Scarlett woke up on the morning after her wedding and made a decision: silence was overrated.
If she was going to be trapped in this gilded cage, married to a dragon who thought he could control her life, then she was going to make damn sure he regretted it.
Not through quiet suffering or dignified resistance—no, she was going to be the most obnoxious, chaotic, impossible-to-ignore presence in his perfectly ordered empire.
She was going to be herself. Loudly.
It started with the flowers.
"Ma'am, I really don't think that's a good idea," said one of her bodyguards—the kind-eyed one whose name she'd learned was Lin.
He watched with barely concealed alarm as Scarlett directed the gardeners to plant jasmine vines along every wall of the east wing.
"I think it's a wonderful idea," Scarlett said brightly, gesturing expansively. "And add some lavender there. Oh, and those yellow ones—what are they called? Goldenrod? Perfect. Plant them everywhere."
"But Mr. Sylus—"
"Is allergic to approximately nothing, I'm sure, because dragons don't get allergies,"
Scarlett continued, undeterred.
"But you know what? I'm willing to test that theory. I'm going to plant so many flowers in this place that he'll be sneezing pollen for the next decade."
Lin pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to smile. "As you wish, ma'am."
By noon, Scarlett had personally overseen the planting of flowering bushes along the main driveway, climbing roses on the portico, and a truly excessive amount of honeysuckle near what she'd discovered was Sylus's office window.
The gardeners looked bewildered but followed her increasingly chaotic instructions.
The other two guards—she'd learned their names were Marcus and Tao—watched with a mixture of concern and barely suppressed amusement.
"Is she... is she trying to make the boss sneeze himself to death?"
Marcus whispered to Tao.
"I think that's exactly what she's doing,"
Tao replied, sounding impressed despite himself.
Scarlett pretended not to hear them.
She was too busy directing the placement of potted hydrangeas in the main hallway.
"More blue ones. Yes, there. And there. Actually, let's line the entire corridor. Make it look like a flower shop exploded."
Mrs. Chen appeared, looking concerned. "Miss Scarlett, perhaps we should—"
"It's Mrs. Qin now," Scarlett said with a smile that was all teeth. "And Mrs. Qin wants flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. Everywhere."
By the time she was finished, the mansion looked like a botanical garden had invaded a mafia headquarters. It was absurd. It was excessive. It was absolutely ridiculous.
It was perfect.
But Scarlett wasn't done.
"I want a swing," she announced to her bodyguards after lunch—lunch that she'd actually eaten, because apparently rebellion required fuel.
All three guards blinked at her. "A... swing?" Lin asked carefully.
"Yes. Like in the park. You know—" She mimed the motion. "A swing. Hanging from that big oak tree in the garden."
"Ma'am, I don't think—"
"That's the problem with all of you," Scarlett interrupted, hands on her hips.
"You all think too much. I want a swing. Can you build me a swing or not?"
Marcus cleared his throat. "I... suppose we could arrange that."
"Excellent! I want it by this afternoon."
Three hours later, Scarlett had her swing. A sturdy wooden seat suspended from thick ropes, hanging from the largest oak tree in the garden. It looked almost whimsical among all the carefully manicured perfection—a touch of childhood innocence in a place built for darkness.
Scarlett loved it immediately.
She climbed on and started pumping her legs, going higher and higher until she was flying through the air, her hair whipping behind her, her laughter echoing across the grounds.
"Ma'am! Please be careful!" Lin called out, his voice tight with panic.
"Mrs. Qin, that's too high!" Marcus added, looking like he was seconds away from a heart attack.
But Scarlett just laughed harder, leaning back until she was nearly horizontal at the peak of her swing. The world tilted and spun, the sky and earth trading places, and for just a moment she felt free. Reckless and wild and completely, utterly free.
Tao had gone pale, one hand pressed to his chest. "If she falls and breaks something, the boss is going to kill us."
"If she falls and breaks something, we won't live long enough for him to kill us," Marcus muttered.
Scarlett swung higher.
By the time evening rolled around, she'd worked herself into a state of gleeful chaos. She'd planted enough flowers to choke a small forest. She'd swung high enough to give three trained assassins near heart attacks.
She'd rearranged furniture in the main sitting room just because she could. She'd asked the kitchen staff to make her bubble tea—loudly, repeatedly, until they'd made her three different flavors just to keep her happy.
