In the medical community, having your professional title promotion delayed by at least three years was a fate worse than being fired. But Selina wasn't the type to accept her fate. She channeled all her hatred toward me.

One day, a strange visitor arrived at my studio. She wasn't there for a consultation; she was there to cause trouble. A fashionably dressed woman walked in, her tone dripping with sarcasm from the moment she opened her mouth.

"So this is it? 'Three Meals' Studio? I heard the owner is Adrian Lu’s ex-wife. Did you open this with the settlement money from your divorce?" Her voice was loud, causing several clients in the shop to turn their heads. I was in the middle of preparing a plan for a pregnant woman. I looked up at her.

"How can I help you today?" "I’m just curious," she said, leaning against the counter with a fake smile. "A minor nutritionist from the Nutrition Department using her ex-husband’s money to start a business and packaging herself as an expert—isn't that a bit opportunistic?"

I put down my pen and stood up. "First, my credentials are on the wall for you to verify. Second, you are welcome to check our client satisfaction rates and referral data. Third, if you aren't here for a consultation, the door is right behind you." She choked on her words but tried to say something else. Just then, the door pushed open.

Dr. Fang walked in. She had an appointment to discuss a referral plan and happened to walk right into the scene. "What’s going on?" Dr. Fang asked, glancing at the woman. The woman’s face paled when she saw Dr. Fang’s hospital ID badge. "Nothing, I was just looking around." "Then please, leave," Dr. Fang said coldly. Standing beside me, her presence as a Chief Physician from a top-tier hospital was enough to silence the woman completely.

The woman slinked away. Dr. Fang sat down and gave me a knowing look. "One of Selina’s people?" "Probably." "Don't mind her. Selina can barely save herself right now." Dr. Fang opened her laptop. "Now, let’s get to business. I’ll send you the latest referral list."

But Selina’s tactics didn't stop there. That night, a wave of posts appeared on several local parenting forums:

[Exposing 'Three Meals' Studio at Riverside Manor: Owner got ten million dollars after being a homewrecker.]

[Adrian Lu’s ex-wife opens nutrition studio: Unscrupulous merchant uses ex-husband’s fame to scam customers.]

The language was vicious, accompanied by surreptitious photos of me entering and leaving the studio, along with screenshots related to my house purchase. My employees were the first to find them, and when they shared the screenshots in our work group, their voices were trembling with fear. "Vivian, what do we do? There are so many posts, and the comments are horrible."

I read a few comments and turned off my phone. To be honest, it made my stomach churn. But I didn't panic. I called Dr. Fang. "Dr. Fang, did you see the posts?" "I did. They're fake, right?" "Entirely." "Then there's nothing to fear. I’ll help you contact the hospital’s legal department to issue a statement." "No need for all that trouble. I’ll handle it myself."

That evening, I posted to my social feed. No explanations, no pleas for belief. I simply attached three things:

My Senior Clinical Nutritionist certificate.

Official referral agreements with partner hospitals since the founding of "Three Meals" (with sensitive info redacted).

Written testimonials from OB-GYN directors at three top-tier hospitals.

The caption was just one sentence: [Facts don’t need explanation; data speaks for itself. I will respond to things that require a response. For everything else, I won’t waste my time.]

The first comment was from Dr. Fang: [Professional and reliable; highly recommended. I suggest those spreading rumors book an appointment to get their heads checked.] The second was from my mother: [I know my daughter better than anyone. Anyone else talking nonsense will have to answer to me.] The third was from Ms. Li: [Vivian is a good girl! Those liars are heartless!]

The heat from the posts died down quickly because, on the other side, Selina Shen had crashed and burned. It wasn't Adrian who did it, but the younger doctors at St. Yanhe. Someone among them had discovered the link between the posting IPs and Selina’s devices. They compiled the screenshots and handed them directly to the Ethics Committee.

A second violation. This time, her suspension was upgraded to a termination. Her medical license was submitted for review. Even her mentor publicly cut ties with her, posting: [As of today, Selina Shen has no further association with me or my research group.] She was finished.

When I saw the news, I was adjusting a plan for a pregnant woman. I didn't feel much—no joy, no sense of revenge. I just thought:

If she had known it would end like this, why did she do it in the first place?

That evening, as I was closing up the studio, Adrian Lu appeared at the door. He was still in his blue surgical scrubs, looking as though he had rushed straight from the hospital. "I’m sorry about the things online. I didn't handle things cleanly enough." "It has nothing to do with you," I said, locking the door with my back to him. "I can handle it myself." "I know," he paused. "But I want you to know that nothing like this will ever happen again."

I turned to look at him. He was standing under the streetlamp, his shadow long against the pavement. His sleeves were rolled up, and there were red marks on his wrists from the surgical gloves. He pulled a small box from his pocket. "Vivian." My heart skipped a beat. He opened the box.

It was a ring. Not a massive diamond, but a very thin, silver band. Something was engraved on the inner rim. He didn't kneel. He just stood there, holding the box out to me. "I’ve thought a long time about how to say this. I’m not very good with words, as you know." I stared at the ring.

"I used to think that as long as the contract was fulfilled, that was enough. Someone to cook, someone to leave the lights on, someone to buy medicine... I didn't have to care as long as my stomach didn't hurt." "But after you left, the lights stayed off. The medicine didn't get replaced. I realized those weren't just things being done by 'someone.' It was you." "It was always you."

I kept my head down and didn't speak. "I don't expect you to say yes right now. You can take your time. A year, two years—it doesn't matter." He placed the box in my hand. "But take this for now." I gripped the box. It was light, but my fingers were shaking. "I’ll think about it."

He nodded, turned to walk away, then stopped. "Read the words inside the ring when you get home."

I didn't look at it then. When I got home, I sat in the garden and held the ring up under the light. On the inner band, a tiny line was engraved:

[Twelve dollars a bottle. I remembered.]

I stared at those words for a long, long time. Then, I slid the ring onto the ring finger of my right hand. Not the left—I hadn't made up my mind yet. But I didn't put it back in the box, either.