The pen clicked against the glossy table, a sharp little sound that made Shen Yaojin flinch. His hand hovered over the paper, heavy like it had suddenly gained weight overnight. One signature, one mark, and his life was… rearranged.
Lu Zhiyuan sat across from him, fingers pressed together neatly. Calm, cold, untouchable. Not a flicker of emotion betrayed him. Not even a twitch. He looked like a statue of some ancient emperor—silent, imposing, untouchable.
Yaojin's stomach rolled.
This wasn't just a contract. This was a cage.
He leaned back, forcing himself to inhale like he could convince his lungs it was nothing. His father's voice still echoed in his mind: "This is for your future. The city will respect you. The families will prosper."
Future. Prosper. Words that meant nothing when someone else had drawn the walls of your life.
"Done?" Lu Zhiyuan's voice was smooth, low, a note of something that could slice if you weren't careful.
Yaojin forced a laugh that tasted bitter. "Done. Happy?"
"No." Zhiyuan didn't smile. Of course he didn't. That would've been too easy.
After the Fathers Left
The door clicked shut behind them. Silence settled like dust, heavy and suffocating.
Yaojin crossed his arms. "So, we know the rules. Fake dating in public, act like strangers at home. That's… it?"
"Exactly," Zhiyuan said, not moving, his gaze sharp enough to make Yaojin shiver. "I don't intend to touch you. You don't touch me. We survive each other."
Yaojin raised an eyebrow. "Survive? Sounds… promising."
Zhiyuan's lips twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. "We'll see who cracks first."
First. Always first. Yaojin repeated the thought in his head. I'll never crack first. Never.
He took a step back, pretending to adjust his sleeve. Too close. Too commanding. That scent—the faint metallic undertone of Zhiyuan's pheromones—clung to him even across the table.
Yaojin hated it.
But hated was the wrong word.
Meeting His Friends
He needed air. Needed to think. Needed witnesses.
The café smelled of roasted beans and bitter chocolate. Warmth draped around him like a blanket, though it did nothing to ease the storm in his chest.
Bai Lianyi waved him over, smiling, oblivious to the tension. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Close enough," Yaojin muttered, sliding into the booth.
Han Zexu leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, smirk curling. "So… you're officially shackled?"
Yaojin groaned. "Don't remind me. Marriage contract. Parents' brilliant idea. Lu Zhiyuan is…" He trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Impossible."
Lianyi leaned forward, voice low. "Impossible is only a challenge if you let it be."
"Challenge? He's an Alpha. Obsessive, territorial, terrifying. I can't even—" Yaojin shook his head. "I don't even know where to start."
Han chuckled darkly. "You'll figure it out. Just don't fall first. You know what happens then."
Yaojin laughed, but it came out hollow. His friends' words didn't make it better. They only reminded him that in this world, being the bottom was already a dangerous game.
Planning the Move-In
Back at the apartment, his parents waited. Faces cold. Eyes sharper than any knife.
"You move in next week," his father said. Flat. Final.
"Separate rooms," his mother added, as if the idea of proximity alone was punishment enough.
Bodyguards, maids, cooks. Cameras. Every hallway, every corner. "For safety," they said.
Yaojin wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. Instead, he nodded, because parents never listened to arguments. Only results.
Private Moment Alone
He walked to his room later, shutting the door quietly. The walls felt smaller than usual, his thoughts louder than ever.
Separate rooms. Same house. He's always around. Always watching. Always controlling.
He pressed his palm to his chest. Don't fall first. Don't let him win.
But a shiver ran down his spine anyway.
Foreshadowing Tension
That night, even when the house was quiet, he felt eyes on him.
The bodyguards, the staff… or was it Zhiyuan?
He clenched his fists, muttering to himself, "This is still pretend."
And yet, somewhere deep in the pit of his chest, something whispered that pretending would get harder.