The red candles flickered, filling the chamber with shadows that danced along the embroidered phoenixes on the walls.
Bai Lian sat stiffly on the edge of the bridal bed, the heavy veil still over her head. The scent of wine and incense pressed against her nose, but it wasn't intoxicating—it was suffocating.
Her mind churned.
The last time she had sat in this same position, her hands had trembled with excitement. Lu Hao had swept into the room with his easy smile, pretending to be the perfect groom. He had whispered sweet lies, fed her candied fruit, promised her a lifetime of love.
And she—foolish, blind—had believed every word.
This time, there was no trace of that girlish eagerness in her chest. Only cold clarity.
The doors creaked open.
Footsteps entered—steady, unhurried. No laughter, no fake warmth. Just the quiet sound of boots on polished wood.
Lu Zhan.
Even without lifting her veil, she could feel his presence. The air shifted, heavier, colder, as if the chamber itself bent to his control.
He didn't speak. Didn't come closer at once. Instead, there was the sound of porcelain against porcelain, a faint clink as he poured himself tea.
Silence stretched between them, thick as the red veil covering her.
The quiet sip of tea was the only sound.
Bai Lian's palms itched beneath her sleeves. The silence wasn't comforting—it was sharp, deliberate. He was waiting.
Finally, his voice cut through the air. Low, even, without the slightest warmth.
"Why did you choose me?"
Her breath caught. He hadn't asked if she regretted it, hadn't offered polite words like other men might. Straight to the point. Direct.
Under the veil, her lips curved faintly. Typical of him. Cold, ruthless—yet honest in a way.
In her past life, she would have stammered, cheeks burning, desperate to explain herself. But not tonight.
She straightened her back and answered, steady and calm:
"Because I wanted to."
The teacup paused midair.
For the first time, Lu Zhan moved closer, his steps unhurried. When he stopped before her, the scent of his robe—cool sandalwood—brushed faintly through the veil.
"You wanted to." His tone carried no inflection, but his eyes narrowed slightly, studying the red figure before him. "You do realize the consequences of marrying me?"
Her heart clenched, but she forced her voice not to waver. "I do."
And unlike before, she truly meant it.
The veil muffled his voice, but the weight of his words pressed straight into her chest.
"You do?" His tone carried the faintest edge of disbelief. "Strange. Most women avoid me. Even the elders in your family were clear—the 'safe' choice was Lu Hao."
Safe.
Bai Lian almost laughed under the veil. Safe was the last word she'd ever use for Lu Hao.
Her fingers curled on her lap, nails digging into silk. "Safe doesn't mean right."
The silence after her words stretched. She could feel his eyes on her, sharper than blades, as if he wanted to cut through the veil and see what lay beneath.
"Then what does 'right' mean to you?" he asked finally.
Bai Lian's heartbeat stumbled, but she lifted her chin under the fabric. "Someone who won't pretend to be kind while sharpening a knife behind his back."
The words hung in the air, daring, reckless even.
For the first time, Lu Zhan's expression shifted. A flicker—quick, unreadable—crossed his cold face. Surprise, maybe. Or interest.
She held her breath, her pulse racing. In her past life, she would never have spoken so boldly. But this time… she had nothing to lose.
The teacup touched the table again, the porcelain clicking softly.
Then his voice, cool as ever: "We'll see if your choice was wisdom—or folly."
The weight of the veil pressed against her skin, hot and suffocating.
She heard the shift of fabric as he moved again. A hand reached forward—steady, unhurried.
Bai Lian's body tensed. In her past life, when Lu Hao lifted her veil, her heart had fluttered with anticipation. She had looked at him as if he were her whole world.
And he had smiled down at her, all false tenderness, even while thinking of another woman.
This time, she forced herself not to flinch. Instead, she tilted her chin up, daring the hand that hovered near her forehead.
The red silk rustled as it was lifted away.
Light hit her face. The first thing she saw was him—Lu Zhan.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his black robe stark against the glowing red of the bridal chamber. His face was sharp, coldly handsome, the kind of presence that filled the room without effort. His eyes met hers, and for the first time in two lives, she stared straight back.
Not with shy excitement. Not with blind devotion.
But with steady, unyielding clarity.
His gaze lingered, dark and unreadable. Most brides would have lowered their eyes immediately, but she didn't.
The corner of his mouth moved—just slightly. Not a smile. Not quite.
"Very well," he said at last, his voice low. "Since you've chosen me… don't regret it."
The teacup's earlier clink echoed in her mind as his words sank in.
Bai Lian's lips curved faintly, a shadow of a smile. Regret?
No.
This time, she would make sure it was everyone else who regretted.