The buzz of the press conference hall was deafening.
Lin Yuyan stood at the back of the room, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress tightly, knuckles white. The air felt too thick. Too suffocating. She could feel the eyes of a hundred strangers on her—waiting, watching, ready to tear her apart.
She wasn't ready for this.
A quick glance at her phone revealed dozens of messages, mostly from her manager, but one stood out: "What's going on, Yuyan? The wedding photos are everywhere. The public is flipping out. You have to say something!"
Say something? How could she say anything when her entire world had been shattered in a single night?
The door behind her opened, and in walked Zhao Luchen.
Every head turned. The press room fell silent as if on cue. A faint murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd at the sight of him. Tall, commanding, and utterly unbothered. He wore his usual expression of calm indifference, but there was a hint of something darker in his gaze—a flicker of possession, of control.
He walked toward her, every step deliberate, every movement calculated.
And then, without a single word, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
The world seemed to freeze for a split second.
Her heart raced. She stiffened under his touch, her body instinctively wanting to pull away. But before she could move, the cameras flashed, and reporters began shouting questions at them from all directions.
"Mrs. Zhao! Is it true you secretly married Mr. Zhao's twin?" a reporter called out.
Yuyan forced herself to breathe through the panic. She couldn't back out now. Not when they were all watching. The glare of the lights made her dizzy, the microphones were too close, and her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Yes," Luchen answered before she could speak. His voice was smooth, but firm, as if the answer had already been rehearsed. "Lin Yuyan is my wife."
There was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd. The cameras clicked incessantly. Reporters scribbled furiously in their notebooks. Yuyan could feel their gazes piercing through her, trying to unravel every secret she held.
"I—" she started to speak, but Luchen's grip on her tightened. She glanced up at him in surprise.
He was looking down at her, his gaze intense. A silent command. Play your part.
She swallowed her words and forced a smile, doing her best to appear composed. But inside, her mind was a storm. What is this? Her stomach churned. This isn't right. He can't just claim me like this.
Another reporter shouted, "But your husband, Zhao Lemin—he was supposed to marry you, right? Why the sudden change?"
Luchen didn't flinch. He turned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the reporters. "My brother couldn't make it. But everything is in order now." His voice dropped slightly, making sure to emphasize the finality of his statement. "Lin Yuyan is my wife now. Nothing else matters."
His words rang in her ears, louder than the flash of cameras, louder than the press conference itself.
His wife? The words sounded foreign, almost absurd. She wasn't ready to be anyone's wife, least of all his.
But the cameras kept flashing, the reporters kept asking, and she could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders. She couldn't back out now. Not in front of them. Not with the whole world watching.
Yuyan forced herself to stand tall, plastering a smile on her face, hoping no one would see the cracks in her carefully constructed mask. "Yes," she said, her voice steady but hollow. "Zhao Luchen is my husband."
The words felt like a betrayal, even to her. But there was no turning back now.
Luchen didn't let go of her, not even for a second. His hand remained firmly on her waist, possessive and controlling. Every time a reporter's question made her squirm, his grip tightened, reminding her that she wasn't in charge here.
"Mr. Zhao," another reporter asked, "are you telling us that this marriage is not just for show? That it's real?"
Luchen's lips curled into a cold smile. "Real? What's real is that we're married. And that's all that matters."
The reporters went wild with questions, but Luchen didn't flinch. He was a stone wall, unwavering. He knew exactly what he was doing.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever. The world outside the press room might as well have ceased to exist.
Finally, Luchen stepped back, releasing her waist. For the first time, Yuyan felt like she could breathe again—just a little.
He turned to face the audience, his back straight, shoulders broad. "Now," he said, his voice low but authoritative. "If you'll excuse us, we have a private matter to attend to."
The room fell silent. The press exchanged confused glances as Luchen led her off the stage. Every camera followed their movements, capturing their every step, every moment.
Yuyan didn't know how she got through the next few minutes. Her feet moved mechanically, as if someone else was controlling her body. The weight of the cameras felt unbearable. The questions, the stares—they all felt suffocating.
Once they were in the hallway, out of sight of the press, Yuyan stopped and yanked her arm away from Luchen's grasp.
"What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You can't just—"
Luchen turned to face her, his eyes cold and unyielding. "What did you think would happen? This was the plan, wasn't it?"
She shook her head, hands shaking. "No. I didn't sign up for this."
"You signed up for something," he replied, his voice devoid of any warmth. "You wanted a marriage of convenience. Now you have it. But don't expect to control the narrative. The world believes what I tell them."
Her chest tightened. "You think you can control everything. My life. My career. My image. But you can't. I won't let you."
He stepped closer, his eyes darkening with something that wasn't quite anger—but it felt like a warning. "You don't get to decide anymore, Mrs. Zhao."
The words echoed in her mind. Mrs. Zhao.
The reality of it hit her harder than anything else. She wasn't Lin Yuyan, the nation's sweetheart anymore. She was just his.
Her breath hitched, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.
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