Chapter 7: The Lie They Tried To Feed Her
1070 Words
The banquet hall of Dragon Estate glittered like a palace carved from ice.
Crystal chandeliers. Silk banners. Gold dragon emblems stitched into deep crimson curtains.
Tonight wasn’t just a dinner.
It was a test.
And everyone in the Liang family knew it.
Liu Xiaoyu stood at the top of the marble staircase in a fitted black qipao that hugged her figure with quiet elegance. No heavy jewelry. No loud makeup.
She didn’t need it.
Her posture alone screamed royalty.
Below her, the Liang elders watched like predators sizing up fresh prey.
Beside the main pillar stood Mei Xinyi.
Soft pink dress. Innocent smile. Clinging to the side of Liang Zhen.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Xiaoyu descended the steps slowly.
Each click of her heels echoed.
Liang Zhen’s gaze lifted.
And froze.
Not visibly.
But his fingers tightened slightly around the wine glass in his hand.
She looked dangerous tonight.
Not fragile.
Not forced.
Dangerous.
Mei noticed the shift instantly.
Her smile sharpened.
“Zhen-ge,” Mei said sweetly, touching his sleeve. “Do you remember when you promised we would attend banquets together when we were children?”
Ah.
There it was.
The childhood lover card.
The surrounding relatives leaned in subtly.
They loved this.
Xiaoyu reached the bottom of the staircase.
She stopped beside her husband.
Not touching him.
Just close enough.
“Promised?” Xiaoyu asked calmly. “How sweet. At what age was this promise made?”
Mei blinked.
“…We were eight.”
Xiaoyu tilted her head slightly.
“At eight I promised to marry a prince and own a palace in Milan. Should I expect that to happen too?”
A few suppressed coughs echoed around the room.
Mei’s cheeks flushed faintly.
Liang Zhen said nothing.
But his lips almost curved.
Almost.
Mei forced a laugh.
“You misunderstand. Zhen-ge and I grew up together. Our families always said we were… destined.”
The word hung in the air.
Destined.
Xiaoyu finally turned her gaze to Liang Zhen.
For the first time tonight.
“Is that so?”
Her voice wasn’t accusing.
It wasn’t jealous.
It was calm.
Too calm.
Liang Zhen held her stare.
Dark. Unreadable.
“The elders talk too much,” he said finally.
Not denial. Not confirmation.
Just distance.
Mei’s fingers tightened on his sleeve.
She didn’t like that answer.
Dinner began.
Wine flowed. Whispers spread.
Xiaoyu handled every elder’s probing question flawlessly.
Business. Etiquette. Politics.
She answered like someone born to command.
That unsettled them.
She wasn’t the quiet sacrificial bride they expected.
Halfway through the evening, Uncle Wei cleared his throat.
“Since we’re all family,” he began, voice smooth as oil, “perhaps it’s time we clarify something.”
Xiaoyu’s chopsticks paused mid-air.
Mei looked suddenly expectant.
Uncle Wei smiled.
“There have always been rumors that Zhen intended to marry Xinyi. Many investors believed the union would strengthen internal alliances.”
There it was.
A public challenge.
If Xiaoyu reacted emotionally, she would lose.
If she stayed silent, she would look weak.
All eyes turned to Liang Zhen.
He did not speak.
He was watching.
Her.
Testing.
Xiaoyu set her chopsticks down gently.
“Rumors,” she said softly, “are often created by people who lack power.”
A few elders stiffened.
She continued.
“If my husband intended to marry someone else, he would have. The fact that he did not means only one thing.”
She turned her gaze slowly toward Mei.
“He chose.”
Silence.
Mei’s smile cracked slightly.
Uncle Wei pressed. “Or perhaps he was forced.”
The room chilled.
Now it was dangerous.
Xiaoyu leaned back in her chair.
Then she smiled.
Small. Deadly.
“Are you suggesting the head of the Liang Group can be forced into marriage?”
A few younger executives coughed nervously.
That question was lethal.
Because if Liang Zhen was “forced,” it implied weakness.
And weakness in mafia hierarchy meant blood.
Uncle Wei went quiet.
Liang Zhen finally moved.
He placed his wine glass down.
Deliberately.
Then he stood.
The entire hall straightened instantly.
His gaze swept the room.
Cold. Controlled. Deadly.
“No one forces me,” he said quietly.
The temperature dropped ten degrees.
He stepped behind Xiaoyu’s chair.
His hand rested lightly on the back of it.
Not touching her.
But claiming the space.
“I married Liu Xiaoyu,” he continued, “because I decided to.”
Mei’s face drained of color.
Uncle Wei lowered his eyes.
Liang Zhen’s gaze darkened further.
“And I do not repeat decisions.”
That wasn’t affection.
That was finality.
The message was clear:
She is mine. Discussion ends.
The dinner resumed in stiff silence.
But something had shifted.
After the banquet ended, Xiaoyu stepped onto the balcony for air.
The night wind cooled her heated thoughts.
Footsteps approached.
She didn’t turn.
“You handled them well,” Liang Zhen said behind her.
“No choice,” she replied calmly. “Your family enjoys blood sport.”
A pause.
“You weren’t jealous.”
There it was.
She finally turned slightly.
“Should I have been?”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
“Most wives would be.”
“I’m not most wives.”
His eyes darkened.
He studied her profile.
The sharp intelligence. The composure. The lack of fear.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
He leaned slightly closer.
“Mei Xinyi has been clinging to me for years.”
“I noticed.”
“She believes I owe her.”
“Do you?”
Silence.
The wind rustled her hair.
Finally, he answered.
“No.”
One word.
Heavy.
Honest.
Xiaoyu exhaled slowly.
“Then I have nothing to fear.”
He watched her for a long moment.
Then he asked quietly—
“What if you did?”
Her heart skipped.
Just slightly.
But she didn’t show it.
“Then I would eliminate the threat.”
His lips curved faintly.
For the first time tonight.
Not amusement.
Approval.
“Good.”
He stepped back.
Distance restored.
But the air between them felt different now.
Thicker.
Charged.
As he walked away, Xiaoyu felt it.
The weight of his gaze lingering.
Hungry.
Possessive.
Controlled.
And somewhere in the shadows of the hallway—
Mei Xinyi watched.
Her nails dug into her palms.
If public humiliation wouldn’t break Liu Xiaoyu…
She would try something more permanent.
- Writer
