The grand doors, adorned with pale pink and ivory flowers, swung open with quiet majesty.
And there she was—Anya Lu.
Her lashes lowered, her steps delicate, her face an angelic blend of innocence and sorrow. Her short, silky hair was styled neatly—tied close yet with a soft looseness that framed her princess-like features. In her shimmering gown, she looked otherworldly, like a fairy descending unwillingly to earth. The heavy fabric felt less like a celebration and more like a shroud, a beautiful cage.
Each step echoed like a sigh in the vast hall. The grand chandeliers hung overhead like a web of silver, catching every glint of her misery. The lavishly decorated space glittered, a suffocating brilliance. Guests turned, their gazes heavy upon her, but Anya seemed untouched. Her thoughts circled only one name—her father.
The memory struck like a blade—the last moment she had with him. His hand, frail yet warm, pressing hers as he whispered his final wish: "Trust Zain Yan. I entrust you to him."
Her chest constricted. If only you were here, Papa… I would not be walking toward this cold man, into a marriage filled with nothing but duty and hatred.
Whispers rustled among the guests, the sound like dry leaves scattering in the wind.
"Did you hear? Her father died only days ago…"
"And now she's marrying the adopted son of the Yan Empire's chairman."
"Fortune has blessed her—if only my daughter were so lucky…"
At the center of it all stood Zain Yan.
Clad in a white suit, he looked no less than a prince—a prince carved from ice. His sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and rigid expression made him impossibly striking yet impossibly distant. A man sculpted from stone, utterly unapproachable.
When Anya reached him, Zain extended his hand.
She hesitated, her hand hovering above his, a chasm she had to cross. A single bead of sweat traced a path down her temple. Finally, she placed her hand in his. The moment their skin touched, she flinched. His hand was warm, but the grip was firm, unyielding. Her knuckles turned white as he held her, a lock snapping shut. Together, they walked toward the priest, two strangers bound by fate, standing side by side before the world.
In that instant, Zain caught the glimmer of pain in her eyes—a reflection of his own buried torment. He saw her fragility and felt a familiar, sharp pang in his chest. Neither spoke. The silence between them was as heavy as a secret.
Zain's gaze flicked to his parents—Jiya Yan and Cheng Yan—beaming proudly. His little sister, radiant with joy.
Anya looked to her own family—her grieving mother, her younger brother—tears shimmering in their eyes.
The priest's solemn voice broke through:
"Mr. Zain Yan, do you accept Miss Anya Lu as your lawful wife?"
For a heartbeat, Zain saw another face—his first love. The phantom of memory sliced through him. He lowered his lashes, a fleeting darkness hiding the storm within. The weight of his father's expectation was a debt he was born with. He wasn't marrying her, he was fulfilling an obligation. His voice, firm and unwavering, rang out:
"Yes."
The priest turned to Anya.
"Miss Anya Lu, do you accept Mr. Zain Yan as your husband?"
Her trembling gaze darted to her mother. Through tears, her mother nodded, a silent command. Say it, my child…
Anya's throat ached, a knot of dread. She looked at Zain—this man who would be her captor and her protector—and whispered:
"Yes."
A wave of emotion swept the hall.
The two mothers clasped hands, tears glistening.
"Congratulations," they said softly.
Cheng Yan tilted his head upward and murmured, almost to the heavens:
"Your last wish has been fulfilled, my friend."
The priest smiled warmly.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Anya's heart thudded like a drum against her ribs. Her lips quivered. A kiss? In front of everyone…? The thought made her want to retreat, to hide.
Before she could gather herself, Zain's hands cupped her face. His touch was firm, commanding. He pulled her closer, his gaze locked with hers, cold and intense. He wasn't asking permission; he was taking control. He kissed her.
Gasps rippled across the hall. Silence fell, as though time itself had frozen.
