Dawn crept through the floor-to-ceiling windows like an unwelcome intruder, painting the presidential suite in shades of gold and amber. The scattered rose petals from the night before looked wilted now, their romantic promise as dead as the dreams Dao had once harbored about love and marriage.
Thẩm Tịnh Dao—no, Lục Tịnh Dao now—woke alone in the king-sized bed, still wearing her slip from beneath the wedding dress. The other side of the bed remained perfectly made, untouched, as cold and empty as her new husband's heart.
He hadn't even bothered to stay the night.
The realization hit her like ice water in her veins. On her wedding night—the most important night in any woman's life—she had been abandoned like yesterday's newspaper. Not even worthy of sharing a bed, let alone anything more intimate.
What did you expect? she asked herself bitterly, sitting up against the silk pillows. A romantic morning with coffee and gentle kisses? This was never supposed to be a real marriage.
But knowing something intellectually and feeling it in your bones were two very different things.
The ornate clock on the marble nightstand read 7:30 AM. The suite felt cavernous around her, all that luxury now seeming like expensive wrapping paper around an empty box. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to make herself smaller in the vast space.
A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she called, quickly smoothing down her disheveled hair.
An elderly man in a crisp black uniform entered, carrying a silver tray. His expression was professionally neutral, but Dao caught the fleeting look of pity that crossed his weathered features.
"Good morning, Madam. I am Butler Chen," he said with a respectful bow. "The master has instructed me to inform you that he has departed for the office. He mentioned you need not wait for him, as his schedule is... quite demanding."
The words were politely delivered, but their meaning cut through Dao like a surgeon's blade. Don't wait up. Don't expect anything. You're not important enough to alter his routine.
"I see." Dao's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Thank you, Butler Chen."
The elderly man set the tray on the bedside table—fresh fruit, delicate pastries, and coffee that probably cost more per cup than most people spent on groceries in a week. Everything a new bride should want for her first morning as a married woman.
Everything except the presence of her husband.
"Madam," Butler Chen hesitated at the door, his kind eyes soft with sympathy. "If there is anything you need, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. The staff is at your disposal."
After he left, Dao stared at the elaborate breakfast without appetite. The fruit looked perfect but tasteless, the pastries beautiful but hollow—much like her new life, she realized.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, displaying her father's name. Her heart clenched with a mixture of love and resentment as she answered.
"Dao, sweetheart." Her father's voice sounded lighter than it had in months, filled with relief she hadn't heard since before the company's troubles began. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Abandoned. Humiliated. Used. "I'm fine, Papa."
"That's wonderful to hear." The happiness in his voice made her chest ache. "I called to let you know—the Lục family has already transferred the first payment. The bank called this morning to confirm the transaction. We're saved, darling. We're actually saved."
Dao closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her sacrifice settle around her shoulders like a lead blanket. The first payment. As if she were merchandise being purchased in installments.
"How much?" she whispered.
"Fifty million yuan. Can you believe it? Fifty million, just like that." Her father's voice cracked with emotion. "Your sacrifice... Dao, I know this wasn't what you wanted, but you've saved our entire family. Your mother can keep her dignity, your brother can finish university, and I... I can face my employees again."
My sacrifice. The words echoed in her mind like a death knell. Not her marriage, not her new life—her sacrifice. Even her own father saw her as a pawn traded for financial salvation.
"I'm glad, Papa," she managed to say, forcing warmth into her voice. "That's all I wanted."
"The boy—your husband—he seems like a good man. Successful, powerful, able to provide for you. You'll be happy, won't you, Dao? Tell me you'll be happy."
Dao looked around the luxurious suite that felt like a golden cage, thought of the husband who couldn't bear to spend a single night in the same room as her, remembered the contempt in his eyes when he called her a pawn.
"I'll be fine, Papa. I promise."
After she ended the call, Dao sat in the suffocating silence, letting the reality of her situation sink in completely. She had been sold. There was no prettier way to phrase it, no romantic story to tell herself. Her family's debt had been paid with her freedom, her dreams, her right to choose her own destiny.
Fifty million yuan. That was her price tag. Her worth in her father's ledger books.
For a moment, the walls of the suite seemed to close in around her. The luxury felt like mockery, the beautiful furnishings like decorations in a mausoleum. She could barely breathe past the crushing weight of despair threatening to drown her.
No. The thought blazed through her mind with sudden, fierce clarity. No, I will not become a victim. I will not spend the rest of my life as a decorative object in Lục Trạch Hạo's collection.
She rose from the bed with new purpose, her bare feet silent on the marble floor. If she was going to be trapped in this marriage, if she was going to bear the Lục name whether she wanted it or not, then she would make that name mean something. She would prove she was more than a pawn, more than a pretty face purchased to solve a business problem.
That's when she noticed the manila folder on the elegant writing desk by the window.
It hadn't been there last night—she was sure of that. Someone had placed it there while she slept, probably on Hạo's orders. With trembling fingers, she picked up the folder and opened it.
Inside were blueprints, photographs, and detailed specifications for what looked like a major renovation project. The letterhead read "Lục International Real Estate Development" in bold letters, and the project title made her breath catch: "Phoenix Gardens Luxury Residential Complex - Interior Design Consultation Required."
A sticky note in sharp, masculine handwriting was attached to the first page: "Your first assignment. Don't embarrass the family name. - L.T.H."
Dao sank into the leather chair, her hands shaking as she flipped through the documents. This was a massive project—easily worth hundreds of millions of yuan. The kind of opportunity most interior designers could only dream of. And he had tossed it at her like table scraps, expecting her to fail.
The photographs showed empty shells of what would become penthouses and luxury apartments. Each unit was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows and open layouts that begged for creative vision. But the current state was sterile, cold—much like everything else in Hạo's world.
He thinks I'll crumble under the pressure, she realized, studying the complex specifications and impossible timeline noted in the margins. He thinks I'm just a spoiled rich girl playing at having a career.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. If only he knew the truth—that she had worked three part-time jobs while studying design, that she had stayed up countless nights perfecting her skills, that she had earned every grade and every opportunity through sheer determination. Her family's wealth had been built by her father's hands, not inherited like so many others in their social circle.
Dao spread the documents across the desk, her trained eye already beginning to see possibilities in the empty spaces. Her mind started racing with ideas—how to bring warmth to the cold architecture, how to create homes instead of just expensive boxes, how to make each space feel like it had a soul.
This was her chance. Her opportunity to prove that she was more than just a beautiful face purchased to legitimize a business deal. More than a pawn in her father's desperate gambit for survival.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching the golden highlights in her dark hair as she bent over the plans. For the first time since signing that contract, Dao felt something other than despair or resignation.
She felt determination.
You want to test me, Lục Trạch Hạo? She picked up a pencil with steady fingers, her eyes hardening with newfound resolve. You think I'm just another decorative wife who'll spend your money and contribute nothing? You think I'm weak because I sacrificed myself for my family?
The pencil moved across the paper as she began sketching preliminary ideas, her artistic training taking over. Each line was confident, purposeful—the work of someone who knew exactly what they were capable of.
Then you're about to learn just how wrong you can be.
Her voice was barely a whisper in the empty suite, but the words carried the weight of an unbreakable vow:
"I'll show you exactly what this pawn can do."
[End of Chapter 3]
Dao has found her first real challenge in the marriage—a design project that could make or break her reputation. But does Hạo expect her to fail? And what happens when she proves she's far more capable than anyone imagined?
Find out in Chapter 4: Clash of Wills...