Now she sat in the main foyer, her designated waiting spot, because she had plans.
Big plans.
Loud plans.
She positioned herself directly in sight of the main entrance, armed with her bubble tea and a box of macarons and every bread and pastry the kitchen had been willing to provide.
Her cheeks were stuffed full—she looked like a chipmunk hoarding for winter—and she was drinking her bubble tea with the most obnoxiously loud slurping sounds she could manage.
SLURRRRRP.
The sound echoed in the marble foyer.
SLURRRRRP.
Lin winced. Marcus looked away. Tao pressed his fingers to his temples like he had a headache.
"Mrs. Qin," Lin said carefully, "perhaps you could drink a bit more... quietly?"
Scarlett made direct eye contact with him and took another loud, deliberate slurp.
SLURRRRRRRRRRP.
She grinned around her straw, cheeks still packed with food. Silent hadn't done her justice these past days. Silent had gotten her nowhere. So why not be loud? Why not be chaotic? Why not be exactly who she was before this nightmare started—a girl who loved sweets and swings and being absolutely, unapologetically herself?.
If Sylus wanted a docile, obedient wife, he'd picked the wrong person.
The front doors opened with a heavy sound that echoed through the foyer.
Sylus stepped inside, looking every inch the crime lord he was. His black suit was immaculate despite whatever business he'd been conducting. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, like he'd run his hands through it. His red eyes were sharp, alert, scanning the foyer with the automatic vigilance of a predator entering his territory.
Those eyes landed on Scarlett.
She saw him take in the scene: his new wife, sitting cross-legged on an antique chair that probably cost more than a car, cheeks stuffed with food like a hamster, aggressively slurping bubble tea, surrounded by his very uncomfortable-looking guards.
For a moment, he just stared.
Scarlett stared back, took another loud slurp, and prepared to charge.
She launched herself off the chair with the grace of an angry cat, bubble tea in one hand, murder in her eyes. She wanted to scream at him—about the flowers, about the wedding, about being trapped, about everything. She wanted to throw her bubble tea right at his stupid, perfect face.
She made it approximately three steps before massive hands caught her mid-charge.
Sylus moved faster than should be possible for someone his size, closing the distance between them and catching her with ease.
His hands pressed gently but firmly against her cheeks, stopping her forward momentum completely. His palms were warm against her puffed-out face, making her look even more ridiculous than she already did.
"Hmpp!"
Scarlett tried to say something threatening, but it came out muffled and completely incomprehensible through her stuffed cheeks and his hands smooshing her face.
Her arms flailed wildly, trying to gain purchase, trying to swat at him, but he held her at arm's length with infuriating ease. S
he must have looked like a kitten trying to fight a tiger—all fury and no actual threat.
Behind Sylus, several of his men had appeared. She saw at least two of them bite back smiles. Marcus had turned completely around, shoulders shaking suspiciously. Even Lin, usually so professional, had his hand pressed to his mouth.
"Hmpp! He caught me like I'm a toy kitten!"
Scarlett tried to shout, but it came out as gibberish through the food and his hands.
Sylus's expression was... not what she expected.
He wasn't angry. Wasn't cold or distant or cruel. Instead, his red eyes were dancing with something that looked suspiciously like delight. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile that he was clearly losing the battle against.
"Swallow your food, kitten," he said, voice rich with amusement. "Before you choke and make me a widower on day two of our marriage."
"Hmpp!" Scarlett tried to glare at him, but it was hard to look intimidating with chipmunk cheeks and his hands squishing her face.
"I'm serious. Swallow."
She did, if only because she needed to breathe properly to yell at him.
The macarons and bread went down in one massive gulp that probably wasn't healthy.
"Good girl," Sylus murmured, and the praise in his voice made her want to hit him even more.
"Let go of me, you overgrown lizard!"
she snapped, her words finally clear now that her mouth was empty. Her arms were still flailing, still trying to reach him even though he held her completely immobile.
"I'm going to—I'm going to—"
"Going to what?" His thumbs brushed across her cheeks, a gesture almost tender.
"Sneeze me to death with all the flowers you've planted? I noticed those, by the way. Very creative. The jasmine outside my office window was a nice touch."
"You're supposed to be allergic!"
"I'm not."
"Well, that's stupid! What kind of dragon isn't allergic to flowers?"
