When I left the rooftop, the air felt too heavy to breathe.
The company's hallways were buzzing with gossip about the "boardroom war" that had happened earlier. But I wasn't thinking about Liang Yichen or his impossible proposal.
Until I saw him.
Not him, actually — them.
At the end of the hallway, my ex-boyfriend stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, smiling softly as Zhao Rui wrapped her arms around his neck.
That same neck I used to trace with my fingers when we studied late together.
Her manicured nails brushed his cheek as she whispered something. He laughed — that low, gentle laugh that used to belong to me.
Something inside me cracked, quietly but irreversibly.
I wanted to look away, but my eyes betrayed me. And then, as if the universe enjoyed cruelty, he turned.
Our gazes met.
His smile faltered. A flicker of guilt — or pity — crossed his face.
My throat burned. I forced my lips into something that might've looked like a smile. Then I turned on my heel and walked away before the tears could win.
My phone buzzed.
Mom.
I hesitated, then picked up.
"Mom, I'm at work, can we—"
Her voice cut through mine, frantic. "Hua! You have to help me. I owe money again, they'll come to the apartment—"
I closed my eyes.
Of course. Again.
"How much this time?"
"A small amount," she said, which in her vocabulary meant definitely not small. "Please, sweetheart, you're the only one I can ask—"
I ended the call before she could finish. Not because I didn't care, but because I did. Too much.
I leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
Rent, groceries, her debts… I was barely surviving as it was.
And then Yichen's voice echoed in my mind like a curse.
"You need to stay employed… and un-sued."
It wasn't just blackmail anymore.
It was survival.
The next morning, I found myself standing in front of his office door with shaking hands.
No makeup. No plan. Just desperation dressed in a pencil skirt.
I knocked once.
"Come in," his low voice said.
He was seated behind his desk, scrolling through something on his phone. Not even surprised to see me. Like he already knew I'd come.
"About your… proposal," I started.
His gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. "I assume you've thought about it."
"I'll marry you," I said flatly. "But I want a contract."
One of his brows lifted. "A contract?"
I nodded, pulling out a folder I'd stayed up all night typing. "One year. After that, we divorce. You'll transfer me a sum the moment we sign the papers — enough to cover my… expenses. And during that year, you'll handle all rumors or consequences that might affect my work or reputation. I'll play my role as your wife, nothing more, nothing less."
For the first time, something like amusement flickered across his eyes. "You sound like a lawyer."
"I watched a lot of courtroom dramas," I muttered.
He took the papers, skimming through them silently. The tension in the room thickened.
Then he signed. Just like that.
"No negotiation?" I asked warily.
He capped his pen and stood. "No need. I don't break my word."
I blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it," he said, already moving toward the door. "Have lunch with me at noon."
"What? No."
He paused, hand on the doorknob. "We're supposed to be newly engaged. The staff will expect us to be seen together. Unless you want the marriage to look… fake?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He had a point — a very annoying point.
He smiled faintly. "I'll pick you up in the lobby."
At noon, I was hiding behind a plant.
Okay, not exactly hiding, but… standing very, very still near the reception area, pretending to be busy on my phone.
Everyone was heading out for lunch in groups, laughing, chatting. When Yichen appeared — tall, immaculate, magnetic — the room shifted. Conversations softened. Eyes turned.
He walked straight toward me.
And took my hand.
Every nerve in my body screamed.
"I can walk by myself," I hissed.
"Too late," he murmured. "They're watching."
I jerked my hand free and turned away, walking briskly toward the exit. I could feel his amused gaze behind me, his calm footsteps following.
Outside, the wind carried the faint scent of rain. I was about to ask where we were going when he said, "Wait here."
He disappeared around the corner.
Two minutes later, a sleek black car rolled up to the curb. Glossy. Elegant. Definitely expensive.
He stepped out, opening the door like a scene from a drama. "Get in."
"I can't. People will—"
"Get in, Hua."
I groaned. "Fine. But if I get fired for this, I'm haunting you."
He ignored that, of course.
Once inside, I sank into the leather seat, covering half my face with my bag as we drove off. My reflection in the tinted window looked like a fugitive.
The restaurant was even worse.
Cameras clicked from somewhere nearby. Probably reporters. Or employees "coincidentally" dining at the same place.
He ordered for both of us without asking, and we ate mostly in silence. Or rather, he ate. I mostly poked my food and tried not to panic.
After a while, he looked up. "You're quiet."
"I'm eating with my boss and fake fiancé," I said dryly. "Forgive me if I'm not chatty."
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "You'll get used to it."
"Used to what?"
"Being watched."
He wasn't wrong. Two tables over, someone had their phone angled just a little too conveniently toward us.
A few flashes later, he signaled the waiter, paid, and stood. "I'm heading back to the office first."
"But you didn't finish your meal—"
"They've taken enough pictures. That's all that matters."
Somewhere between the luxury car, the expensive restaurant, and the camera flashes, reality hit me:
I'd sold my peace of mind for money.
And a man I barely knew was now my husband-to-be.
--
The next morning, chaos.
Rumors exploded across every department chat group.
[Did you see the photos?]
[Liang Yichen was seen dining with a junior staff member!]
[Engagement rumors already?!]
[She looks… familiar. Isn't that Hua from PR?]
By the time I walked into the office, every whisper stopped. Then started again as soon as I passed.
