Sophia did not sleep at all that night.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of a house that never truly rested. Even in silence, the Yan estate felt alert—like a living thing watching her.
At precisely six in the morning, the door opened.
No knock.
No warning.
Sophia sat up instantly, her heart racing.
Mrs. Collins stood at the doorway, dressed immaculately, her gaze sharp and assessing.
"Get dressed," she said. "Mr. Yan dislikes waiting."
Sophia moved at once.
The clothes laid out for her were elegant, expensive—and carefully chosen. Neutral colors. Modest lines. Nothing that allowed personality.
A uniform disguised as luxury.
As she followed Mrs. Collins downstairs, Sophia noticed how every servant they passed slowed slightly, their eyes lowering the moment she appeared.
Not in respect.
In dismissal.
The dining room was already prepared.
A long table, pristine and symmetrical. Every chair perfectly aligned.
Ethan Yan sat at the head.
He didn't look at her.
"Stand there," he said, without lifting his eyes from the document in his hands.
Sophia obeyed.
One minute passed.
Then two.
Her legs tensed, but she did not move.
"This house runs on rules," Ethan said at last. "Rules keep things orderly."
He set the paper aside.
"You will learn them quickly," he continued. "Or you will be replaced."
Her chest tightened.
"Yes," she said softly.
"You will wake when instructed."
"You will appear when summoned."
"You will represent me in public without error."
Each sentence was delivered calmly, as if he were listing corporate policies.
Sophia nodded.
"And most importantly," he added, finally raising his eyes, "you will remember what you are."
The room felt colder.
Ethan gestured toward the tray. "Serve."
As Sophia poured the coffee, she felt his gaze on her hands—steady, unblinking. She realized then that this wasn't breakfast.
It was a test.
Her fingers trembled despite her efforts.
She corrected them.
The cup landed without a sound.
Ethan watched for a moment longer before leaning back.
"Acceptable."
The word made her stomach turn.
Before she could step away, a voice cut through the air.
"So she really is here."
Sophia turned.
Lydia Yan stood near the doorway, her smile polite and cruel.
She circled Sophia slowly, examining her from every angle.
"She looks fragile," Lydia said. "How long do you think she'll last?"
Ethan said nothing.
Which was an answer.
Sophia lowered her gaze, forcing her breathing to remain steady.
"Listen carefully," Mrs. Collins said later, as they walked away. "People who forget their place here don't stay long."
Sophia nodded.
She didn't forget.
She never forgot anything.
That night, alone again, Sophia sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her reflection.
She didn't recognize the woman staring back.
Not a bride.
Not a wife.
A role.
And roles, she knew, were meant to be performed—
Until the moment they could be escaped.