The morning sunlight felt like an intrusion.
Lin Yuyan sat on the edge of the bed, Luchen's scent still clinging to her skin like a memory she couldn't wash off. Her robe was loosely draped over her, her body aching from the night before—not just physically, but down to the very marrow of her soul.
She stared at the mirror. The woman who stared back looked like her—but hollowed out.
What had she allowed?
What had he taken?
She couldn't even tell anymore where her choices ended and Luchen's desires began.
Behind her, Luchen slept—one arm flung across the sheets where she had lain just hours ago. His features were relaxed, almost gentle. Peaceful in a way that made her chest tighten.
Why did it look like love when it felt like war?
Yuyan wrapped herself tighter in the robe and moved to the window. The city below bustled with life—cars honking, screens flashing, people rushing to futures that didn't feel like cages.
She used to dream of being one of them. An actress with a future, a life beyond scandals and schemes. A woman who lived by her own script.
But now?
Now she was just a name in a marriage contract and a pawn between two brothers—one who claimed he was forced to leave, the other who'd burned with obsession and taken what was never given.
Her heart pulsed painfully. Lemin's words from the night before echoed:
> "I was threatened. Your uncle knew about your inheritance."
Was there any truth to it? Why hadn't anyone told her?
And why—why did Luchen look so devastated when he saw Lemin try to kiss her?
It wasn't just jealousy. It was fear.
Was he afraid of losing her… or something else?
She dressed slowly, choosing a high-neck blouse that hid the bruises—small, fingerprint-shaped remnants on her wrist, her collarbone. Marks that shouldn't feel so complicated.
As she sat at the vanity, her phone buzzed.
A text.
Lemin: I'm sorry for last night. I didn't mean to cross the line. Can we talk? Just talk. I want to tell you everything. No lies.
She stared at it. Part of her wanted to delete it. Another part… needed answers.
But before she could reply, the bedroom door creaked open.
Luchen stood there, shirtless, eyes shadowed by sleep—but alert the moment he saw her.
"You're up early," he said, voice rough.
She didn't answer.
He walked to her slowly, like approaching a flame he knew could burn. His hand reached toward her shoulder, but she flinched.
His expression broke. "Yuyan…"
She stood. "Don't."
"I didn't mean to—last night, I—"
"You did it," she said quietly, eyes locking on his. "And I let you. That doesn't mean I've forgiven you."
He exhaled sharply. "You think I forced myself on you?"
"I think you didn't stop to ask what I wanted."
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, he said, "I've never felt this way about anyone. That night in Paris—you were on that rooftop shoot, wearing that crimson dress… You didn't even notice me. But I couldn't stop watching you."
She blinked.
"That was before Lemin introduced you to the family," he added. "Before he claimed you. I'd already—"
"Why didn't you say anything then?" Her voice cracked. "Why did you let me believe it was all a transaction?"
"Because I didn't think I deserved you."
Her throat tightened.
"And now?" she whispered.
His voice dropped. "Now I'm terrified you'll walk away. And I'll deserve that too."
He left her alone after that.
And Yuyan stayed by the window for hours, not replying to Lemin. Not texting her manager. Not even returning Director Shen's call.
The script on her desk—her next film—lay forgotten.
Because in that moment, Lin Yuyan didn't know who she was.
Not the actress.
Not the heiress.
Just a woman caught in a storm of love, lies, and longing… and no exit in sight.
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