"Zhu."
A gentle voice called out to the young girl playing quietly with a baby boy nestled in her lap. She turned at the sound, light brown eyes glowing with joy and a small smile curving her lips.
The voice belonged to Fu Nancy, a slim, middle-aged woman wearing a handmade apron splattered with colourful handprints. Her black hair was wrapped in a matching headscarf—same fabric, same cheerful smudges of paint.
As Nancy approached, her smile faltered, replaced by a troubled expression.
"It's time to go home now, Zhu," she said softly, reaching for the baby.
The light dimmed in Zhu's eyes. Her smile faded.
With a tenderness that belied her sadness, she lifted the toddler from her lap and set him gently on the bench beside Nancy, tapping the boy playfully on the nose. He giggled, unaware of her quiet sorrow.
Fu Nancy—head of the orphanage Zhu once called home—watched the exchange with a sympathetic gaze.
"I'm sorry, Zhu," she said kindly. "You know it'll be harder for you if you get back late."
Zhu sighed and glanced out at the yard where children played freely under the sun. Her heart ached to run among them. But she turned away, resigned. "I know. Thank you, Ms. Nancy."
She bent to pick up the two grocery bags she'd placed at her feet and began the slow walk toward the gate. She gave a small wave over her shoulder.
"I'll see you next time. Bye, Ms. Nancy."
If only she knew that next time would be a long time coming.
---
The orphanage had been her home until the age of six. Then she was taken in by the Wangs as a foster daughter. She had been so happy back then—convinced she'd finally found a family.
But her joy was short-lived.
The Wangs didn't want a daughter. They wanted free labour.
By the age of nine, Zhu was cooking, cleaning, and washing for the household like a full-time maid—only worse. She wasn't paid, and she never had a day off. Her every breath was service.
What made it worse was that no one knew what really went on in the Wang household. On the surface, they were praised for their "generosity," their "benevolence." They were admired for taking in a poor orphan girl and "giving her a better life."
The Wangs belonged to a well-known Kappa-tier business guild in the village. Their influence made them untouchable. So when people noticed Zhu's worn clothes or her spotty school attendance, they looked the other way.
---
As Zhu trudged up the hill, grocery bags in hand, her heart yearned to return to the orphanage. The only time she could visit was during errands like this—and even then, only for a few precious minutes. Moments like those were her escape. Her heaven.
Then she saw it—the Wang estate.
Her stomach dropped.
It was a grand mansion, gleaming white limestone that sparkled like diamonds under the sun. The lawn was manicured to perfection, the bushes trimmed like topiary art. Everything was designed to impress. The Wangs had perfected the illusion of opulence.
A black limousine sat parked in the front driveway.
Zhu paid it no mind. She turned to head around the back, toward the servant's entrance, as she always did—until two maids rushed toward her.
Without a word, one of them snatched the grocery bags from her hands. The other was the head housekeeper, Mrs. Mu—a sour-faced woman with a sharp tongue and zero patience.
"You are to come with me at once, girl," Mrs. Mu barked, turning briskly and expecting Zhu to follow.
Zhu obeyed, dread rising like bile in her throat.
Her heart thundered. Something wasn't right. Something terrible was about to happen.
But she knew better than to question Mrs. Mu. The last time she'd dared speak out of turn, she'd received a slap so hard it made her ears ring for hours.
She kept her head low, arms folded in front of her as they made their way through the house.
Mrs. Mu led her to the maids' quarters on the first floor.
"Shower. And get out of those filthy clothes," the old woman snapped, pointing to the bathroom.
Zhu moved instantly. Insults were nothing new. No one in the Wang household treated her with dignity. But something about today—this sudden change in routine, the limousine—made her sick with dread.
She showered quickly. When she stepped out, Mrs. Mu was waiting with a yellow dress adorned with daisies.
"Put this on. Be quick."
Zhu hesitated for only a moment, then slipped it on. It was soft and clean. The hem bounced at her knees as she moved—like it was meant to be worn for joy.
Another maid entered and combed Zhu's damp black hair. A second applied light makeup.
Zhu's heart raced. Why? Why are they dressing me like this?
They all thought she was stupid. But she wasn't. She saw things—understood more than she ever let on.
And now her mind was spinning, trying to piece it together.
When they finished, Mrs. Mu examined her like merchandise, then gave a single nod of approval.
"Follow me."
Zhu wanted to run.
But she followed.
They stopped outside the Blue Tea Room—the most lavish sitting area in the mansion. Reserved for elite guests. The carpet alone could pay for months of groceries.
Mrs. Mu turned to her. "Stay." She knocked, then slipped inside.
Muffled voices carried through the thick wooden door.
Zhu looked around. To her right—two maids. To her left—two more. No escape.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Then the door opened.
"Come," Mrs. Mu said flatly.
Zhu's body moved on instinct. Years of obedience had conditioned her muscles to obey commands before her mind could object.
She stumbled slightly as she stepped inside.
The Blue Room was opulence incarnate: gold-framed chairs, silk curtains, priceless art, and the Wang family's most extravagant tea set gleaming under the chandelier's light.
Sitting across from her were Mr. and Mrs. Wang. Portly. Plump. Their faces puffed like inflated balloons. But what froze Zhu in place was the look on their faces.
They were smiling.
They never smiled at her.
"Come in, my dear," Mr. Wang said warmly.
Her skin broke out in goosebumps. His cheerfulness felt like a trap.
Mrs. Mu guided her forward and pushed her none too gently into a seat across from an unfamiliar man. He was elderly, with a pale face, a sharp grey suit, a top hat, and a cane topped with a snake whose eyes gleamed with red rubies. He seemed like a gentleman but his eyes gleamed coldly at her.
He smiled at her. Zhu's skin crawled.
Please... anyone. Any god. Any power. Don't let this happen, she prayed.
But no one answered. Only the screaming inside her head.
Mr. Wang leaned forward.
"Lin Zhu," he began, "this is Chairman Lee Bae—head of Bae Corporation, one of our most valued business partners."
A maid entered with tea and biscuits. Zhu didn't touch them. She could barely breathe.
"We were just telling him how lovely you are," Mr. Wang continued, "and how excited you are about this opportunity."
Her eyes locked with his. Opportunity?
Then the family lawyer appeared at her side, placing a document in front of her.
"We've already prepared everything," Mr Wang said. "Chairman Lee has reviewed the terms. All that's left is your signature."
Zhu picked up the paper with trembling fingers.
At the top, in bold black letters:
Marriage Certificate
The blood drained from her face.
Somewhere in the room, a sound escaped—a strained, painful cry. She didn't realise it came from her own lips.
The room spun. Her head throbbed. Her vision blurred. She clutched her skull, trying to keep herself upright.
They had sold her.
They had sold her!
For how long had they known? How long had this been planned?
Her skin burned. Her heart shattered. Her hands shook as she whispered, tears running freely down her cheeks:
"Please… please don't do this."