The heavy mahogany door of the Lin family's drawing-room shut with a definitive click behind Anya, sealing the most humiliating, yet strategically brilliant, moments of her current life. The cold, crisp autumn air outside did little to chill the triumphant fury coursing through her veins.
Patriarch Lin, beaming with avarice and relief, turned to his wife and his favored children, Julian and Elena. "It is done. The contract is signed. The Thorne deposit will secure the new pharmaceuticals division. And all it cost was that useless girl!" He let out a grating, self-satisfied chuckle.
Anya, the "useless girl," walked past them. She didn't flinch as Elena sneered, "Don't trip on the way out, Mrs. Thorne."
She was no longer concerned with their petty sabotage. She had already signed a contract binding her to the Thorne Group. Her immediate objective had shifted: control the narrative and exploit the loophole.
The Chariot of Disdain
A sleek, black Thorne Group executive sedan waited outside, a stark contrast to the Lin Mansion's tired elegance. Commander Stone, the rigid, heavily muscled head of Kaius's security detail, held the door open with an expression that conveyed exactly what he thought of the entire arrangement: professional disgust.
Anya paused. She knew this man was watching her, evaluating her worth to his employer. Anya Lin would have scrambled into the car. The Oracle straightened her spine, subtly adjusted her posture—the change was small, but Commander Stone's eyes narrowed fractionally.
"Commander Stone," Anya said softly, her voice still timid, but her tone carrying a surprising gravity. "The Matriarch is unwell. I must retrieve my personal, necessary effects from the east wing before proceeding."
Stone's jaw tightened. "Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne explicitly ordered a direct route to the ceremony. No delays."
"Then you will inform Mr. Thorne," Anya continued, her voice gaining a thread of steel that belied her appearance, "that Anya Lin is ready to fulfill her duties as his wife, but only once she has secured the items necessary to manage her own physical and mental disposition. Unless, of course, Mr. Thorne prefers a bride who collapses from anxiety during the ceremony."
She met his gaze directly for the first time. The thick glasses were a brilliant shield, but the intensity emanating from behind them was palpable.
Commander Stone hesitated for a beat—a beat that proved her victory. He didn't see a pathetic girl; he saw a calculated risk assessment.
"Very well, Mrs. Thorne," he clipped into his wrist-com. "But I accompany you."
The delay was insignificant, but the message was crucial: Anya Lin now negotiated, even over her luggage. The subtle power play was designed for Stone to report directly back to Kaius.
Inside the dilapidated east wing, Anya snatched three items: a worn, empty wooden box (where she would store her "Dr. A" tinctures), the cheap smartphone she had used to contact The Broker, and a tattered calligraphy scroll—her past life's practice tool, essential for her Xiao identity. She emerged five minutes later, having done nothing more than collect her carefully chosen props.
The First Battleground: Thorne Estate
The drive was silent and swift. The Thorne Estate was not a mere mansion; it was an architectural masterpiece of cold steel, glass, and geometric precision—a fortress built on tech billions.
The entrance hall was cavernous, minimalist, and staffed by a small army of silently efficient servants. A petite, elegantly dressed woman with sharp eyes—Lydia Thorne's personal assistant—met them.
"Mrs. Thorne," the assistant said, her tone dripping with passive-aggression. "The ceremony will commence in sixty minutes. Your preparations team is waiting. Mr. Thorne is in his private study."
Anya, still playing the role of the overwhelmed bride, clutched her wooden box. "Please, I... I need to sit down. The drive was overwhelming." She stumbled slightly, perfectly acting out a panic attack.
Lydia Thorne herself, Kaius's sister, swept down the staircase, a vision of volatile beauty and designer clothing. "Oh, do stop with the theatrics," Lydia drawled, her voice a spoiled whine. "Honestly, Anya. You look like a pauper who just won the lottery. Just go and let the stylists work their miracle—they'll need it."
Anya's glasses slid down her nose. The Oracle registered the hatred, but also the instability in the younger woman's eyes. Lydia was a loose cannon, easily manipulated.
A spoiled brat, perfect for creating public chaos.
Ignoring Lydia, Anya looked past her to the cluster of staff and servants. She spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear, addressing no one in particular.
"My sincerest apologies. My body is weak. I require an immediate tonic. Where is the kitchen? I must prepare it myself; it is an ancient Lin family herbal remedy. No one else knows the correct ratio."
The staff exchanged startled glances. The "slow-witted" bride was ordering them around.
Lydia bristled. "A tonic? Are you serious? You're marrying into the Thorne family, not running a peasant pharmacy! Just take an aspirin!"
Anya turned to her, her expression one of meek sincerity. "It is a requirement of my health, Miss Thorne. Forgive me, but the contract is clear that I must maintain my physical integrity to fulfill my duties. I cannot afford to be ill on my wedding day."
