The stylists entered like a professional sports team. They transformed me completely. Foundation was applied like plaster, covering the evidence of my tears. My hair was twisted into an elegant updo. When they held up the mirror, I looked like like a stranger to myself. I looked like a beautiful mannequin.
The final touch was the diamonds. The necklace was made of luxurious stones , it was heavier than any I had worn before. But as I wore it, it felt like wearing a chain. To me these weren't jewels, they were shackles of the Wang name.
When I came out from the dressing room, Asher was waiting by the front door, checking his watch. He looke at me as if assessing me.
"Acceptable." He stated.
He offered me his arm, like it was a command and I had to follow it.
In the soundproofed silence of the limousine, the world outside the windows was like a dream to me. Asher worked on his tablet with full concentration.
I stared out the window, my hands clenched in my lap. Each passing light, each bustling restaurant, each laughing couple on the street made me feel even more lonely. They were living their lives, while I was being transported to my public execution. He didn't speak throughout the drive. The only sounds were the sound the engine and the tap of his fingers on the screen.
Soon, the limousine began to slow, merging into a line of luxury cars crawling toward the museum. I could see the press with cameras and microphones. Asher finally put his tablet away, and turned to me.
"Remember, you are a Wang. You do not flinch. You do not break. You are above it all."
The car door was opened from the outside, and we heard the sound of shouting reporters, and cameras. He put up a perfect confident smile on his face and looked at me. I also forced a perfect smile on my face as I linked my arm to his and stepped out of the car.
The moment we stepped out of the car, we were engulfed. Camera flashes exploded around us, reporters were asking questions with microphones in their hands.
Asher place his hand on my back. It wasn't a gesture of support instead, it was a brand of ownership. Crowd wearing tuxedos and gowns parted for us,
"...the Lin girl..."
"...can you imagine the shame..."
"...look at him, cold as ever..."
"...what is she even doing here..."
I held my head high, the weight of the diamonds a constant reminder of my role. Asher was impeccable. He greeted other titans of industry and their wives with the same confident smile.
"Charles, good to see you. Anna, you look lovely."
He never acknowledged the stares, the unspoken questions, the whispers. The men he spoke with would shake his hand, their eyes looking at me with a mix of pity and curiosity. They weren't looking at Rysa Wang, they were looking at the daughter of Richard Lin, a fraud who had ran away.
Then suddenly a man broke from the press line, ducking under the arm of a security guard. He shoved a digital recorder toward us.
"Mr. Wang! A moment! Is it true you'll be seeking an annulment in light of the scandal? How does the Wang family feel about being publicly connected to such a massive fraud?"
Time seemed to slow. The chatter around us died instantly, every head turning in our direction. I felt my mask crack, feeling humiliated. My smile faltered and died. I expected Asher to remove his hand from my back. But he didn't.
Instead, the pressure of his hand on my back intensified, pulling me even more closer to him.
Asher didn't even look at the reporter. He looked at the silent crowd around us. When he spoke, his voice was not loud, but it carried authority.
"The Wang family stands by its own."
He finally looked at the reporter with such anger, that that the reporter actually took a step back.
"Let me be perfectly clear." He announced. "My wife is the primary victim in this tragedy. She has lost her family and her name, and now she must endure the spectacle of vultures like you."
He paused, letting the word vultures hang in the air, a deliberate insult that made several reporters flinch.
"The Wang family stands by its own. We do not abandon our own. And to answer your question, the next person who dares to insult my wife will find themselves facing not just a lawsuit, but the full and personal consequences of threatening my family."
Everyone became silent. The reporter who had shouted the question looked as if he'd been physically assaulted. The cameras continued to flash but now with fear.
Asher didn't wait for a response. He simply adjusted his grip on me, his hand was firm on my waist, and turned, leading me away from the silent crowd. The people parted for us once more, but this time, the looks were not of pity or curiosity, but of fear and respect.
He had taken a moment meant for my humiliation and, with a few words, had transformed it into a display of power.
We exited the venue. The limousine door closed. I could still feel his possessive grip on my waist. I stared at him but he was calm, as if nothing happened. I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Why? Why did you do that?"
He didn't answer immediately. He finished whatever message he was typing on his phone. Then, slowly, he set the tablet aside and turned his head to look at me.
"I told you perception is a weapon. Tonight, we needed to show strength, not division. We needed to show unity, not fear." He stated it as if reading from a corporate memo on crisis management.
But then he leaned forward. The distance between us vanished, and his voice dropped to a whisper that was for my ears alone.
"But never mistake the performance for the reality, Rysa. You belong to me. That is the only truth that matters."
The limousine stopped in front of the penthouse. And as the driver opened the door, I knew the most dangerous part of the night was just beginning, being alone with the man who had just declared me his permanent possession.
He exited the car without another glance, expecting me to follow. I sat frozen for a moment, the words "you belong to me" echoing in the silence.