Betrayal of My Rags-to-Riches Husband

My name is Quincy Scott, and I am now a pipa girl aboard the Joy House's Yacht. The identity of the Prime Minister's legitimate daughter, once mine, was long since reduced to ashes in the great calamity three years past. The autumn river carried a biting cold that seeped through my thin garments. I clutched my chest, coughing violently, blood seeping through my fingers and dripping upon the pipa strings, spreading faint stains of dark red. The owner of the Joy House declared my fate wretched, saying I would not endure much longer. Yet still I yearn to live, even if only to claim a decent coffin to conceal my remains. Tonight, the Joy House's Yacht was unusually lively, the entire vessel adorned with brocades and silks, the scent of powder and perfume stinging the back of my throat. The guests clinked their cups and exchanged toasts; when their eyes passed over me, they bore unabashed contempt and greed. I held my pipa, lowering my brows and averting my gaze as I plucked its strings; my voice was hoarse and fractured. No one cared what I played; they regarded me merely as a trifle to enliven the gathering. Suddenly, a commotion arose, and someone cried out loudly, "Mr. Grand Secretary has arrived!" The clamour that filled the boat instantaneously subsided; all rose to pay their respects, as though even the very air had thickened to stillness. My fingertips faltered, and a discordant note rang out from the strings. Mr. Grand Secretary? That title felt like a rusted blade, suddenly plunging into the core of my heart. I stiffly lifted my head, following the reverent gazes of those around me. At the bow stood a man clad in a dark brocade robe, his waist girded with a jade belt; his countenance remained as handsome as ever, yet his brows now bore the added gravity of high office and chilling aloofness. It is Simon Shawn. My fiancé, the young gentleman who once vowed a lifetime to me beneath the apricot tree. Three years apart, he has become the all-powerful Grand Secretary, while I have become the most despicable presence in his eyes. At his side nestled a lady in splendid attire, her beauty exquisite, yet her gaze carried a certain scrutiny and bitterness. That is Jade Lewis, the legitimate daughter of Minister Lewis, now the wife of the Grand Secretary. I recognize her; years ago, outside the Imperial Academy, she was once whipped by my father's guards. Simon Shawn's gaze swept across the cabin before finally settling upon me. His eyes betrayed not the slightest flicker of emotion, as if beholding a perfect stranger, with even a faint, barely perceptible trace of disdain. "My lord, this pipa girl plays well; shall I bring her over?" A portly, brutish merchant, drunk and unsteady, rose and reached out to seize my wrist. I instinctively flinched, but he grasped me firmly, the pressure nearly crushing my bones. "Let me go!" I struggled, my voice faltering with each cough. The wealthy merchant laughed loudly, his breath heavy with wine spraying across my face: "Just a lowly woman, and yet you dare resist?" He reached out to tear at my garments, as laughter erupted around us. At that moment, a cold, clear voice rang out: "Stop." Simon Shawn had come forward unnoticed, his gaze icy as it swept over the wealthy merchant. Frightened, the merchant shuddered and quickly released his grasp, smiling obsequiously: "Mr. Grand Secretary, I was just joking with her..." "How dare you do that in my place!" Simon Shawn's voice was steady and unyielding, yet carried an unmistakable authority. The wealthy merchant dared not say another word and slunk back to his seat, crestfallen. I breathed a sigh of relief, instinctively glancing at Simon Shawn, still nursing a forbidden flicker of hope within my heart. But the words he spoke next plunged me into an abyss of irrevocable ruin. "Quincy Scott," he uttered my name with piercing scorn, "Once the daughter of the Prime Minister, now fallen to become a pipa girl— what degradation." My heart sank abruptly, as if plunging into an ice cellar. It transpired that he remembered me, yet regarded me only as a wretched woman who had willingly degraded herself. "You’re right." Jade Lewis said with a delicate laugh as she stepped forward and linked her arm with Simon Shawn's. "Someone simply brought everything to herself." She appraised me from head to toe, her gaze like a blade scraping across my body: "In those days, how arrogantly overbearing was Ms. Scott! Outside the Imperial Academy, merely because I glanced at Simon, you punished me by beating me." "To have fallen to such a fate now—is truly a righteous retribution." Jade Lewis's voice was soft, yet sufficiently clear for all present to hear distinctly. Whispers arose all around; those gazes pricked me like needles. I drew a deep breath, stifled the metallic tang in my throat, lifted my head, and met Jade Lewis's eyes. "Ms. Lewis has a remarkably good memory," my voice coldly composed, "but back then, your beating was not on account of a mere glance at Mr. Shawn."