous.

Old Master Lu finally spoke again.

"Until this is clarified," he said slowly, "no one leaves this house."

The words settled heavily. A boundary drawn. A decision made.

And just like that—the situation had shifted again. From speculation to containment.

Old Master Lu did not raise his voice, yet the authority behind the statement settled across the room with unmistakable weight. It was not a suggestion. It was a boundary.

And immediately the house responded. Servants who had lingered at the edges straightened and moved with quiet urgency. Instructions did not need to be repeated. Doors that had been left slightly ajar were closed. Footsteps echoed faintly through the corridors beyond as guards adjusted their positions—not visibly aggressive, but present enough to make the restriction real.

The three women near the entrance felt it. The first shifted her weight, fingers tightening where they rested against her abdomen. Her uncertainty deepened, no longer just about being in the wrong place but about being unable to leave it.

The second lowered her gaze further, her silence intact though her attention sharpened. The third remained composed, but her stillness became more deliberate, as though she had already begun recalculating.

Old Master Lu’s gaze moved to them again.

"Names," he said. There was no room for hesitation in the command.

The first woman spoke quickly, her voice soft and careful, as though choosing each word mattered. "My name is Lin Qiao."

The second followed, quieter. "Zhang Hui."

The third did not rush. "Chen Ru." Her tone was steadier than the others.

Old Master Lu nodded once, committing each name without writing them down.

"Phones." The word was enough.

A servant stepped forward immediately, hands extended. There was a brief pause before the women complied, each handing over her device in turn. The hesitation was small but visible.

"Separate them," Old Master Lu continued.

Two attendants stepped forward, prepared to guide them away.

That was when the third woman spoke again. "I came here because I was told I belonged here." Her voice was not loud, but it echoed.

The movement in the room paused. It was not a protest. It was a statement. And it changed the weight of everything.

Old Master Lu did not respond immediately. His eyes remained on her a moment longer, measuring the words, before he gestured slightly. "Take them."

This time no one hesitated. The women were guided away, each in a different direction, their presence dissolving from the room but not from the situation they had created.

Silence did not return. It tightened.

Across the hall, Lu Shaohan had not moved. He had not involved himself in the questioning, had not interrupted, had not corrected. But his attention had shifted.

Not to the women. To Su Wan.

He stepped forward slightly, closing a small portion of the distance between them. His voice, when he spoke, was low enough not to carry beyond her.

"You planned this." There was no accusation in his tone. Only quiet certainty.

Su Wan did not look at him immediately. Her gaze remained forward for a brief second longer before turning slightly in his direction.

"If I did," she said, just as quietly, "would it matter?" The answer did not deny. It did not confirm. It left the question where it was.