Xin Yi sat in silence across the leather seat, the luxurious car gliding through the city like a silent predator. Skyscrapers blurred outside the tinted windows, neon lights flickering like memories she couldn't quite hold onto. She hadn't said a word since leaving the tower—the tower where her fate had been sealed with words that felt like a brand on her skin: You belong to me now.
Fu Yichen hadn't spoken again after that, as if the declaration had been enough. He didn't need to speak. His silence was heavier than any command, and she felt it pressing down on her like the weight of an entire world.
She didn't know where they were going. No one had told her.
No one needed to.
She had no say.
"Drink something," his voice suddenly cut through the quiet, smooth and low.
Xin Yi looked up. A crystal glass of water had been placed before her by one of the assistants in the front passenger seat—without a word, without expression.
She hesitated. For some reason, accepting it felt like accepting everything.
But her throat was parched, her mind spinning, and her fingers ached from clenching the folds of her coat. Slowly, she reached out and took the glass. The cool water slid down her throat like a whisper, but did nothing to soothe the storm inside her.
The man beside her—Fu Yichen—didn't look at her as she drank. His gaze remained ahead, his profile sharp against the faint city lights leaking through the car windows. He looked more like a statue carved of obsidian than a man—unmoving, unreadable.
She studied him in brief glances. His features were impossibly handsome: a strong jawline, high cheekbones, raven-black hair neatly styled, and lips that never seemed to soften. But his eyes… they were the most terrifying part. Cold. Quiet. Unfeeling. Eyes that didn't blink when they made decisions that changed lives.
He was beautiful.
But not the kind of beauty that warmed.
The kind that burned.
Suddenly, the car turned down a long, gated road lined with trees that whispered secrets in the wind. Xin Yi leaned slightly toward the window, her heart skipping a beat.
The gates were gold-tipped iron, impossibly tall, and swung open like the maw of a beast. Beyond it stretched a private drive lined with manicured hedges and glowing lanterns. At the end of the drive stood a mansion. No—a palace. Dark stone, sleek glass, and spiraled balconies wrapped around it like a serpent. It was majestic, cold, and dangerous. Just like him.
The car stopped.
The door opened.
Xin Yi stepped out slowly, the breeze catching the ends of her hair. The scent of jasmine wafted from the garden as if trying to soften the hard edges of everything around her.
Fu Yichen stepped out next. He didn't wait for her.
He didn't have to.
The staff at the door greeted him with quiet bows before leading them inside.
She followed—because she had no choice.
The entrance hall was breathtaking. A marble staircase curled upward like the spine of some great beast, a crystal chandelier cascading from the ceiling like rain frozen in time. Everything sparkled, shimmered, whispered of wealth and secrets. Paintings lined the walls, most of them abstract, dark swirls and sharp contrasts that somehow mirrored the storm inside her.
"You'll stay in the east wing," he said, finally turning to her as they reached the base of the stairs. His eyes flickered over her once. "I don't want you wandering."
Xin Yi's brows furrowed slightly. "I'm not a prisoner."
"You're not free, either," he replied coolly. "You are mine. You'll be treated well, but don't mistake comfort for liberty."
The words stung, even though she knew they shouldn't. She had been treated as a possession her whole life. But something about the way he said it—so unapologetically, so certain—bothered her more than anything.
"I didn't ask for this," she said quietly.
Fu Yichen's lips curled into the faintest smile. "That doesn't matter."
Before she could speak again, a woman appeared beside her. Tall, graceful, and dressed in a crisp black uniform. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and her expression betrayed nothing.
"This is Madam Ling," Fu Yichen said. "She'll look after your needs. Clothes. Meals. Anything."
Xin Yi stared at him. "And what if I refuse all of it?"
He stepped closer to her, and the heat of his presence made her pulse race. "Then you'll go hungry. You'll freeze. You'll suffer. But I won't stop you."
His voice was cold as winter.
"You can make this as easy or as difficult as you like, Xin Yi. Either way… you are mine now. You'll sing only for me. Live only in the world I've built."
His words made her skin crawl. Not from disgust. From the terrifying realization that somewhere deep inside her… a part of her had always known someone like him would come. The shadows had always been chasing her, hadn't they?
She said nothing as Madam Ling led her up the stairs and down the east wing.
The hallway was lined with velvet drapes and soft carpet. They passed room after room until they reached a set of tall, ornate doors. Inside, Xin Yi's breath caught.
The room was more beautiful than anything she'd ever known. White walls with soft gold trim. A canopy bed large enough to drown in. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a koi pond surrounded by weeping cherry blossom trees.
A cage.
A beautiful one.
"I've prepared a wardrobe for you," Madam Ling said, walking to a grand closet. "He prefers black, red, and white. Your sizes were sent over earlier. Everything here is yours."
Xin Yi opened the door to the closet and froze. Rows and rows of silk, satin, and velvet dresses in every cut and shade. Jewelry, heels, accessories—all handpicked. She could only imagine the price of it all.
And not one of it belonged to her by choice.
"You'll have dinner at 8 p.m. sharp," Madam Ling said. "Do not be late. He hates waiting."
Then the woman left.
Xin Yi stood alone in the center of the room, staring out the window.
The koi pond shimmered beneath the moonlight, peaceful and calm. A perfect reflection of a life that wasn't hers. A life she didn't choose. Her fingers curled into fists.
She walked over to the piano sitting by the window. She hadn't even noticed it at first, but now that she had, it called to her. The only thing familiar in a world she didn't recognize.
She sat on the bench and let her fingers hover over the keys.
Music had always been her escape. Her only truth. The only place she could speak without words.
She played a single note.
It echoed softly through the room, a whisper of rebellion. A cry of something still hers.
She would play.
She would sing.
But not for him.
Not yet.