From Pawn to Queen

The wedding was grand, yet humiliating, like a nightmare muted at the very moment it began.

When I woke up, I was still trapped in the luxurious cage called the Caldwell estate.

My “new room” with Ethan Caldwell was on the third floor of the main mansion, a suite of extreme luxury. It wasn’t just one room—it resembled an independent apartment, with a living room, study, walk-in closet, and… a vast bedroom with a massive double bed.

Yet from the first night, I occupied it alone.

Ethan didn’t even set foot in the room. After the wedding, he changed out of his suit and left the estate without a single glance at me. Ms. Zhou, the housekeeper, told me expressionlessly:

“Master has matters at the company. He will be busy for a while.”

“How long?” I had no idea.

A week passed. He did not return.

I felt like an ornament left forgotten in a corner, silently moving through this golden, dazzling cage.

In the mornings, I woke on that excessively large bed, the space beside me cold and untouched. Outside the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows lay perfectly manicured gardens, but I had no desire to look. The servants delivered breakfast on time, plated like works of art, yet they never spoke more than necessary. They would bow slightly and leave, eyes downcast, though I sensed subtle disdain and scrutiny beneath the courtesy.

They called me “Miss Lane,” not “Mrs.”

Ms. Zhou, the head housekeeper, was a middle-aged woman with stern features and meticulous habits. I knew she was my mother-in-law’s spy. She would ask about my needs as a formality, but when I requested even the smallest personal favor—like a softer bedside lamp or a few books—she would reply in her cold, detached voice:

“Your ladyship has given orders. The house arrangement is decided by a feng shui master and cannot be changed. As for books… you may only enter the master’s study with permission. Otherwise, you’ll need to buy them yourself.”

Buy them myself? I had no money. Apart from a suitcase with a few old clothes from my family, I owned nothing. The Caldwell family gave me no allowance, making it clear that I was nothing but a dependent, not even entitled to spend.

Afternoons were the hardest. Occasionally, Vivian Caldwell would summon me.

Usually in her sunlit flower-filled parlor, she and other wealthy women drank afternoon tea. My role was to stand beside them like a servant, serving tea, listening to conversations about yachts, auctioned jewelry, and bespoke European fashion—all beyond my reach.

The ladies’ gazes were filled with curiosity and condescending pity.

“Where’s Ethan? Why isn’t he here with you?” someone would ask, feigning casualness, a smirk on her lips.

Vivian would sip her tea elegantly and say lightly:

“Ethan is busy, not every day can be spent in love. Besides, Sophia is quiet and prefers staying home. Watching flowers is nice enough.”

With just a few words, she painted me as a wife unloved by her husband, trapped in a lonely room.

The women would laugh knowingly, and the conversation continued, leaving me invisible. I forced a polite smile, though my fingers grew ice-cold under the warm teapot.

Once, a drop of tea fell on Mrs. Wang’s Hermes scarf. I hurried to apologize and wipe it.

Mrs. Wang recoiled, face twisted with disgust:

“Oh! Be careful! This is limited edition!”

Vivian’s expression darkened, shooting me a glance more humiliating than any scolding. She reassured Mrs. Wang:

“Don’t worry. The bride didn’t know the rules. Ms. Zhou, take care of it.”

After the guests left, only Vivian and I remained. She calmly continued eating, making me stand numb until she finally spoke:

“You can’t even handle a small thing like this. Did the Lane family teach you nothing? I will hire an etiquette teacher to show you how to be a proper Caldwell wife, so you don’t embarrass us next time.”

I lowered my head, whispering,

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll be careful next time.”

She waved dismissively:

“Go. You’re annoying to watch.”

I straightened my back as I left, only allowing myself to lean against the cold wall once out of sight. Waves of humiliation battered me, yet I swallowed every emotion.

The real blow came at a small family gathering a week later. Monica Caldwell, Ethan’s distant cousin, spoiled and arrogant, deliberately mocked me:

“Sophia, that dress you’re wearing is last season Chanel, isn’t it? Ethan just bought Olivia the newest diamond necklace. Now that’s extravagant!”

Olivia Chen. That name pierced me like a needle. She was Ethan’s true love.

The table fell silent. All eyes on me—some sympathetic, some mocking, most malicious. Ethan remained seated, indifferent, barely noticing.

Monica smirked, enjoying my discomfort. Vivian finally intervened,

“Monica, watch your words.”

The rest of the afternoon blurred. I retreated to my cold, enormous room, tears streaming silently. I wiped them away quickly. I couldn’t cry here.