THE FIRST SPARK OF DEFIANCE

Kui's POV

Ye Shu never let me finish. She just left—brisk, cold, like she'd never heard me speak in the first place. I stood there alone, a mix of confusion and quiet amusement curling in my gut. She looked at me like I'd begged to come to Beijing, like I wasn't dragged here against my will—thrown into a city I abhorred, by a family I barely knew.

Sheng Wuang had sent me to the mall to pick up an order. No explanation, no kindness—just a command. Ye Shu tagged along like it was her idea, all heels and hauteur, walking like she was leading a red carpet parade instead of babysitting the illegitimate daughter.

The black Bentley waited outside the villa, parked with the sort of elegance only money could buy. Inside, Ye Shu sat stiffly in the back seat, draped in designer couture, her chin tilted up like she ruled the world. She flicked her head in my direction and pointed at the front.

"Kui fu, sit in front with the driver."

I didn't argue. Just nodded and slipped into the passenger's seat. The ride to the mall was supposed to take thirty minutes. Instead, it dragged like a bad memory—nearly an hour of crawling traffic and Ye Shu rolling the window down every time she spotted someone she knew. She waved like a pageant queen, smiling as though she were on a red carpet. Every time she grinned, I shrank a little more into my seat, praying the tinted windows did their job.

When we finally pulled into the mall, I stared in disbelief. It looked more like a luxury resort—manicured hedges, sunflowers bowing in the breeze, a polished architectural marvel. Inside, the floors were divided like social classes. Ground: baby boutiques and toys. First: electronics. Third: digital tech. The top floors? All glitter and glamour. Luxury fashion. Jewels. A shrine to money.

I gawked. Couldn't help it. I'd never seen anything like it. My feet froze on the marble floor until Ye Shu's voice sliced through the haze.

"Are you done gawking?"

She tapped her heel, face tight with irritation. We headed toward the lift. Ye Shu tottered slightly in her pearl-studded heels, her gown sweeping dramatically behind her. It had to cost at least 800,000 yuan. She wore it like a badge.

The lift ride felt surreal. In Fujian, I never used elevators—just my legs. I used to run errands for Grandma Miao, up and down worn staircases that creaked with memory. But this? This was another world.

Fifth floor. The gold section. The driver stepped out first, offering Ye Shu his hand like she was royalty. I rolled my eyes but said nothing.

The jewellery section sparkled like a dream. Necklaces, bracelets, rings—all gleaming behind pristine glass. I wasn't materialistic, but I could spot real gold when I saw it. I reached for one of the rings, curiosity tugging at me.

"I'd like to pick up an order," I told the woman behind the counter, handing her the receipt.

She was all sharp edges—mid-thirties, dressed like a blade, hair pulled back into a bun that looked like it hadn't moved in a decade. She scanned the paper, her eyes narrowing. Tapped something into the system. Looked again.

"This is fake," she snapped. Loud enough for the walls to hear. "You're a thief. A scam artist trying to con us with a forged receipt!"

Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist. "Security! This girl's trying to scam us!"

The room froze. People stared. My mouth dried up. I stood there, stunned, unable to speak.

Then Ye Shu arrived, her voice soft as silk. "Please," she said sweetly, "she's my sister. She just came from the countryside. She doesn't know city rules. Forgive her."

Her eyes glittered with amusement, masked behind false concern.

"Why would you bring a fake receipt like a child?" she asked me, shaking her head. "I'll tell Mum when we get home."

She nudged me gently, apologising to the staff, painting herself as the graceful older sister cleaning up a younger sibling's mess. My face burned with shame. It wasn't the apology that stung—it was the plan. It was her.

This wasn't a mistake.

This was humiliation, designed to sting.

On our way out, I finally snapped. "What was that in there?"

She looked at me blankly. "What was what?"

I didn't reply. But I knew. She knew. And that silence between us screamed louder than words.

At least the store was nearly empty. No cameras. No flashing lights. I wasn't tomorrow's headline—yet.

Back at the villa, I stepped out of the Bentley and headed inside, jaw tight, emotions locked. I didn't notice Sheng wuang lounging near the garden, sipping juice and scrolling through her phone. But Ye Shu did. She bolted to her and recounted the tale, twisting it like sugar until they were both laughing. My embarrassment, their entertainment.

Later that evening, Fu Sihan's voice crept through the walls, rasping from the study like a snake. I was passing the lobby, sore and starving from six hours of scrubbing the staircase—a punishment from Sheng Wuang. She said it was for defiance. I said nothing. But as I walked past the study—strictly off-limits to anyone outside Fu Sihan's wife and children—I heard it.

"I have the bride now," he said, smoke curling around every word.

"Still your legitimate daughter?" asked the voice on the other end.

"No. The illegitimate one."

The words knocked the air from my lungs.

So that was it.

That was why I was here.

I wasn't family. I was a pawn. A placeholder. A disposable stand-in for the daughter they actually loved.

Grief hit me like a wave. I'd always known Fu Sihan was selfish. But this… this was cruel. He used me as leverage—collateral for power, money, control. That man wasn't just cold. He was a madman.

The pain twisted into something else—resolve. I'd never wanted marriage, and certainly not a contract marriage with someone I'd never met. This was my limit.

I would escape.

I memorised the guards' schedules. Their routes. Their dinner breaks. Weeks passed. I kept quiet. Kept my eyes open.

Then one evening, just as the guards left their posts for their usual twenty-minute dinner break, I made my move.

I had nothing to pack. Just a few childhood photos, wrapped in a black polythene bag I stuffed into the hem of my jacket.

I reached the main gate.

Locked.

It wasn't supposed to be.

Panic clawed at my chest, but I didn't freeze. I scanned the fences—found a spot where the barbed wire was loose, a small breach in their perfect fortress. "Using the nimbleness honed from years of running barefoot through Fujian's hills and rooftops, I scaled the fence with the kind of precision Master zhou always said would serve me well someday.

I had one shot.

But someone had been watching.

The guards had reported my suspicious movements to Sheng Wuang.

"Turn on the electric fence," she ordered, eyes fixed on the CCTV feed.

"Shock. Shock!"

Pain exploded through my body. I hit the ground hard, my vision a blur of black and static. Everything hurt. My ears rang. My limbs screamed.

And then… nothing.