CHAPTER FOUR

The moment Feng Mian stepped into the mansion, the scent of fresh lilies and polished wood met her nose—an unfamiliar fragrance layered with faint traces of something colder, more sterile. It didn't smell like home.

Not that she had ever known what home smelled like.

A line of servants stood in formation at the entrance hall, neat and precise, their heads bowed politely but their eyes flickering with curiosity. They were a sea of starched uniforms and quiet, expectant silence, as if trying to gauge the weight of the girl who now stood at the center of their world.

Liang Zeyan stood beside her, his presence composed, distant.

"These are the staff," he announced casually, his tone more like he was reading out a weather report than introducing the people who would now bow to her.

He began listing names. One after the other.

The housekeeper, Mr. Han — lean, sharp-eyed, his posture too stiff, a man who wouldn't smile unless paid to.

The old maid, Aunt Mei — face lined like crumpled paper, hands folded tightly against her apron, trying too hard not to stare.

The younger maids — soft-eyed, whisper-thin, curiosity practically dripping from their movements.

The chauffeur, the kitchen staff, the gardener — each name rolled out cleanly, efficiently, like items in a file.

Mian said nothing, but she studied each face.

She traced the arch of their brows, the tightness in their shoulders, the angle at which their eyes flickered toward her.

Her brain moved on instinct—running permutations, cataloguing them like pieces of a puzzle she hadn't been given yet.

That one—nervous but kind. Wouldn't know how to lie without blinking too much.

That one—cold, measured, probably loyal to Zeyan over anyone else.

That one—her smile too wide, her gaze too curious, a gossip.

Her eyes flitted rapidly, calculating, sorting.

When he finished, Zeyan turned slightly toward her. "They'll take care of you from now on, Madam."

The word felt like a noose tightening around her throat.

Without another glance, he nodded to the staff and walked away, already pulling out his phone. "I'll be at the office. If you need anything, speak to Han."

And just like that, he disappeared.

Mian barely noticed him leave.

Aunt Mei stepped forward, dipping her head with a kind of cautious reverence. "This way, Miss… Madam," she corrected herself quickly, motioning for Mian to follow.

She obeyed without a word, her fingers tightening around the strap of her laptop bag.

They led her up the long marble staircase, past long corridors adorned with minimalist art pieces and crystal sconces until they stopped at the far end of the east wing. Aunt Mei pushed the double doors open.

"This is your room, Madam."

The room was vast — unnecessarily so.

The ceiling arched high, framed by intricate floral moldings. The walls were painted a soft blush pink, blooming with watercolor roses across one panel. White sheer curtains swayed gently by the window, filtering in morning light. The bed at the center of the room was massive, draped in lace and pale silk, embroidered with vines and peonies.

It was pretty.

Too pretty.

Mian's lips parted slightly.

She hated it.

The flowers, the softness, the delicate air — it was like walking into a dollhouse.

It felt fake. It felt wrong.

It felt nothing like her.

Aunt Mei walked in behind her, motioning to the younger maid who followed with her laptop and journal clutched awkwardly.

"I'll set these down for you, Madam—"

"No."

The word left Mian's mouth sharp, mechanical, her voice stiff like she was reciting from a script.

"No touching them, No."

The younger maid blinked, caught off guard. Her smile froze awkwardly before she forced it back onto her face and stepped closer, tentatively reaching for Mian's shoulder as if to offer some comfort.

"You don't have to—"

"No touching!"

The words snapped out of her like a whip, her voice cracking, rising in panic.

Mian flinched backward, her hands coming up instinctively.

"Don't touch me! Don't. Don't."

The panic spiraled so fast she couldn't stop it.

The room felt too bright, the floral scent too strong, the weight of everything too heavy.

Her throat tightened.

Aunt Mei stepped forward immediately, waving the younger maid away.

"It's alright," she murmured, voice lower now.

Another maid leaned in, whispering something quickly into Aunt Mei's ear. Something that made the old woman's brows lift slightly in realization, her lips pressing together in a soft, knowing line.

She turned back to Mian and nodded gently, voice careful now. "Very well, Madam. I understand. Your belongings will remain untouched."

She paused, glancing back at the other maids before adding, "Your clothes have been stored in the closet. I will prepare your bath shortly. After that, breakfast will be ready downstairs."

Mian said nothing.

The maids retreated quietly, the door clicking shut behind them.

She stood in the middle of the too-pink room, the weight of silence pressing in from all sides.

Her laptop and journal sat untouched on the small writing table by the window.

Slowly, she walked over, setting her things down like they were fragile pieces of herself.

She sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath her, soft and unfamiliar.

Her hands curled into the fabric of her skirt.

The house was too big.

The servants' eyes were too loud.

Her thoughts were spinning too fast.

She didn't know what to do now.

Her chest tightened, something fragile cracking beneath her ribs.

Quietly, almost soundlessly, Mian began to sob.

Downstairs, the kitchen bustled with low voices and the clatter of plates.

The servants spoke in hushed tones, careful not to be overheard but unable to hold their curiosity back any longer.

"She's… different, isn't she?" one of the younger maids whispered, casting a glance toward the stairs.

"I heard she's autistic," another murmured shaking her head in feigned pity. "That's why she talks strange. Why she won't let anyone touch her."

"Why would Master marry a girl like that?" Aunt Mei's voice was soft but laced with something unreadable. "The Liang family must have forced him into it. Remember that old master has been pressuring for a grandson"

Speculations rippled across the staff like waves.

"I do not think the agent family knows about this. Master Liang would never allow young master Zeyan marry someone like this." Another replied matter of fact my

"What kind of future does she even have?"

The questions swirled in the air unanswered.

Until the sound of the front door opening snapped all their attention back.

A tall figure entered without warning, coat draped casually over his shoulder, his sharp features almost a mirror of Zeyan's but more relaxed, more charming.

Liang Zeyan's younger brother.

Liang Yuwei

He glanced around the quiet room, one brow lifting in mild amusement at the sudden hush.

"Where's my brother?" he asked casually, his gaze lingering up the staircase. "And who's the new Madam I've been hearing about?"

The servants exchanged glances, tension thick in the air.

The storm hadn't even started yet.