Xin Yi was no stranger to cages.
She had lived in one all her life—first, the suffocating shack of a house her family had filled with silence and expectation. Then, the bar, where she sang beneath the smoke-stained chandeliers, lips painted like temptation, her body paraded like a promise she never intended to keep.
Now… this.
This palace of glass and marble.
Where the walls gleamed, the food sparkled, the dresses whispered across her skin like silk spun from secrets. This wasn't a cage. It was a gilded illusion. And Fu Yichen was the puppeteer behind the curtain.
She hadn't seen him since their dinner. Three days had passed in silence. Not that she was counting.
He left her notes—short, cold things scribbled by a man who commanded empires. "Eat." "Rest." "Practice." As if she were nothing more than a schedule to be maintained.
Her days were filled with quiet rehearsals on the grand piano, the instrument her only true companion. The staff barely spoke to her. The house was so large she sometimes wondered if he even lived here at all. And yet, somehow… his presence lingered in every corner.
In the mornings, she would find the coffee already brewed just the way she liked it—black with a touch of cinnamon. Her favorite rose tea sat waiting in the garden pavilion. The novels she adored appeared in the private library, their pages marked with golden ribbons.
He noticed things.
Things she'd never told anyone.
And that unnerved her more than anything.
She had just stepped out of the bath one late afternoon, a fluffy robe wrapped around her, hair damp and clinging to her neck, when there was a knock at the door.
"Miss Xin Yi," said Madam Ling's calm voice.
"Yes?"
"You're being summoned."
Her stomach sank. "By who?"
"Who else?"
She hesitated for a heartbeat before opening the door. Madam Ling offered a faint smile, then handed her a garment bag.
"Change into this. You'll be taken to the eastern wing."
Xin Yi took it with stiff fingers, her curiosity prickling. "What's happening?"
Madam Ling only said, "You'll see."
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a flowing silver gown that shimmered like starlight, she was escorted by two silent guards down unfamiliar corridors. The walls were different here—lined with abstract paintings, sculptures of marble bodies wrapped in twisted agony or ecstasy. Art that felt… haunted.
They stopped at tall ironwood doors.
"Go inside," said the taller of the two guards.
Xin Yi hesitated, then stepped forward.
The doors opened on silent hinges, revealing a room unlike any other she'd seen in this mansion.
Dimly lit. Floor-to-ceiling windows opening out to a vast moonlit terrace. A fireplace crackled in the far corner. And in the center of it all, a glass stage. Empty.
But it wasn't the stage that made her breath hitch.
It was him.
Fu Yichen stood at the edge of the room, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal turtleneck. No guards. No walls. Just him, staring at her as if she'd been pulled from the sky.
"You came," he said.
"I didn't know I had a choice."
He smiled faintly. "There's always a choice, Xin Yi. Even if the consequences are costly."
Her hands tightened at her sides. "What is this?"
"I wanted to show you something."
Without another word, he crossed the room and picked up a remote. He pressed a button.
A hidden stereo began to play—soft piano notes, a haunting melody she recognized.
It was her song.
The one she composed in secret back at the bar, when no one listened. The one she only played when she was alone.
She looked at him in disbelief. "How do you know this?"
"I heard it once," he said. "In a recording a staff member accidentally captured. I memorized every note."
The weight of his gaze fell on her again.
"Play it for me."
Her breath caught. "No."
He stepped forward. "Why not?"
"Because you don't get to ask for pieces of me after buying the whole."
The air crackled between them.
"I didn't buy you," he said quietly. "I rescued you."
She laughed bitterly. "From one cage into another? You think putting me in silk and crystal makes it different?"
"I think you're safer here."
"And yet I still feel like I'm on display."
Silence.
Then he did something unexpected.
Fu Yichen walked to the stage and sat down beside the piano bench. He didn't touch the keys. Just waited.
"Sit," he said.
Xin Yi stared at him.
"I'm not one of your pets," she whispered.
"No," he agreed. "You're not. But you are under my protection. And that means something."
"Does it?" she shot back, stepping onto the stage with fire in her steps. "Because it doesn't feel like protection. It feels like a prison with prettier walls."
Fu Yichen met her eyes, then stood. He leaned down slowly, their faces inches apart.
"Then let me offer you freedom," he murmured.
Her heart pounded.
"What do you mean?"
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin velvet box. Inside was a contract—her bar contract, the one she'd signed when she had nothing, binding her to the manager for years.
It was torn in half.
"I didn't just buy your body, Xin Yi. I bought your name. Your voice. Your debt."
Her eyes widened.
"You're free from the bar. From him. From all of it. The only reason you're here… is because I wanted to give you a choice."
He handed her the torn contract.
"You can leave tonight. Or you can stay. But if you stay… you sing for yourself now. Not for them. Not for me."
Xin Yi stared at the shredded paper in her hands. Her knees wobbled.
She didn't know what she expected. A demand. A chain.
But not this.
He had shattered her expectations again. Every wall she'd built to protect herself was cracking under the weight of what she couldn't understand.
She looked up at him.
"Why?" she whispered.
Fu Yichen's jaw clenched. "Because I was like you, once."
That silenced her.
He turned away, back straight, shoulders taut.
"I was born into power. Into violence. I never had a choice. Everything was handed to me… but never anything I wanted. Just responsibilities. Lies. And the constant feeling that I owed the world more than I could give."
His voice was soft but brittle.
"When I saw you sing that night, all alone, pretending you weren't dying inside… I recognized it."
She said nothing, not daring to breathe.
"I don't want to control you, Xin Yi. I want to protect you. I want to see what happens when someone like you is finally free."
His words weren't poetic.
They were raw.
Real.
And that scared her more than all his wealth combined.
Because she was used to cruelty. To manipulation. But kindness?
That was dangerous.
She turned back to the piano, sitting quietly.
Her fingers touched the keys—tentative at first.
Then… she played.
Her song poured into the room, raw and unfiltered. Every note carried her pain. Her yearning. Her rage. Her hope.
She didn't sing for him.
She sang for the girl who was once sold like a trinket.
She sang for the child who dreamed in secret.
She sang for Xin Yi.
When she finished, the silence stretched long.
Fu Yichen didn't clap. He didn't speak.
He only said, "That's the sound of chains breaking."
She looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes.
And for the first time since this began… she didn't feel like a prisoner.