It began with a fire.
Not the kind that blazes in open flame, but the kind that starts in silence and spreads in shadows—the kind that burns your name before you ever feel the heat.
Yuyan was on set for a luxury skincare commercial. It was supposed to be a rebranding opportunity—a way to wash away the scandal with something glossy, beautiful, and undeniably marketable. The director had insisted on soft light, white roses, and minimalist silk gowns. But no matter how much powder they dabbed on her face or how many filters they applied, they couldn't hide the tension in her eyes.
"Relax your shoulders," the assistant director murmured for the fifth time. "Try thinking about something… warm."
Yuyan managed a smile. It was hollow.
Then her phone vibrated.
At first, she ignored it. Another call? Another message from a publicist pretending not to panic?
The stylist approached with a touch-up brush. Yuyan waved her away.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
She glanced at the screen.
Three missed calls. Seven new messages.
She excused herself quietly and slipped into the hallway. One call she answered.
It was her manager, Xu Mei, breathless on the other end.
"Yuyan. Don't panic. But there's a leak."
Yuyan froze. "What kind of leak?"
"Zhao Corp. Internal memo. Something about the wedding. The twin mix-up. It's already trending. News outlets are eating it alive."
The words sliced through her.
By the time she reached the green room, her phone was already vibrating again. This time, she didn't ignore it. Her fingers trembled as she opened the news app.
> Zhao Corp Internal Memo Leaked: Wrong Bride, Real Consequences? Anonymous Source: 'The wedding wasn't meant for her.' Zhao Lemin Reappears Abroad Amid Marriage Controversy
Her name was everywhere.
Her picture, side by side with Luchen's, plastered across headlines that screamed betrayal, scandal, and corporate warfare.
Her lungs constricted. Her hands curled into fists.
So this was how it would happen.
Not with confrontation. But with calculated exposure.
With a whisper turned into wildfire.
---
The penthouse felt colder than usual. The skyline outside shimmered with indifference, a thousand golden windows blinking like they were laughing at her.
Yuyan pushed the door open. It hadn't been locked. He didn't need to lock her out.
Zhao Luchen stood by the windows, a glass in hand. Not drinking—just holding it, like the weight of it kept him grounded.
"You've seen it," he said without turning.
"Yes."
She dropped her coat onto the couch, her voice brittle. "You're trending. Again."
"I noticed."
She crossed the room slowly. "Is it true?"
He finally looked at her.
His expression was impassive, but his eyes—always sharp, always calculating—held something darker.
"That the memo leaked? Yes."
"That it was real?"
He took a long pause. "Not in the way they're saying."
She tilted her head. "Then in what way?"
"I never said you were the wrong bride," he replied. "I said it wasn't planned."
She flinched.
"That's worse," she said. "You told someone I wasn't meant to be there. That I wasn't chosen."
He set the glass down. "You think I would've let it go this far if I didn't mean to keep you?"
"You're not keeping me. You're containing me."
Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. "Every time I try to breathe, you throw another scandal at me. Every time I try to stand, you clip my wings."
He walked toward her, slowly.
"I built this to protect us."
"You built it to protect you."
He stopped a foot away from her. Close enough to touch. Far enough to be unreachable.
"I've had to fight for everything I own," he said. "Fight to keep the company, fight to keep my family's name, fight to stay sane."
"I never asked for any of that."
"You walked into my life at the worst possible moment," he said. "You saw blood on the floor and still stepped into the war zone. Don't pretend like you didn't know."
She laughed bitterly. "I didn't know anything. Because you never told me the truth. You just handed me a script and expected me to play along."
His jaw clenched. "You're not a pawn."
"Then stop moving me like one."
Silence stretched between them. Not empty—charged. Like something was about to crack.
Then his voice dropped.
"I never intended to love you."
Yuyan blinked.
"But I do."
Her breath hitched. She couldn't move.
"And that," he continued, "is the most dangerous part. Because I don't know how to love without turning it into possession."
She took a step back.
"You're right," she whispered. "You don't know. Because love doesn't hold people hostage. It doesn't build cages of glass and call them palaces."
"I've given you everything."
"No. You gave me nothing. Not honesty. Not trust. Not freedom."
His voice was low now, almost broken. "I didn't know how."
She stared at him.
And—for a moment—she saw the boy in the shrine room again. The one who had watched everything he loved die. The one who had rebuilt himself from ashes.
But she wasn't the kindling for another fire.
"I need air," she said.
She turned and walked toward the elevator.
He didn't follow.
And that, more than anything, told her he was starting to understand.
---
Outside, the wind was sharp against her face. She stepped out onto the rooftop garden of the building, somewhere she rarely visited. The lights of the city blinked far below.
The skyline was cruel in its beauty.
But in this moment, it gave her clarity.
She couldn't keep reacting. Couldn't keep surviving scandals like aftershocks. If she didn't take control of the narrative, it would bury her.
No more playing the dutiful wife.
No more waiting for his permission to breathe.
She reached for her phone.
Opened her private notes.
And began to write her own version of the truth.
---