That day at work felt like walking through a minefield.
Every time someone mentioned the word engagement, I wanted to vanish into the nearest printer.
Ten years of dating the CEO's golden boy didn't just disappear quietly—it echoed in every whisper, every glance that followed me down the corridor.
I'd mastered the art of pretending.
Smile. Type. Breathe. Repeat.
But that afternoon, the company buzzed again—louder this time.
Even the executives on the top floor looked nervous.
Word spread faster than caffeine:
The CEO, Mr. Liang, had called a sudden board meeting.
Apparently, every partner and shareholder was attending.
"Did you hear?" one assistant whispered near the water cooler.
"They say the second son's back."
"Second son?" another gasped. "I thought Liang Yiran was an only child."
I froze mid-step, coffee cup halfway to my mouth.
Second son?
"They say he's here to fight for the company," the first woman continued, eyes wide. "Apparently, his mother helped build Liang Group before she died. He wants her share returned."
My stomach did a slow, confused flip.
Second son. Two heirs. Angry return.
Why did that sound like—
And then I saw him.
Through the glass hallway, walking toward the conference room like the world owed him an apology.
Same tailored suit. Same black leather shoes. Same quiet storm in his eyes.
The stranger from the fountain.
The man from the elevator.
And now, apparently…
the CEO's other son.
My heart tripped over itself. I ducked behind a pillar, nearly spilling coffee all over my blouse.
No way. Absolutely not. There's no way that man—the one I kissed—works here. Or worse… belongs here.
Before I could make sense of it, the conference room doors burst open.
Mr. Liang's voice thundered through the hall.
"This company is not your playground, Yichen!"
Yichen.
So that was his name.
Liang Yichen.
He stood calm, hands in his pockets, the image of controlled defiance.
His father's face was flushed with anger, but Yichen's tone was even, cutting, almost cold.
"I'm not here to play, Father. I'm here to claim what's mine. Liang Group was founded by both of you. You took her work and erased her name."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Some people exchanged looks; others pretended to check their phones. No one dared breathe too loudly.
The CEO's voice rose again. "You have no experience. No stability. You're not even married. How can a man who can't commit to a relationship commit to a company?"
The silence that followed was sharp enough to hurt.
Yichen's gaze swept the room—and for the briefest second, his eyes landed on me.
I felt it like a jolt of electricity.
Recognition.
Challenge.
A faint, unreadable smile ghosted over his lips.
Then, calmly, he said:
"Then I'll get married."
The air fractured.
A dozen murmurs exploded at once. "He'll what?" "Who?" "Is he serious?"
But Yichen didn't elaborate. He simply turned, nodded to the board, and walked out as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of the company.
When the meeting finally ended, chaos took over.
People rushed to send emails, make calls, or gossip.
I tried to sneak out unnoticed, clutching my files like a shield.
Almost made it.
Until a hand caught my wrist.
"We need to stop meeting like this," he said, his voice low as I spun around to face him.
He stood there—Liang Yichen himself—up close this time, eyes the color of unspoken storms.
The hallway around us emptied like the universe was giving him a private stage.
He didn't smile. "You kissed me last night."
My soul left my body. "I—That was an accident!"
He stepped closer, his voice calm, almost polite. "I'm sure the security cameras disagree."
I blinked. "Wait—there were cameras?"
"Multiple angles." His tone didn't waver. "Technically, that's harassment."
My jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am," he said, as if discussing the weather. "But I'm also pragmatic."
He leaned closer—just enough for me to catch the faint scent of cedar and trouble.
"I need a wife. You need to stay employed and… un-sued."
For a full five seconds, my brain simply refused to process.
Then:
"Wait. You're blackmailing me into marriage?"
"Let's call it a mutually beneficial agreement."
My mouth opened, ready to protest—but he was already walking away, slow, confident steps echoing against the marble floor.
"Think about it," he said over his shoulder. "You've always wanted to marry rich."
The world tilted.
I stood frozen in the hallway, surrounded by silence and disbelief.
