The crimson dress hugged her body like a secret she didn't want to tell.
Lin Yuyan stood before the mirror in Zhao Luchen's penthouse guest room—no, her room now, if the world believed the press. Her reflection didn't lie: she looked stunning. Beautiful. Powerful. But beneath the red silk and flawless makeup, her eyes betrayed her.
She was exhausted.
Emotionally. Physically. Publicly.
And tonight, she would have to play her part once again—the devoted wife of a man who had stolen her wedding, her identity, her very future.
She stepped out into the hallway just as the housekeeper finished setting the long formal dining table. Her heels echoed against polished marble, each step a silent act of defiance.
Luchen was already waiting by the window, phone to his ear. His black suit was crisp, elegant, and intimidating. He ended the call the moment he saw her.
His eyes swept over her once. "Perfect."
She ignored the compliment.
"What am I supposed to say to these people?"
He took a slow step toward her, his voice low. "Say nothing. Smile. Laugh when they joke about children. Tell them we met abroad. That we fell in love at first sight."
She scoffed. "So we're lying now?"
"We're telling the truth the world wants."
Before she could retort, the first guests arrived—Zhao Corporation board members and their wives, media elites, and old-money socialites, all eager to see the infamous bride.
Yuyan greeted them as Luchen directed, the perfect hostess. She laughed at the appropriate moments, accepted compliments graciously, even as her skin crawled under their knowing glances.
"He chose well," one old man whispered to his wife.
"She'll keep the press on their side," another murmured.
Luchen sat beside her at dinner, his hand occasionally brushing hers under the table, an act of affection for show. But each time, her spine stiffened like she'd been shocked.
Then, mid-toast, it happened.
"To the newlyweds," said Mr. Zhang, a major shareholder. "May your love be as stable as Zhao Corporation's quarterly growth."
Everyone laughed.
Yuyan's lips twitched.
Luchen didn't blink. "Stability is important. But so is loyalty. In business and in marriage."
The room grew a fraction colder.
She met his gaze, puzzled.
Was that aimed at her—or his brother?
After dinner, the guests filtered out, leaving behind the clinking of empty wine glasses and the scent of perfume.
Yuyan stood near the fireplace, arms crossed.
"That toast. Was it a warning?"
Luchen poured himself a drink. "Only if someone needs one."
She walked up to him, furious. "You enjoy this, don't you? Holding me in place. Playing with power like it's your birthright."
He turned to her slowly. "You think this is about power?"
"Isn't it? You didn't even want a wife. You just wanted control."
He stepped close, his voice dark and low. "I wanted you."
She faltered. "No. You wanted what your brother had."
He shook his head. "He never had you. He had a version of you—a fantasy. I have the real woman. The one who fights."
His hand reached out, fingers brushing her cheek.
She didn't move, heart racing.
"You think I'm obsessed," he whispered.
"You are," she said.
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But you're the one still here. Wearing my ring. Living in my house. Playing my wife."
She slapped his hand away. "Because I don't have a choice."
He nodded. "Exactly. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
She turned and walked away before she did something she'd regret.
But Luchen's voice followed her down the hallway, cool and calm:
"Wear red tomorrow, too. It suits you."
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