Lisa stood in silence as John's parents laid out the verdict, like lawyers sentencing her in a courtroom where she had no chance to speak.
A wedding.
Not a conversation.
Not an apology.
Just a transaction.
Her father didn't say a word. He looked away, eyes blank, as if he couldn't bear to meet her gaze. Or maybe... he didn't care. The slap still stung her cheek, but the silence hurt worse.
"I…" Lisa finally whispered, voice trembling.
But before she could finish, Mrs. Phuong interjected, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. "She agrees. Of course, she agrees. Anything to restore her dignity. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lam. We're... grateful."
Lisa's heart dropped. She had never agreed.
Her voice was drowned out, her feelings erased before they even formed.
Mrs. Lam gave a tight, forced smile. "We'll send someone to prepare everything. The ceremony will be private, small. We expect the girl to behave herself—media training, etiquette, appearances. Understood?"
Mrs. Phuong nodded eagerly.
Lisa wanted to scream.
But she didn't.
She swallowed it all—her pain, her confusion, her fury. Because in that moment, she realized the truth:
No one was coming to save her.
She was on her own.
---
The wedding took place three days later.
There were no flowers. No music. No guests.
Only cold air, silk gloves, diamond cuffs, and a contract signed in silence.
Lisa wore a white dress chosen by a stranger. It fit her body, but it didn't belong to her. She felt like a mannequin dressed for a store display, lips painted, hair pinned, eyes hollow.
John stood beside her, perfectly still. Not once did he look her way.
The priest said the vows. Lisa couldn't remember them.
He asked her to say "I do." Her lips moved.
She didn't know if she meant it.
When it was John's turn, he hesitated. Just a moment. Barely noticeable to the crowd of emotionless staff and photographers arranged neatly like props.
But Lisa saw it.
"I do," he said finally. The words fell like snow—beautiful, distant, and dead.
They kissed—at least, their lips touched. It was brief, cold, ceremonial. Lisa flinched, but he didn't notice.
They were husband and wife now. On paper.
---
That night, in a mansion far bigger than any place she had ever lived, Lisa stood in the doorway of their shared bedroom, hugging herself.
John was by the window, back turned to her, sleeves rolled up, pouring himself a drink.
"I don't want to be here either," he said, voice sharp.
Lisa blinked. "I didn't ask—"
"Then don't say anything," he snapped, turning to her with ice in his eyes. "You must be happy. This is what your family wanted, right? Money, status, the Lam name. Congrats. You got everything."
Lisa's throat tightened. "I didn't want any of this."
He laughed bitterly. "No? You just happened to end up in a hotel bed with me, then had someone leak it to the press? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"I didn't leak anything!" Her voice rose.
John slammed his glass on the table. "Save it. You and your disgusting stepmother played this game well. But hear me loud and clear, Lisa: This is a marriage in name only. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."
Lisa's eyes stung. "Why did you marry me, then?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "Because my parents forced me. Because your little stunt tanked our stock prices and made me a joke in the boardroom. Because cleaning up your mess is easier than letting it spread."
He walked past her, brushing her shoulder coldly. "Good night, Mrs. Lam."
The door closed behind him with a soft thud.
Lisa stood in the room alone, surrounded by velvet curtains and crystal chandeliers. But she had never felt so poor in her life.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress too soft, the silence too loud. She could still smell the faint cologne from his suit—sharp, expensive, and miles out of reach.
Her tears finally fell.
She didn't cry like a girl. She cried like someone mourning herself—her innocence, her choices, her dreams. Everything had been stolen in one single night.
But even as the sobs shook her chest, Lisa made a silent vow:
If this was her new reality, then she would survive it.
Not as a victim.
Not as a pawn.
One day, John Lam would look at her—and not with disgust.
One day, he would see her for who she truly was.
And on that day, she wouldn't need his apology.
She would already have his heart.