POV: Ava |
It hasn't even been a full day since I became Mrs. Ren, and I'm already on a mission.
Operation: Win the Mansion.
I don't mean the building—I mean the people. The guards, the staff, the drivers, the gardeners. The ones who work behind the scenes to keep this massive palace running like clockwork. If I'm going to live here, they're going to be my family. Whether they're ready or not.
I skip—well, wobble in heels—down the hallway with a slice of banana bread I convinced the kitchen staff to let me help bake. "Help" is a generous word. I mostly poured in the wrong sugar and almost melted a spatula. Still counts.
"Mrs. Ren," one of the bodyguards says as I appear in the corridor. He looks huge and intimidating, muscles bulging under his black suit. I remember his name. "Jiang!"
He blinks. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Here!" I offer him the banana bread like it's the greatest treasure in the world. "Fresh from the oven! It's slightly overbaked, mostly edible, and made with love."
His mouth twitches. "You made this?"
I nod. My thigh-length black hair swishes behind me, nearly knocking into a vase. He catches it just in time and hands it back wordlessly.
"Yeah, I know," I whisper, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "It's got a mind of its own."
He accepts the bread. Takes a bite. Chews. Then says in a perfectly serious voice: "This is... not terrible."
I gasp. "That's the best review I've ever gotten!"
I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt as I wave to the two younger maids passing by. "Hello again! Are you the ones who folded my clothes into little swans? Because I screamed. They were so cute."
They both giggle. "You're not like we expected, Mrs. Ren."
I tilt my head. "Did you expect someone taller? More mysterious? Less accidentally-on-fire?"
They laugh harder.
Truth is, I know what they expected. Everyone expects someone like him—cool, distant, dignified. Not a human confetti cannon in a pink sundress with a trail of hair and a habit of tripping over absolutely everything.
But I don't mind. I've spent years being "too much"—too loud, too clingy, too emotional, too sunny. And now I'm exactly where I want to be: in his house, wearing his name. Even if he hasn't smiled at me once.
Baby steps.
By the time I finish exploring the east wing (where my room is—separate from his, of course), I've learned:
Mr. Lin, the elderly gardener, used to be a calligraphy teacher.
One of the drivers has a secret talent for beatboxing.
The chef's granddaughter is applying to university abroad and I've promised to help with her essay.
Also, I've tripped four times, walked into one sliding door (how does that even happen), and accidentally knocked over a coat rack that I thought was a person. I apologized to it for two minutes before I realized.
At sunset, I finally collapse onto one of the velvet couches in the drawing room, my hair fanned out like a dark waterfall, toes sore from wearing heels all day.
"Mrs. Ren?" One of the maids peeks in.
"Yes?" I sit up instantly, smiling.
"We—um—just wanted to say…" She exchanges a look with the other maids behind her. "You're very… kind. It's nice to have someone so… warm here again."
Again?
I blink. "Thank you." My voice softens. "That means more than you think."
The staff disperses with small smiles, and I stay there for a moment, sinking into the cushions, wondering what "again" meant. Did someone kind used to live here? His mother, maybe?
My chest aches just a little. I think of Alex—how distant he looked in the car, how cold his voice is when he speaks to me like I'm some inconvenient responsibility.
But I'm not giving up.
Because I've loved him since middle school.
And now I'm in his house. Wearing his ring. With his name on my door.
And I may be clumsy. Loud. Always too much.
But I've never failed at making people love me.
Even him.
Not yet. But someday.