On the seventh day of my mother’s stay in the ICU, I signed a two-year contract to sell myself: I would be Lu Zhi’s substitute wife, playing the part of Shen Qingtang, the Lu family CEO’s deceased beloved. The day I moved into the Lu residence, I knew this place was a gilded cage, and I was a fake.
Some people in the house treated me like a shadow, some saw me as an enemy, and others waited for the chance to laugh at me. Lu Zhi looked through my face at another woman. Miss Su Man saw me as a thorn in her side, while Aunt Zhou, the housekeeper, inspected me like a defective product.
Only Lin Shuyue, the secretary who always wore a cold expression, handed me a can of beer late one night and said, “Hang in there. Just make it to the day you’re free.”
I didn’t compete for his affection, pick fights, or cry and make a scene. I just wanted to get through the contract in peace and leave with five million.
But the women in the Lu residence, all trapped there just like me, quietly reached out their hands. When the contract expired, Lu Zhi asked me with red-rimmed eyes if I could stay. I smiled. “Mr. Lu, overtime costs extra. No credit.”
Not bad group portrait article