Anya's eyes widened, her breath caught. She felt the warmth of his lips but felt nothing else. Her heart pounded so violently it hurt. Ten seconds stretched into eternity before he released her.
His lips brushed close to her ear as he whispered, low and lethal:
"This isn't a marriage… it's a prison." His words were like shackles, cold and heavy.
When he pulled away, his face was calm, a polite smile plastered on for the audience. The perfect mask.
Anya stood rigid, the words echoing like chains around her soul.
From the crowd, jealous murmurs rose again:
"Look at her luck…"
"She married our dream…"
"If only it were us…"
But Anya's heart sank heavier with each word. And Zain's gaze—dark, unreadable—offered no comfort.
The ceremony ended, but the silence they left behind clung like iron chains as the dinner began. Guests drifted out, leaving only close family at the Yan mansion for dinner.
Zain was surrounded by cousins, his tall frame and stoic presence drawing all eyes. He was a king in his castle, untouchable.
Anya, still in her suffocating gown, stood alone in a shadowed corner. The heavy satin felt like a weight, a punishment. Her mother, Lu Ming, approached—her modest dress glaringly out of place in such grandeur.
Anya's composure broke. Tears spilled as she clung to her mother.
"Mother… I don't want to stay in this marriage."
Lu Ming stroked her daughter's back gently.
"My child, your father longed for this day. He wanted to see you as a bride. He is not here, but he smiles from above. Today, he blesses you and Zain."
She wiped Anya's tears, whispering with conviction:
"This marriage is destiny. Trust each other. Stand by each other."
Anya's sobs softened. She nodded, brokenly.
"Yes, Mother…"
As her mother pulled her close, Anya's eyes caught Zain across the hall. He stared at her with his icy, unreadable gaze, then turned away, leaving her chest hollow.
Lu Ming squeezed her hand.
"Take care of yourself, and of your new family."
"You're leaving?" Anya's voice cracked.
"Yes. Your grandmother is unwell."
"At least stay for dinner—please," Anya urged.
Her mother shook her head gently. "No, dear. You must stay. Go and change out of that gown—it must be suffocating."
Anya nodded weakly. "Yes, I was just about to."
She drifted upstairs, the weight of the dress dragging like chains.
Meanwhile, Lu Ming stepped out in search of her son, Lu Wei. She stopped, surprised—on the steps sat Zain, one leg bent, the other stretched, holding Lu Wei close.
His voice was calm, almost fatherly:
"Next time someone troubles you, don't cry. Face them with courage."
Lu Wei's wide eyes gleamed. "Okay, brother-in-law."
For the first time that day, a faint smile curved Zain's lips. His cold green eyes softened, glowing with warmth. He patted the boy's hair.
"You're really cute."
Lu Ming approached. Zain rose swiftly, bowing with respect.
"Mother."
She smiled faintly. "You and Lu Wei seem close already."
"Of course! Brother-in-law saved me from bullies!" the boy chirped.
Lu Ming chuckled. "Thank you, Zain."
Zain's tone was calm. "There's no need for thanks."
Tears glimmered in Lu Ming's eyes. "I thank you… because you fulfilled my husband's last wish."
Zain's gaze shadowed. He knew the debt was more than money could repay. His voice dropped low.
"Mr. Lu once saved my father's life. I'll remain indebted forever."
She nodded. "My daughter is naïve. Don't misunderstand her if she speaks out of turn. And… please, don't let her eat cold food at night. She falls ill easily."
"I'll take care of her," Zain said firmly. Then asked, "You're leaving already?"
"Yes. Her grandmother needs me."
"How will you go in a taxi?" Zain immediately pulled out his phone. "Send a driver to the parking lot."
He slipped his phone away. "The car is ready. You'll go safely."
Lu Ming smiled softly. "Thank you, Zain."
"There's no need. Be careful on the way."
He ruffled Lu Wei's hair again.
"Remember what I told you, little brother-in-law."
"Yes, brother-in-law!" the boy beamed.
