The grandfather clock outside her door struck eight, each chime pulsing like a countdown in her veins.
Xin Yi stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had been dressed by Madam Ling herself—wrapped in a crimson silk gown that hugged her figure like second skin. The neckline plunged slightly, elegant but daring, and the slit on the side ran high up her leg. Her hair was pinned into loose waves, a few strands framing her delicate face, and her lips were painted the same deep red as her dress.
It wasn't her.
None of this was her.
And yet… here she stood, a porcelain doll molded into someone else's fantasy.
A quiet knock came at the door. Madam Ling entered, expression unreadable. "He's waiting. Come."
Xin Yi rose without a word. Her heels echoed softly against the marble floors as she followed down the candle-lit corridor. Everything felt surreal—like she was walking through a dream that hovered just on the edge of nightmare.
They reached a tall set of double doors. Madam Ling opened them silently, revealing a long dining room lit by a golden chandelier. The table stretched far, but only one end was set—with two seats facing each other, a feast of delicate dishes laid between them.
Fu Yichen stood at the far end.
He wore black again. A perfectly tailored suit, open collar, no tie. His dark eyes flickered over her figure like fire licking against ice, but his expression didn't change. It didn't need to. The way he looked at her was enough to make her skin burn.
"You're late," he said, his voice like silk dipped in steel.
"I didn't ask to come," Xin Yi replied, raising her chin slightly.
His eyes glinted with something unreadable. "But you're here. Sit."
She took the seat across from him, her every move deliberate, graceful. She refused to let him see how her heart pounded in her chest.
The silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of silverware being lifted. Fu Yichen began to eat calmly, his every motion elegant and controlled.
Xin Yi didn't touch a thing.
"You'll starve yourself out of spite?" he asked without looking up.
"I'm not hungry," she said coolly.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday. You're not being clever. You're being childish."
"Better than being a thief."
That made him look at her. "A thief?"
"You took my life."
"I paid for it."
The bluntness of his words stole her breath. He said it like it meant nothing. Like she really was nothing more than a transaction.
Her eyes burned. But she refused to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.
"I'm not something you can own."
Fu Yichen leaned forward slowly, folding his hands beneath his chin. "Everything in this world has a price, Xin Yi. Even you. Don't act surprised. You were already being sold—trained and displayed like an ornament for men to take their pick. The only difference is that I chose you. And I don't share."
His voice was calm. Possessive. Dangerous.
Xin Yi's nails dug into the tablecloth. "Why me?"
Finally, he paused.
And then he said, "Because you were the only one who didn't look back."
She blinked. "What?"
"That night I saw you on stage. Every man in that room wanted you. And you knew it. But you never once looked at them. You sang like none of them existed. Like you were somewhere else."
He stared at her.
"And I wanted to be the place you were looking for."
The confession, if it could even be called that, knocked the air out of her. Not because it was sweet. But because it was real. And that made it worse.
Xin Yi looked away.
"You can keep me in your palace," she said quietly. "Dress me. Feed me. Call me yours. But that won't make me yours."
"You say that now," he replied, voice low. "But you'll change."
"No. You will."
A tense silence followed. Then, to her surprise, Fu Yichen leaned back and gave the faintest smile.
"You're braver than I expected."
"I'm not brave," she said. "Just… tired of being silent."
He poured himself a glass of red wine and took a sip. "Good. I prefer women with fire. The broken ones bore me."
Xin Yi stood suddenly. "Then you picked the wrong girl."
Fu Yichen looked up at her, unfazed.
She turned and walked out, her heels sharp against the marble. Madam Ling waited quietly by the door. Xin Yi said nothing as she passed, but the older woman's eyes lingered on her with something that almost looked like… pride.
Back in her room, Xin Yi yanked the pins from her hair and let it fall in waves.
She walked straight to the piano by the window and sat down, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the keys.
She played.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
Just for herself.
Because no matter what world she was dragged into…
She would never stop singing.