The air in Wei Wanwan's bedroom was heavy with silence.
Outside, rain tapped gently against the wide glass windows, but inside, the storm was still brewing.
Zhao Wenqing sat on the edge of the bed, her posture graceful as ever, though her eyes betrayed her fatigue. She had said nothing for a while—just stared down at the floor, where an open newspaper lay with Yulia Dragina's face plastered on the cover. Red lips, dazzling eyes, a backless gown… the new "Madame Wei."
Wanwan folded her arms, standing by the vanity. "She's not coming here. Grandmother already made it clear. That woman isn't allowed inside the mansion."
Zhao Wenqing finally spoke, her voice low. "But she doesn't need to come here. She already has what she wants."
"She has a ring," Wanwan snapped. "Not a place in this family."
Wei Wanwan sat beside her mother, Zhao Wenqing, who looked paler than usual. Her slender fingers were clenched tightly in her lap.
"I knew your father was selfish," Zhao Wenqing whispered, voice hoarse, "but I didn't think he'd humiliate me like this. Not like this."
She had once been the first lady of the Wei family, the perfect wife to the powerful Wei Zhenhai. Elegant, poised, and politically astute. But now, she was just the ex-wife—forced to sit and watch as a scandalous model replaced her without a shred of dignity.
Wei Wanwan wrapped an arm around her mother's shoulders.
"Don't worry, Mom," she said gently. "Women like her can't last a day in our world. Do you think Grandmother Wei will let that... Yulia Dragina breathe easy in this house?"
A small, cold smile played at Wanwan's lips.
"She's a foreigner with a reputation worse than a third-rate celebrity. The media might love her curves, but Grandmother will see right through her. She doesn't care about beauty—she cares about legacy. Yulia won't survive a week."
Across the room, slouched on the couch and flipping through pictures on his phone, was Wei Mingliang—Wanwan's younger brother.
He whistled softly.
"Are you all blind?" he said, not even looking up. "Yulia Dragina is hot. Like, siren-from-a-dream hot."
Wanwan glared at him. "Mingliang!"
"What?" he shrugged. "She's tall, slim, and she's got... well, everything in the right places. She walks like she owns the red carpet and doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks. Bold. Confident. Sexy as hell."
"You're talking about our stepmother!" Wanwan snapped.
"She's not my mother," Mingliang said, smirking. "She's just Dad's new toy. And honestly, if I were him, I'd probably do the same. You've seen the pictures—Yulia looks like a goddess who eats men for breakfast."
Zhao Wenqing looked away, her face tightening with hurt.
Wanwan stood up sharply. "That's enough, Mingliang. You're embarrassing yourself."
Mingliang raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Just saying. Dad has taste."
"Dad has destroyed this family's reputation," Wanwan said through gritted teeth. "And if you think that woman is going to parade around here without consequences, you don't understand the Wei family at all."
The room fell quiet again. Zhao Wenqing reached out and gently touched her daughter's hand.
"It's fine, Wanwan. I've accepted it. There's no point in clinging to things that are already gone."
Wanwan knelt down beside her, gripping her hand tighter. "You may not be married to him anymore, but you are still part of this family. That woman will never replace you."
Her voice turned colder.
"She's not part of us. And she never will be."
Far from the old halls of the Wei family mansion, in a glittering penthouse high above the city, Yulia Dragina reclined on a velvet chaise, sipping crimson wine from a crystal glass.
The lights of downtown shimmered below her like diamonds scattered across the earth. Jazz played softly in the background. There were no shouting elders, no glaring daughters, no folded arms or bitter stares. Just velvet, warmth, and the quiet hum of her new life.
Across from her, dressed in a navy blue house robe, sat Wei Zhenhai. The infamous patriarch of the Wei family—now her husband.
He looked different here. Softer. Younger, even.
They had been talking for over an hour—mostly about work. Zhenhai's company was stabilizing after the initial shock of the scandal, and Yulia had actually offered a few clever suggestions regarding public image.
He was pouring her another glass when he glanced at her thoughtfully. "Yulia."
"Yes?" she said, stretching her long legs over the ottoman.
"I've been thinking about New Year's."
She raised a brow. "And?"
He smiled gently. "It's always been a tradition in my family to gather for it. Even if they hate each other, they come together at the mansion. But this year… I want to do something different."
Yulia tilted her head, curious.
"I want to celebrate here. With our family. My children… and yours."
Her smile faded slightly. She looked down into her wine.
Zhenhai leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I've asked you before, but Yulia, I've never even met your daughters. Not once. I've only seen their pictures. Are they really so against meeting me?"
Yulia gave a small, unreadable smile. "They're not against it. They're… complicated."
"You've said that before."
She stood up slowly, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Her silk robe shimmered under the lights.
"They grew up differently. Not like your children, raised in wealth and tradition and ivory towers. Mine were raised in Europe. With freedom, fire, and a very deep hatred for rules."
Zhenhai joined her by the window. "Still, they're your blood. Don't they want to see you happy?"
Yulia gave a soft laugh. "My daughters love me, but they don't trust anyone else. Especially not a man from a powerful Chinese dynasty with strict parents and suspicious children."
He looked out at the city with a sigh. "That's unfair."
"It's reality," she said, sipping again. "But I'll talk to them. Maybe for New Year's… maybe."
"I'd like that," Zhenhai said sincerely. "A full table. You, me, Wanwan, Mingliang… your girls. It's time we became a real family."
Yulia glanced at him, her eyes sharp and glittering.
"We're already real, Zhenhai. The others just haven't caught up yet."