Chapter 2 Endurance and Daily Humiliation

The wedding was over, but the humiliation lingered like a muted nightmare.

I woke up trapped in the lavish cage called the Caldwell mansion.

My and Ethan’s “new room” was a suite on the third floor of the main house. It had a living room, study, walk-in closet, and a spacious bedroom with a massive double bed.

But from the first night, I was alone.

Ethan never set foot in the room. After the wedding, he changed his clothes and left without a glance. Mrs. Zhou said coldly, “Master has company matters; he will be busy for the foreseeable future.”

How long was “foreseeable”? I didn’t know.

A week passed. He didn’t return.

I felt like a forgotten decoration, silently moving through the mansion.

Mornings were spent on the oversized bed, the space beside me cold and unwrinkled. Outside, the garden was immaculate, but I had no heart to look. The servants delivered breakfast, beautifully arranged, but never spoke more than necessary. Their eyes lowered, but I sensed the thin veil of contempt beneath their obedience.

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

Mrs. Zhou, the house manager, was strict and meticulous—a spy for Mother-in-law, Vivian Caldwell, I was certain. Whenever I requested something minor—a softer bedside lamp, a few books—she replied in a cold voice:

“Mrs. Caldwell decreed that the house’s layout is set by a feng shui master and cannot be changed. You cannot enter Master Ethan’s study without permission. If you need books, you must purchase them yourself.”

Purchase them myself? I had nothing beyond a few old clothes from my family. The Caldwells gave me no allowance, reminding me I was just a dependent, with no right to spend.

Afternoons were the hardest. Mother-in-law occasionally “summoned” me.

In her sunlit drawing room, she and wealthy ladies sipped tea. My role was like a servant, pouring tea, listening to their luxurious stories—yachts, auctions, European fashion.

Their eyes on me were curious, pitying, and judgmental.

“Where’s Ethan? Why isn’t he with you?” someone asked, lips curled in amusement.

Vivian Caldwell sipped tea lightly. “Ethan’s busy. Sophia prefers staying home, enjoying the flowers.”

Her words painted me as unloved, trapped in a cold room. The ladies chuckled knowingly, continuing as if I were air. I forced a polite smile, fingers icy despite the teapot’s warmth.

Once, I dripped tea on Mrs. Wang’s Hermes scarf. I hurried to apologize.

Mrs. Wang recoiled, “Careful! Limited edition!”

Vivian’s gaze froze me more than words. She smiled at Mrs. Wang. “Don’t be upset. Sophia doesn’t know the rules yet. Zhou, handle this.”

After guests left, Vivian spoke coldly:

“You even fail small tasks. Sophia, your family should have taught you better. You need etiquette lessons to be a proper Caldwell wife and avoid embarrassing the family.”

I bowed, whispering, “I will, Mother.”

She waved me off like a fly, “Go. You annoy me just standing there.”

I straightened until out of sight, then leaned against the cold wall, exhaling. Humiliation hit like tidal waves, but I swallowed it all.

A week later, at a small family gathering, Ethan’s cousin Monica Caldwell, spoiled and arrogant, mocked me:

“Sophia, that dress is last season Chanel, right? Brother just bought Olivia Chen a diamond necklace—now that’s generous!”

Olivia. The name pierced my heart. Ethan’s white moonlight.

The table fell silent; all eyes on me—pity, mockery, and schadenfreude. Vivian’s icy gaze and Ethan’s indifference intensified my humiliation.

I felt my face pale, knuckles white from clutching the utensils. Monica smirked,

“Oh, don’t mind me, sister-in-law. You’re the proper Mrs. Caldwell now, replacing…”

“Monica.” Vivian intervened lightly, scolding. The cruel smile remained on her face.

That meal was torture. Voices blurred; only Olivia’s name and Ethan’s cold indifference echoed in my mind.

Later, I overheard two young maids whispering:

“Look at her timid posture, does she deserve to be a Caldwell wife?”

“Even servants are better. Master doesn’t glance at her—she’s just decoration.”

“They say the Lane family was nearly bankrupt. Her sister refused the marriage, so she came as a substitute…”

My steps froze. Anger and shame burned. I almost lashed out but clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

I could not. Here, I had no right to anger. Any rebellion would bring worse humiliation.

I exhaled deeply, pretending not to hear, and passed by them quietly. They went silent, startled.

I closed the door to my vast, cold “new room,” sliding to the floor. My palms bore crescent-shaped marks from gripping the furniture.

Tears fell silently, but I wiped them away.

I could not cry here. Tears were useless, especially for someone uncherished.

Looking at the empty luxury room, the reflection in the vanity showed a pale face, full of fear and humiliation.

A voice inside screamed, but I suppressed it.

I could not explode. Not yet.