I kept my head down. Pretended not to notice.
But by noon, I couldn't take it anymore. My inbox was full of "accidental" gossip threads. I could feel eyes burning holes in my back.
I typed an email draft to HR: Feeling unwell, need to take the day off.
Just as I hit "Send," I get up from my chair, grab my things, and head toward the open-plan office exit. In the hallway, I heard a familiar voice.
"Hua."
I froze.
Yiran.
He stood there, looking too good for someone who'd ruined me. His tone was low, rough. "You're doing this to get back at me?"
"What?" I said, turning slowly.
"Dating my brother? You think I don't see through that?"
"I don't need revenge, Yiran. You already gave me enough pain to last a lifetime."
His jaw tightened. "So you are with him?"
I took a step back. "It's none of your business."
His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "You don't even like men like him! You—"
"Let go," I said sharply.
He didn't. His fingers tightened instead.
And then another voice, smooth and cold as steel:
"I believe my fiancée asked you to let go."
We both turned.
Yichen stood at the end of the hall, expression unreadable, his presence heavy enough to silence every whisper.
"Brother," he said, each syllable precise, "it's bad manners to touch another man's woman."
Yiran's grip loosened. "She's not—"
But before he could finish, Yichen was beside us. His hand slipped around my waist, pulling me close. The contact sent electricity up my spine.
He looked at his brother with calm disdain. "You've had your turn. Don't ruin what's mine now."
The entire hallway went silent.
Yiran's face darkened, but he said nothing as Yichen guided me away.
Only when the elevator doors closed did I finally exhale.
"Why did you—"
"Protect my investment," he said simply, not looking at me. "You'll thank me later."
I glared. "You're insufferable."
He smirked faintly. "Get over it. You'll have to put up with my "insufferable" side for a year."
The doors opened. Cameras flashed.
Before I could even think, his hand wrapped around mine.
Firm. Certain. Unyielding.
The next thing I knew, he was leading me through a blinding storm of camera flashes. Paparazzi voices crashed into each other like waves—
"Mr. Liang! Are you really taking back the company?"
"Is that your girlfriend?"
"You're both wearing rings—are you getting married?"
Questions flew from every direction.
Flashes burned my eyes.
Someone even tripped in front of us.
But he never let go.
His fingers tightened around mine, his expression calm, protective, almost commanding—as if the chaos around us didn't exist.
By the time we finally escaped into his car—a sleek, impossibly luxurious black one that probably cost more than my apartment—the world outside was still echoing with shouts and camera clicks.
He slammed the door shut. Silence.
For a moment, I just sat there, breathless, heart racing from adrenaline.
"Where the heck are we going?" I finally asked, voice trembling between frustration and confusion.
He started the engine. "Home."
I blinked. "Home?"
My home? His?
What home?
But something in his tone stopped me from asking. It wasn't angry… it was colder than that. Controlled. Icy.
We drove in silence for a while. The hum of the engine filled the space between us until he finally spoke again, eyes fixed on the red light ahead.
"You didn't tell me you had a past with my brother."
My heart skipped a beat.
So that's what this was about.
"I—" I swallowed hard. "I thought everyone knew. It wasn't exactly a secret."
His eyes flicked toward me briefly. "You sure?"
I frowned. "Of course I'm sure!"
My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I was annoyed—at him, at the situation, at my own stupid heart that still reacted every time Yiran's name came up.
I crossed my arms and looked out the window. "It's over anyway."
He didn't answer immediately. The red light turned green, and he drove forward smoothly before saying, almost to himself,
"Well… that just makes things a bit more complicated."
Then his mouth curved—barely.
"But certainly more interesting."
A shiver ran down my spine.
What was going on inside that unnervingly calm, strategic mind of his?
Minutes later, the car slowed to a stop.
My neighborhood.
I turned to him, startled. "How do you even know where I live?"
"I'm technically your boss," he said simply.
I muttered under my breath, "Son of the CEO, not yet my boss…"
"Mh?"
"Nothing."
I reached for my bag. "Anyway, thank you for the ride—"
But before I could step out, he was already outside.
He walked around the car and opened the door for me like some kind of gentleman from another century.
"What are you doing?" I asked, bewildered.
He just smiled faintly. "Making it look real."
I stepped out, flustered. His presence was too close, too calm, too unreadable.
The streetlights painted him in gold, and for a moment, he almost looked… human.
Then I caught the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—cool, mysterious, maybe even a little mocking.
It made my stomach twist.
Is this some kind of game to him?
Does he think this is fun?
Maybe he was jealous about Yiran.
No—he said this marriage wasn't about love. Just business.
So why did his gaze feel like it was searching for something more?
And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse—
"Sweetheart?"
My blood froze.
That voice.
My mother.
I turned, and there she was at the entrance of our building, holding a grocery bag and staring between us like she'd just witnessed the opening scene of a soap opera.
Her eyes widened as they darted from his luxury car… to his expensive suit…
"Hua," she said slowly, eyes shining with curiosity, "who's this?"
I felt my soul leave my body.
Yichen looked perfectly calm, lips curving into that same unreadable smile.
"Her fiancé," he said smoothly.
I choked. "Wha—?!"
But it was too late.
My mom's delighted gasp echoed through the street like a gunshot.
And I swear, the smirk that flickered across his face right then…
was the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen.
___
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