"The kind that finds his wife's rebellion absolutely adorable."
The smile finally won, spreading across his face in a way that transformed him from dangerous crime lord to something almost... boyish. Almost human.
"What else did you do today? I heard reports of a swing that nearly gave my men heart attacks."
"I went higher than they thought I could,"
Scarlett said defiantly, even though she was still trapped in his gentle but unyielding grip.
"I'm sure you did." His red eyes were so warm, looking at her like she was the most entertaining thing he'd seen in centuries.
"And the furniture rearranging? The seventeen different bubble tea orders? The bread hoarding?"
"I was hungry!"
"Clearly." His hands slid from her cheeks to her shoulders, still holding her but in a way that felt less like restraint and more like... steadying. Like he was afraid she might topple over.
"I like this side of you, Scarlett."
That threw her off balance more than anything else he could have said. "What?"
"This." He gestured vaguely at all of her—her messy hair from swinging, her slightly puffy cheeks from all the food, her rumpled clothes, the righteous fury in her eyes.
"The rebel side. The side that plants flowers everywhere and builds swings and stuffs her face with macarons just because she can."
His voice dropped lower, more intimate.
"The side that's alive and fighting and furious with me."
Scarlett's breath caught. She didn't know what to do with this Sylus—the one who looked at her chaos like it was a gift instead of a problem.
"I still hate you," she said, but it came out weaker than intended.
"I know." He released her shoulders slowly, like he was giving her the chance to bolt if she wanted to. "But at least you're not silent anymore. Silent Scarlett was breaking my heart."
"You don't have a heart."
"You'd be surprised what I have." He stepped back, giving her space, and glanced at his men. Every single one of them was suddenly very interested in the floor, the walls, anywhere but the scene they'd just witnessed. "I assume she was supervised during all of today's... activities?"
"Yes, sir," Lin said quickly. "We maintained proper distance and safety protocols."
"And the swing?"
"Structurally sound, sir. Triple-checked."
"Good." Sylus looked back at Scarlett, and something in his expression softened.
"Feel free to keep redecorating. Plant whatever flowers you want. Build whatever you need to feel less caged." He paused. "Just... maybe swing a little lower? For my men's blood pressure if nothing else."
Scarlett blinked. She'd been expecting punishment, not permission.
"You're... letting me?"
"You're my wife, not my prisoner." At her incredulous look, he had the grace to look almost sheepish. "I mean, you are technically my prisoner, but I'd prefer if you felt less like one. If chaos and flowers and swings make you happy, then chaos and flowers and swings you shall have."
He started to walk past her, toward his office, but paused when he drew level with her. Leaned down so his mouth was near her ear.
"Besides," he murmured, voice dropping to that dangerous purr that made her shiver,
"I quite enjoy catching you when you charge at me, kitten. Feel free to try again anytime."
Then he was gone, striding toward his office with that predatory grace, leaving Scarlett standing in the foyer with her empty bubble tea, her righteous anger somewhat deflated, and absolutely no idea what to do with a captor who encouraged her rebellion.
Behind her, Marcus finally let his laughter out. "Did you see his face? He looked like she'd given him the best gift of his life."
"He's completely gone for her," Tao agreed. "Absolutely smitten."
"Gentlemen," Lin said warningly, though he was smiling too. "Perhaps we should give Mrs. Qin some privacy."
Scarlett stood there for a long moment after they'd left, staring at the hallway Sylus had disappeared down.
She'd charged at him with murder in her heart, and he'd caught her like she was precious. She'd filled his mansion with flowers to annoy him, and he'd given her permission to plant more. She'd spent the whole day being as chaotic and difficult as possible, and he'd looked at her like she'd lit up his entire world.
What kind of monster encouraged the person he'd trapped to keep fighting?
What kind of dragon smiled when his captive tried to attack him?
Scarlett didn't have answers.
But as she looked down at her empty cup, at the trail of flower petals she'd tracked through the foyer, at the evidence of her small rebellions scattered throughout this prison...
She felt something shift. Not acceptance—never that. Not forgiveness—he didn't deserve it.
But maybe... maybe she didn't have to be quiet and broken to survive this. Maybe she could be loud and chaotic and furiously, defiantly herself.
And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what the dragon wanted.
The thought should have terrified her.
Instead, it made her want to plant more flowers.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.