Was that… a proposal?
A threat?
A fever dream brought on by heartbreak and alcohol?
By the time my brain caught up, he was gone—vanished into the elevator, leaving me staring at my reflection in the polished floor tiles.
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or maybe both.
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection.
The city lights blinked outside my window, mocking me with their calm.
Ten years with Yiran—gone in a headline.
One drunken kiss, and now I was apparently engaged to his brother.
Liang.
Liang Yichen.
I'd seen that name in old news archives, back when I first joined the company.
Whispers about a "forgotten heir," a son from the founder's first marriage.
A scandal buried years ago.
A mother who'd co-founded the company but died mysteriously before the company went public.
And now her son was back.
Back for revenge.
Back for the company.
And somehow, I—an ordinary employee with a broken heart and bad luck—was about to become part of that story.
I stared at my phone, half expecting a message from him. None came.
No threats, no reminders. Just silence.
Mei texted instead.
[How are you holding up?]
[Please tell me you didn't drunk-text your ex.]
If only.
I almost replied I might've agreed to marry his brother instead, but even my best friend would think I'd lost it.
I sighed, dropping the phone on my pillow.
"Be careful what you ask for," the fortune teller had said.
I thought about the fountain, the three coins, the wishes I'd made while half drunk and half broken.
I wish I could forget him.
I wish I could get a promotion.
I wish someone would finally love me back.
Somehow, fate heard all three—then handed me the most chaotic interpretation possible.
***
The next morning, the whispers at work were relentless.
Apparently, Liang Yichen hadn't just announced his return—he'd submitted formal documents demanding a shareholder review.
The board was in turmoil. The media was buzzing.
And everyone wanted to know who he planned to marry.
I avoided the gossip, kept my head down, and typed like my job depended on it. (Which, apparently, it might.)
At noon, a message popped up on my monitor from an unknown sender.
Meet me. 6:00 p.m. Rooftop. Don't make me come get you. —Yichen
My stomach did a flip.
Rooftop? Was that code for "firing location"?
But curiosity—and fear of lawsuits—won.
By sunset, I was up there, gripping the railing, trying to breathe. The city stretched beneath me, glowing gold and crimson.
He arrived exactly on time. No footsteps, no warning—just the sound of the door clicking shut.
"You came," he said simply.
I turned. "Of course I came! You threatened me with multiple camera angles! Who does that?"
He looked utterly unfazed. "Someone efficient."
I gaped at him. "You can't just force someone to marry you. That's insane."
He stepped closer, his shadow brushing mine. "Insane or not, it solves both our problems."
I crossed my arms. "What problems? Other than you being a walking HR violation?"
A faint smile flickered. "My father doesn't believe I can commit. The board wants a stable figurehead. I need a wife to prove both wrong."
"And me?"
"You need a clean record and, if I'm not mistaken, financial stability. Liang Group pays its executive spouses very well."
I blinked. "You're offering… benefits?"
He tilted his head. "Do you prefer threats?"
I opened my mouth—then closed it. Because, honestly, I was broke, heartbroken, and dangerously close to unemployment.
Still, pride dies harder than logic.
"So you just picked me just because we kissed?"
"You kissed me," he corrected. "Publicly. In front of two security cameras and one homeless man who applauded."
My face turned crimson. "Oh my god."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Inside—two silver rings.
Nothing extravagant. Simple. Elegant.
Cold.
"This isn't a love story," he said quietly. "It's an arrangement. One year. We help each other. After that, we go our separate ways."
I stared at the rings, then at him.
My ex's brother.
The man I'd kissed by mistake.
The man who now stood between me and unemployment.
Somehow, I managed to whisper, "You're serious."
"Deadly."
He slipped one ring into my hand. "You have until tomorrow to decide."
And with that, he turned and walked away—again—leaving me alone under the fading sky.
I looked down at the ring. It glimmered faintly in the dying light.
Maybe the fortune teller was right.
My luck really had changed.
Just… not the way I expected.
____
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