"Married? I don't even know her birthday, let alone how old she is…"
Lucian stood at the street corner, staring up at the towering building across the road under the blistering summer sun. He had lost count of how many times he regretted this.
Seriously, what era was this? One drunken night and now he had to take responsibility? A forced marriage?
Anyone watching would think he'd stumbled into a feudal society.
It was July in Solviva City—hot, humid, and suffocating. After two crowded bus transfers, Lucian was drenched in sweat. His wrinkled dress shirt clung to him like plastic wrap, unbearably sticky.
He twisted open a bottle of water and chugged half of it, his throat burning. Then, pulling out a few crumpled, sweat-dampened newspapers from his pocket, he double-checked the job listings. Still nothing he was remotely qualified for. With a sigh, he wet the papers and squatted down to wipe the scuffed leather shoes that had been stepped on during his commute.
Solviva Tower—108 stories tall. The pinnacle of prestige in Solviva City. Citizens took pride in working there; companies boasted about being able to afford even a small office. For Lucian, this was his first time stepping foot near the Empire Tower. He didn't want to look like a bum to the elite who walked through these doors every day.
"Hey! You there!"
Before he could enter, a uniformed security guard stepped out with a scowl. "This isn't a place for you to loiter. Move along."
His tone was dismissive, as if swatting at a fly. Clearly, Lucian wasn't the first person trying to sneak in for the air-conditioning.
"Loiter?!" Lucian's eyes narrowed as he snapped, "You think I'm the kind of shameless loser who'd do that?"
The guard sneered. "So what are you here for, then? Got a job interview? Business deal? Planning to buy out a company?"
He'd seen too many of these guys bluffing their way in. But Lucian's look was next-level pitiful.
"I have a date," Lucian straightened his collar, adopting the posture of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
"A date? With you?" the guard scoffed, laughing. "Who? Seraphina? Joliy? Want me to call them down for you? Maybe grab a cold drink and some career advice while you're at it?"
The two names he mentioned were infamous in the Tower—Seraphina, cold and untouchable; Joliy, fiery and seductive. Between them, they fulfilled every male fantasy in the building.
Lucian tilted his head. Could it really be one of them?
That night, he'd drunk himself nearly dead. He couldn't even remember the woman's face—too dark in that damn bar. But somehow, that chaotic night had led to something much more serious. Something... inescapable.
"You done daydreaming?" The guard glared, hand reaching for the rubber baton at his waist. "Leave now or I'll make you leave."
"What's going on here?" came a sharp, steady voice.
A young woman in a silver-gray business suit approached, her steps brisk but composed. Her posture exuded authority. Just the sound of her heels told Lucian this woman wasn't to be trifled with.
She stopped and looked at him from above, expression cold and unreadable. Her complexion was flawless, her features delicate and refined. Crimson lips, full and provocative. Her curves pushed against the limits of her shirt—powerful, confident, and striking.
The security guard scrambled to explain, bowing slightly. "This guy tried to sneak in. I caught him making excuses, so I was just about to escort him out."
The woman, Shamily, didn't respond. She simply looked Lucian up and down—disheveled, tired, like he hadn't slept for days. Bloodshot eyes, pale skin. Even his watch was some off-brand plastic thing worth less than a meal. Everything about him screamed loser.
"You're Lucian?" she asked warily.
"Yeah, that's me." Lucian quickly pulled his gaze away from her chest and asked politely, "And... you are?"
Could this be the woman he'd spent the night with?
Not bad—great figure, decent face. Not exactly the beauty he'd imagined, but not someone to be ashamed of either. Acceptable.
He tried to swallow the disappointment.
"You don't need to know my name. Just follow me," Shamily said coldly, turning toward the central elevators without another glance. Her voice was like ice.
Lucian lit a cigarette with flair and threw a smug look at the guard. "See that? That's my date. Better pack your things—you'll be getting your termination letter tomorrow."
The guard stood there, dumbfounded, as his entire worldview collapsed.
Ding—
The elevator stopped at the 88th floor. Shamily strode out first, as if she couldn't bear another second in that small space with him.
Lucian followed, hands in pockets, casually making conversation to defuse the tension. "So this is your office? Not bad. You make... what, ten grand a month?"
"I'm on an annual salary," she said without turning around, her footsteps quickening.
"How much a year, then?" Lucian pressed on, feigning curiosity. "With the job market so bad these days, even finding a fair-paying job is tough—especially for young women like you."
"Two million," Shamily replied flatly.
"Two... two million?!" Lucian's jaw dropped.
She didn't need to see his face to imagine the stunned expression. A flicker of satisfaction crossed her mind.
Still think you're better than me, you arrogant jerk?
But just as she was enjoying the moment, his voice echoed from behind—loud, indignant, and full of resentment.
"You're that rich and you still made me cover the hotel bill? What kind of stingy wife are you? If you're this tight with money now, how are we supposed to live together in the future? You're a huge disappointment!"
Shamily froze, nearly stumbling.
Hotel bill? Live together?
Her face burned with rage and shame. How had it come to this? How had the respected CEO of Solviva Tower ended up entangled with him?
"First of all," she turned slowly, her voice colder than ever, "I'd never be interested in someone like you. Second—
I'm not the one who asked to see you. That would be… our boss."
...
Lucian's face froze—three parts confusion, seven parts shock. Just as Shamily was about to rub more salt into the wound, enjoying her moment of petty revenge, Lucian's expression suddenly changed. With a sharp flick, he lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly, his face filled with relief.
"I knew it," he muttered. "That night—I was just drunk, not brain-dead or blinded by lust. No matter how desperate I get, I'd never stoop that low. Thank God, it was just a false alarm."
