It had only been a day, but Han Jiayan felt like he'd aged a year.
He hadn't told his family about Li Xinyue's offer. How could he? What would he even say?
"Hey Mom, a goddess-level CEO wants me to marry her, fake it for a year, and I'll get enough money to turn our lives around."
Yeah. That would go over great.
He tried to distract himself during his programming class, but his eyes glazed over the lines of code. The words dissolved into meaningless symbols as her voice echoed in his mind—
"You'll be back, Han Jiayan."
The nerve of her.
No matter how tempting the offer, it still felt like selling himself. He didn't want to be owned. Controlled. Used.
His phone buzzed.
[Han Meilin 🐯]: Jiayan, the landlord's coming today. He says if we don't clear last month's rent, he's cutting the water. Don't tell Mom. She'll panic again.
Jiayan's breath caught.
Another buzz.
[Han Yue 🧊]: I sent 200 yuan. That's all I've got till payday. I'll try to squeeze more after the night shift. Just hang in there, okay?
He placed the phone face down and closed his eyes.
He felt like he was slowly suffocating under invisible hands.
Pride wasn't feeding his family.
Dignity wasn't paying rent.
He took a long breath, then quietly slipped out of class.
---
Li Xinyue stood by her floor-to-ceiling office window, arms crossed, gazing down at the shimmering veins of the city. She turned, heels clicking softly against the marble, catching her assistant mid-glance.
"Chairwoman Li," the assistant began, standing straighter, "should I prepare the merger documents for Tang Corporation?"
"No," she replied smoothly.
A pause.
"...Ma'am?"
"Delay it. Push it to tomorrow morning."
"Understood. Should I cancel your charity appearance tonight as well?"
Li Xinyue's lips curled faintly. "No. I'll be attending."
Then, more pointedly, "Send an invitation to Han Jiayan. Let's see if a little push works better than a pull."
The assistant blinked once before jotting it down. She was used to unusual directives by now—but not ones with that glint in the Chairwoman's eyes.
---
Han Jiayan was leaving his shift at the convenience store when he spotted it.
A black Maybach parked along the curb.
Before he could walk away, a man in a sharply tailored suit approached with a polite smile.
"Mr. Han. Miss Li Xinyue invites you to tonight's charity gala at the Shanghai State Grand Hotel. Formal attire is required. A suit has already been arranged. Transportation will be provided."
Jiayan stared at him. "You're joking."
The man offered a slight bow. "Not at all. She said you'd understand."
Jiayan scowled. "Tell her I'm not some puppet she can summon at her whim."
The man nodded respectfully. "Of course. But if you change your mind, the car will be here until 7 PM."
And with that, he stepped back, leaving Jiayan standing as if thunder had just rolled overhead.
Why was she doing this?
He couldn't stop thinking about her—her poise, her icy confidence, the utter certainty that he would fold.
But he also couldn't stop thinking about Meilin's message. About Yue working late hours again. About the flickering bulb in the hallway no one could afford to fix. About Dad's prescriptions piling up unpaid.
At 6:59 PM, Jiayan was still pacing his room.
The suit left at the front desk—sleek, deep charcoal with fine stitching and a soft cedar scent—was tailored to perfection. He hadn't even tried it on before knowing it would fit.
At 7:00 PM sharp, he stepped into the Maybach.
---
The charity gala sparkled with elegance—crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, polished floors reflecting a room of designer shoes and power-laced handshakes.
Jiayan entered carefully, tugging at his sleeves. Every breath he took felt borrowed. Every step echoing, I don't belong here.
And then he saw her.
Li Xinyue.
Draped in a deep emerald gown, her dark hair swept into an elegant knot, a glass of red wine poised in hand. She stood in the center like gravity itself, and the crowd bent around her.
Their eyes met.
She smiled like she'd just checkmated him.
She walked over, heels silent yet authoritative. "I see you found the suit."
"You sent a car," he muttered.
"I knew you'd need it."
"You're… persistent."
"I prefer efficient."
He sighed. "Why am I here?"
"To understand."
"Understand what?"
"That you don't belong in poverty."
He blinked.
"You belong here," she said, gesturing at the ballroom. "Not behind a counter. Not drowning in overdue notices. Here—where your words hold weight, and your hands stop trembling."
Jiayan shook his head. "You don't even know me."
"Not yet. But I will. And so will the rest of them."
"And in return, I pretend to be your husband?"
"Not pretend. Practice. One year. Your life will never be the same. And after that? You walk away. Free."
He glanced around again—at the warm lights, the clean air, the sheer lack of desperation.
Then looked back at her.
"I don't trust you."
"You don't have to." She stepped closer. "You just have to say yes."
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He didn't check.
He already knew—it would be a message about a bill. Or medicine. Or something they couldn't afford.
He looked into her eyes—cold, commanding, but burning with that same spark he'd seen before.
And for the first time—
He didn't say no.
Not yet.
But he didn't say yes either.
She arched a brow. "You have until tomorrow. Midnight."
"And if I refuse again?"
Her smile deepened.
"Then I'll simply try a third time. I always get what I want."
---