The next morning, Lisa woke up alone.
The right side of the bed remained perfectly untouched—flat, cold, uninviting.
She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary before quietly slipping out of the blanket. Her bare feet hit the marble floor, instantly chilled.
Her suitcase had been unpacked by the housemaid while she slept. Everything was hung neatly in a walk-in closet, but none of it felt like hers. Designer brands she couldn't pronounce, silk fabrics that made her feel out of place just touching them.
Lisa changed into a modest cream dress, combed her hair into a loose bun, and stepped outside the bedroom. The hallway stretched long and eerily quiet, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
She had no idea where to go.
After wandering a bit, she finally followed the faint clinking of dishes to the dining hall. There, at the far end of a table long enough to host a board meeting, sat John's mother.
Elegant. Immaculate. Cold as polished stone.
Mrs. Lam was drinking tea, her pinky raised delicately. She didn't look up when Lisa entered.
Lisa hesitated. "Good morning, Mother."
The older woman slowly placed her cup down, then finally looked up. Her eyes—so sharp, so calculating—scanned Lisa from head to toe.
"You're late," she said flatly.
"I'm… sorry. I wasn't sure when breakfast—"
"I didn't ask for excuses." Mrs. Lam's voice remained calm, but it carried an undercurrent of disdain. "You are the daughter-in-law of this family now. Act like it. We do not tolerate sloppiness."
Lisa nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She moved toward the empty chair across from Mrs. Lam.
"Not there," the woman said, raising a hand. "That seat belongs to John. You will sit farther down."
Lisa blinked but obeyed, taking a seat three chairs away.
A maid silently placed a small plate in front of her—toast, half a boiled egg, and sliced apples. Not a feast, but not cruel either. Still, the air was colder than the food.
Mrs. Lam sipped her tea, eyes never leaving Lisa.
"I expect you to attend the charity gala this Saturday. It's your first public appearance as a Lam. Your behavior will reflect on our entire family."
Lisa nodded. "Of course."
"I'll have someone teach you how to walk, speak, and smile properly. You may be used to simpler standards, but we cannot afford amateurism."
That last word stung.
Lisa clenched her fists under the table.
"I understand."
Mrs. Lam studied her for another long second, then stood.
"One more thing," she said without turning back. "Do not embarrass my son. He already has enough burdens to carry."
Lisa sat alone in the massive dining hall for a long time after that, the silence now loud enough to scream.
---
That afternoon, she explored the mansion's grounds.
Gardens trimmed like works of art. Marble statues, koi ponds, an indoor pool that glistened under glass ceilings.
But no matter how grand, every corner of the house felt like a museum—beautiful, but lifeless.
As she walked near the backyard rose garden, she heard voices.
A woman's laughter, low and intimate.
Lisa paused behind a tall hedge.
"John, be honest," the woman said, her voice rich with amusement. "You married her just to shut everyone up, didn't you?"
It was the kind of laugh that curled like smoke—light, but toxic.
Lisa peeked through the leaves.
The woman was stunning—tall, poised, dressed in red. Her hand was lightly touching John's arm as he stood next to her, expression unreadable.
He didn't pull away.
"She's just a kid," the woman continued. "That wide-eyed, innocent act... it's adorable. But you and I both know she doesn't belong in your world."
Lisa's breath hitched.
John glanced toward the hedge—almost as if he sensed someone was watching.
"She's my wife," he said finally, voice low.
The woman tilted her head. "But not in your heart."
A pause.
Then John said something Lisa couldn't hear.
The woman smiled slowly. "Call me if you get tired of playing house."
She walked away, heels clicking against the stone path.
John stood there for a moment longer before walking in the opposite direction.
Lisa didn't move.
Her heart beat in her ears. Not because of jealousy.
But because… he hadn't denied it.
---
That night, Lisa stayed in the bedroom alone again.
John didn't come back.
She sat by the window, staring out at the glittering city skyline.
She felt like a ghost in her own life.
And yet, deep inside, something burned.
Not bitterness. Not hatred.
But determination.
If they wanted her to fail—if they expected her to break—she wouldn't give them that satisfaction.
She might've been thrown into this world like trash, but she wouldn't stay invisible forever.
Not to John.
Not to his mother.
Not to that woman in red.
Lisa stared at her reflection in the glass.
"I'll show you all," she whispered.
Then she turned off the lights and went to bed—
—because tomorrow, she'd start learning how to fight… with grace.