The driver arrived. Lu Ming led her son away.
"Take care," Zain said, his voice low, almost protective.
Inside, a maid entered Anya's room with folded clothes.
"Madam, Old Madam Yan requests you wear this for tonight's family dinner."
Anya dressed in a silk white blouse and simple jewels, her hair neatly styled. She looked perfect on the outside—but inside, her dreams lay in ruins.
Clutching her phone, she pressed it against her chest. On its screen was her father's photo.
Papa… if only you were here…
The door creaked. Zain entered. The air shifted, thick with unspoken tension.
Startled, Anya hid the phone. She tried to move past, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist—firm, unyielding.
"Where are you going, Mrs. Yan?" His voice was dangerously soft, a silken rope.
"I… downstairs."
His lips curved in a mocking smile.
"Oh? Ignoring me?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice a tremor. "I was ignoring you."
His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin like a vice.
"Don't forget—I am your boss and your husband. You cannot escape me."
Her eyes filled, a glimmer of trapped light. "What can I do? This is my fate."
He lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. His eyes were cold flames, a mirror of his anger.
"Fate? No—fortune. You're lucky. Your boss is your husband."
Her voice cracked, fragile but defiant.
"I don't accept you as my husband. To me… you're only my boss."
His smile turned cruel.
"Believe what you want. But remember—this marriage must stay hidden. To the world, you're still Miss Lu. This marriage is nothing but a name… and for you, a prison."
He released her and strode out. The door slammed, a final, echoing bang.
Anya's tears slipped free, silent and endless, tracing a path down her cheek.
That night, the Yan dining hall glittered under chandeliers. A long table overflowed with dishes, relatives filling every seat.
Anya entered, bowing politely.
Madam Yan's face softened. "My son's bride… you look so beautiful."
"I'm sorry I was late," Anya said softly.
"Don't worry, child. Sit."
Zain sat at the head, a king on his throne, unmoved, eyes cold. He swirled his wine, the red liquid a dark contrast to his flawless white suit.
A cousin sneered.
"So this is Mrs. Yan? She looks so plain. Didn't her father just die?"
Laughter rippled.
"Exactly. This is nothing but debt repayment. Otherwise, Zain wouldn't look at her."
"And to think… celebrities lined up for him. But he got… her."
Anya bit her lip, nails digging into her palm under the table, drawing blood. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself silent. A quiet prisoner. Her eyes flickered to Zain—would he defend her? He simply sipped his wine, gaze drifting away. A cold, distant god.
Her heart fractured.
Then Madam Yan's voice cracked through:
"Enough! I chose Anya because of her kind heart. It was my wish my son marry her, and that wish is fulfilled."
She raised her glass. "A toast—to my daughter-in-law."
Silence fell.
Anya lifted her glass, her fingers trembling.
Suddenly, Zain slammed his glass down, the sharp crack echoing. He stood abruptly, face storm-dark, and stormed out.
"Why did Zain leave?" a relative whispered.
Madam Yan frowned. "Anya, dear… go see what's wrong."
Anya rose, bowed slightly, and followed. The chains of her duty pulling her after him.
Outside in the parking lot, Zain gripped his car door, his knuckles turning white with fury. His jaw was clenched, a muscle pulsing.
"Why did you leave?" Anya asked quietly.
He turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Why do you care?"
"Mother asked me."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Inside, they mocked you. And you just sat there. Now you dare talk to me?"
Tears shimmered, but she held steady.
"And you? You heard it all. You said nothing."
For the first time, his gaze faltered—conflict flickered, a deep, painful flicker, gone in a blink. He hated their words, but hated the reason for this marriage even more. He wanted to break free, but couldn't.
"My mistake," Anya whispered, voice trembling, "was believing you'd stand by me."
She turned, walking away. After a few steps, she paused.
"Call Mother. Tell her you're fine."
Then she left, her figure fading into the night.