Before Shamily could explode, Lucian had already pushed open the office door. He tossed out a casual instruction over his shoulder.
"No sugar in the coffee. Thanks."
He remembered clearly—the plaque by the door read President's Office. Which meant the person waiting inside… was Shamily's direct superior. A billionaire businesswoman.
A woman like that—high-society elite, stunning and powerful—should be changing men like outfits, living a different fantasy every night. How could she possibly be so clingy after a single drunken encounter?
Unless… maybe something I did that night accidentally exposed the nobility of my soul?
The office was enormous. To the left stood a row of towering mahogany bookshelves filled with rare, first-edition classics. Many of them were one-of-a-kind. On the right was a modest guest area, but its setup felt strangely hostile—no magazines, no ashtray, not even a glass for water. The carpet there was noticeably newer than the rest of the room. Lucian quickly deduced: the office owner had never used this area to entertain anyone.
And yet, there she was.
Sitting elegantly on a single-seater couch was a breathtaking woman dressed in professional attire, her beauty as cold as it was flawless. Her snow-pale face practically screamed keep your distance, and her eyes—clear, dark, and sharp—radiated an icy hostility that chilled the room to subzero. The temperature contrast with the world outside was stark.
Next to her stood a man in his forties—sharp suit, polished shoes, the picture of a proper gentleman. And yet, his refined features were tight with discomfort. Just being in the same room with her was clearly a nerve-wracking ordeal. Especially standing this close.
"Stop right there."
The icy woman's voice sliced through the air the moment Lucian approached. Her tone was commanding—leaving no room for question. Even the man beside her immediately straightened his spine like a soldier at attention. It was almost comical.
Lucian, however, strolled forward without hesitation and seated himself directly across from her, separated only by a sleek, tempered-glass coffee table. He leaned back, casually taking in the view.
She was stunning.
Every feature looked like it had been sculpted by divine hands—exquisite and delicate. Her skin glowed like porcelain, her lips full and soft like petals, her teeth gleaming like polished pearls. Yet behind all that beauty was a cold, regal aura that would send most men into a spiral of self-doubt and inferiority with just one glance.
Lucian, however, was unfazed. He tuned out the frost in the air and studied her intently. After a few moments, he leaned forward and said sincerely,
"I think I've finally figured out why I lost control that night. If I had the chance to go back… I think I'd still book that room with you. Even if it was in a five-star hotel."
Her eyes—once icy pools—flared instantly into fire. She looked ready to burn him alive, down to the ashes.
The middle-aged man beside her, who clearly knew the full story, watched Lucian with a strange mix of awe and pity.
Of all the people to provoke… you chose her?
The ice queen of Empire Tower. The rising tycoon of Solviva. CEO of Kynix Group.
Everyone knew she hated men with a passion. And this guy? He not only dared sleep with her after a drunken night—he was now openly taunting her?
Buddy… do you know how to spell death?
Seraphina's chest rose and fell with barely contained fury. Her emotions flared wildly, but she forced herself to keep them in check, relying solely on sheer willpower to keep from snapping. Grinding her teeth, she barked,
"Give him the documents. And the contract."
"Yes, ma'am," the lawyer replied nervously, pulling out a file from his briefcase.
"What documents?" Lucian asked, tapping ash onto the pristine carpet like he owned the place.
The rude, careless act visibly triggered Seraphina's obsessive need for cleanliness. Her flawless face even turned faintly red—with either fury or shame—it was hard to tell.
"Her personal file. And the marriage agreement," the lawyer explained patiently. "Given your... unusual situation, the contract isn't registered with the marriage office, but it still carries legal weight. If either party violates the terms, there will be legal consequences and financial penalties."
Lucian nodded absentmindedly and picked up Seraphina's file. As he flipped it open, he muttered,
"Since I've reluctantly agreed to this outrageous arrangement, of course I'll keep my word. But is all this really necessary? Honestly, with a face like yours, I wouldn't care if you were a con artist or something worse."
Even as he spoke, his eyes scanned through her profile.
"Seraphina… So that's your name. Twenty-seven? You're two years older than me? Damn. Ivy League grad, MBA in business… top of your class. CEO of Kynix Group. What, did you have some kind of golden ladder growing up? Fast-tracked to the top, huh?"
His voice was casual, but the undertone dripped with cynical bitterness. Lucian's envy of the wealthy practically radiated from his pores.
Seraphina's expression shifted with every jab—white, then green, then pale again. Her fists clenched tight enough to crush diamonds.
But still—she held back.
Because Lucian hadn't signed the contract yet.
A contract not signed, is a marriage not sealed.
The lawyer cleared his throat, sensing Seraphina's rising rage.
"Mr. Lucian, perhaps you could take a look at the agreement now. If there are no issues, just sign here and it will be official."
Lucian nodded, flipping through it casually. Then paused.
"Most of the terms are fine. But this one right here—it's a bit… harsh."
The lawyer tensed.
"Which clause are you referring to, sir?"
Lucian took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly.
"Clause Nine: 'Though husband and wife in name, there shall be no marital duties performed during the agreement period.' Don't you think that's a little… inhumane?"
"What's the issue?" the lawyer asked, his lips twitching, already sensing disaster.
"Come on, you're a grown man. You know where I'm coming from." Lucian leaned in, voice serious. "I'm a young guy. I go out, drink, tell jokes… sometimes the mood hits, you know? But now, this contract tells me I can't seek… emotional relief elsewhere, and I'm not allowed to touch my wife? Are you trying to kill me with frustration—?"
SLAM!
Seraphina, finally snapping, yanked a boxcutter from her jacket and pointed it straight at him, hands trembling.
"You say one more word, and I swear I'll take you down with me!"