Lu Zeyan stared at the polished screen in front of him. The headlines were relentless. His "wife" had hijacked the media, the company gossip, and now his carefully structured life.
And she did it in a red dress.
Last night's kiss was only supposed to silence the tabloids.
But this morning, a new headline roared louder than any crisis he'd faced as CEO:
"LU ZEYAN'S MYSTERIOUS WIFE: WHO IS THE WOMAN THAT STUNNED A CEO AND SHUT DOWN A GALA?"
Xu Yinyin didn't just kiss him.
She performed.
And now, she sat in his office chair, spinning slowly, eating cherries like she paid rent.
"You need to stop," Zeyan said coldly.
She looked up, smirking. "Stop what?"
"This fake wife act."
She gasped dramatically. "Fake? But the internet says we're China's favorite couple now."
Zeyan narrowed his eyes. "You manipulated an entire press cycle."
"I prefer the word rebranded."
That evening, he received a call from his grandfather.
"Bali. You and your wife. Take the jet. Spend a few days away. And for the love of your ancestors—give me a grandchild before I die."
Click.
Xu Yinyin, who'd been eavesdropping from behind a potted plant, popped up with sparkling eyes.
"Did he say Bali? Like, beaches? Cocktails? Bikinis?"
Zeyan rubbed his temples. "Don't pack."
Too late. She was already gone.
Three hours later, the jet took off.
Yinyin was sipping champagne like she was born for this. He tried to work. She leaned across the table and whispered, "Do I look like someone who can give you a scandal-free vacation?"
"No," he said.
"Exactly."
Bali was worse.
The hotel greeted them as Mr. and Mrs. Lu.
The villa had one bed.
She smirked.
"I can sleep on the floor," she offered sweetly.
He scowled. "It's fine."
Pause.
"Unless you start talking in your sleep. Then I'll throw you into the pool."
"Deal," she chirped.
But that night, she didn't talk.
She curled up beside him, back turned, quiet… and for some reason, that silence wrapped around his chest like a net.
The next day, she came down in a white swimsuit and sheer cover-up that made three hotel staff walk into trees.
Zeyan was talking to a woman from another corporation—slim, elegant, and clearly interested.
Yinyin didn't hesitate.
She walked right over, slipped her arm into his, and whispered, "Honey, your sunscreen."
Zeyan blinked. "What—"
Before he could finish, she had her hand on his cheek, rubbing imaginary sunscreen across his face with a sweetness so aggressive it could only be war.
The other woman backed away, flustered.
Yinyin turned to Zeyan. "You're welcome. I saved you from Miss Long Legs."
He stared at her.
"You're crazy."
"But effective."
Back in China, Grandpa Lu greeted them with a lawyer and a sly grin.
"How was the honeymoon?"
"Short," Zeyan muttered.
Yinyin, wearing a jade green qipao and the smugness of a cat who'd stolen the palace fish, held up an album.
"I brought back memories," she said.
The album was fake. Obviously.
Photoshopped dolphins. Sunset kisses. One picture where Zeyan was clearly asleep on a lounge chair and she'd added herself next to him with a peace sign.
Grandpa flipped through them.
"I approve," he said.
Zeyan nearly choked on his tea.
Then Grandpa turned to his assistant. "Update the inheritance draft. She stays."
"WHAT?" Zeyan barked.
Yinyin blinked. "Did I just get promoted to legal wife?"
That night, he confronted her in his penthouse.
"I've had enough," he said. "You're not staying on this ride forever."
Yinyin sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed. "Then say it."
"Say what?"
"That you regret kissing me. That you regret letting me in."
Zeyan didn't speak.
Because even now—she smelled like saltwater and mischief and heat. And her eyes were too bright for someone who pretended not to care.
He moved closer.
"Why do you do all this?"
She looked up, voice softer than before.
"Because for once, people are finally watching me... and not through a joke lens."
She got up to go, but he caught her wrist.
"Yinyin."
She froze.
He didn't pull her back.
But he didn't let go.
"I think I'm in more trouble than I thought."