Again, the word 'contract' worked like a charm. Lydia scowled, recognizing the immediate threat of legal entanglement, and huffed away. The unspoken rule of the Thorne house was simple: do not cause a disruption that might cost the family money.
The path to the kitchen was open.
The kitchen was professional and sterile. Anya didn't make a tonic. She found a glass of filtered water and sat down, removing her glasses—a moment of pure relief. Without the thick lenses, the sharp, analytical brilliance of her eyes was startling.
She used the quiet time to launch her first full-scale operation as the Phoenix.
Retrieving the smartphone, she activated a pre-programmed macro she had prepared at the Lin Mansion. This macro executed a two-step plan:
* Payment Collection: It pinged The Broker, confirming that the initial, untraceable fee of five million USD had been deposited into her newly created anonymous offshore account. Seed money secured.
* The Bait: It sent a detailed, encrypted report—disguised as coming from a high-level independent contractor—directly to Kaius Thorne's private, secured email. This report precisely identified the flaw in his AI firewall and detailed how the Syndicate could activate the backdoor.
The report was perfectly timed. Kaius would receive it exactly forty-five minutes before the ceremony. Just enough time for the severity of the threat to sink in, but not enough time to trace the source or fix the problem.
He must realize his dependence on the "Phoenix" before he exchanges vows with the fool.
Anya knew Kaius would instantly recognize the danger. His mind would be split between the contract he had to sign and the disaster threatening his company. She was ensuring his focus was on power, not her person.
She replaced her glasses. The brief clarity was gone, replaced by the façade of the clumsy heiress. She was ready for her preparation team.
An hour later, Anya was transformed. The old dress was replaced by a simple but elegant custom-fit gown. Her hair, though still contained, was styled to accentuate her delicate features. The makeup was minimal, expertly applied to soften her image but unable to fully conceal the striking bone structure of her face.
Just before she was due to walk to the private ceremony hall, a young aide hurried in, pale-faced.
"Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne requests five minutes alone with you, in the drawing-room."
Anya knew. The bait had worked.
She found Kaius standing by a massive, imported stone fireplace. He was radiating coiled tension. On a small coffee table, next to his untouched glass of water, lay a sleek tablet, displaying the encrypted Phoenix report.
He didn't look at her. He didn't offer a chair. He cut straight to the point, his voice a low, furious rumble.
"I don't know who you are, Anya," Kaius said, his eyes scanning the security feed displayed on his tablet. "I don't know what games your family is playing, but this"—he tapped the screen—"this is a game for adults. I just received a communication detailing a security breach that could cost me billions and ruin the Thorne Group. If this is a Lin family threat, this wedding will be the least of your worries."
Anya's heart—the Oracle's heart—leapt with satisfaction. He wasn't talking about love or hate; he was talking about warfare.
She lowered her gaze, projecting the image of a cornered animal. "Mr. Thorne," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "I... I don't understand technology. My family... they only wanted me to be a good wife. I swear I know nothing of this."
Kaius finally looked at her, his dark eyes piercing. He searched her face for lies, for comprehension, for anything that suggested she was intelligent enough to orchestrate this. He found nothing but timid confusion.
"The source of this information," he stated, his voice a challenge, "demands a five million dollar payment, and access for a consultant named 'Phoenix.' They saved my company before the wedding even began. Now, they demand to be let into the heart of my systems. I want to know if you, or anyone related to you, is Phoenix."
Anya shook her head slowly, clutching her hands in front of her. "I don't even know what a Phoenix is, Mr. Thorne. I... I only know that I must obey your commands."
She managed to make the statement sound pathetic, yet utterly sincere. The lie was perfect because it contained the kernel of truth: She was the Phoenix, and she would obey her own commands.
Kaius let out a sharp exhalation of frustration. He had to assume the report was legitimate, and the threat was real. He couldn't risk the Thorne Group's future on a hunch that his meek, useless bride was a world-class hacker.
"Fine," he bit out, snatching up the contract from the table. "You will be silent, Anya. You will be unseen. You will fulfill the limited duties required of you. I will not tolerate any distractions."
He signed the final copy of the marriage license with a savage stroke.
"Let's go. It's time to make this marriage official."
Anya watched him turn and stride toward the hall, a powerful, solitary figure. She knew her role now. She was a ghost in his mansion, a pawn in his empire, and the only one who could truly save him.
The timid girl followed her cold husband. The wedding ceremony was brief, joyless, and attended by only the closest of the two families. When the ring—a modest, almost insulting solitaire—was placed on Anya's finger, she felt not the weight of matrimony, but the cold weight of the five million dollars that had just landed in her new life.
Anya Lin was officially Mrs. Thorne. And the Silent Oracle was now perfectly placed to rebuild her empire from the ashes of her husband's.