BOOM!
My brain exploded.
Was this man insane? What on earth was he saying? How did a one-night stand magically turn into "Good morning, wife"?
I blinked at him, utterly stunned. The man in front of me was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in an expensive designer suit. Even his cufflinks looked like they could pay my rent for a year.
And yes—he was handsome. Painfully handsome. The kind of handsome that made women's IQ points fall off one by one. Maybe even more handsome than Mo Yuzhen.
But seriously, what was wrong with his brain?
Last night, I was the one drugged, not him! So why was he the one hallucinating about marriage? Did sleeping with a drugged woman cause some sort of brain malfunction? Like—your IQ drops to zero, and your mouth just starts spewing nonsense?
Oh no… had I accidentally turned a perfectly good man into a fool?
"I—I'm sorry!" I blurted out in panic.
He raised a brow, looking far too amused. "For what?"
"For… turning you into a fool," I said sincerely. "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not your wife. It was just a one-night stand."
His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh?"
Just that one word made goosebumps rise on my arms. Why did it sound like a threat instead of a question? For a moment, I felt like a clueless rabbit being stared at by a very patient hunter.
Suddenly, he laughed. Before I could react, he climbed onto the bed. My breath hitched. Every nerve in my body screamed danger as that sinfully handsome face leaned closer. I felt my heart going thump-thump-thump.
"Focus," I whispered under my breath when his palm landed gently on my forehead. "Are you running a fever, Mrs. Su?" he asked softly.
I jerked back, clutching the blanket around me like a shield. "Stop calling me that! I'm not Mrs. Su!"
He only grinned wider, clearly enjoying my misery. Then, without warning, he grabbed my hand from under the blanket and raised it in front of me. "Then explain this, Mrs. Su," he said smoothly. "If we're not married, why are you wearing a wedding ring?"
"What wedding ring—" I began, and froze mid-sentence. Because right there, on my ring finger, was a massive diamond ring. My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.
"You! I—I… this… what is this?!"
He smiled like the devil himself. "It's a wedding ring."
"I know it's a wedding ring," I snapped, "But why is it on my finger?"
"Because we're married."
"No, we are not!"
"Yes, we are," he corrected, and casually picked up a stack of papers from the bedside table. "If you don't believe me, read this."
I snatched the papers from him, my heart pounding. The more I read, the more ridiculous it got. This was… a marriage contract. A legally binding one, signed by two parties—Party A and Party B.
He was Party A. I was the miserable Party B.
And at the bottom, in neat handwriting, was my signature. My signature!
I gawked at the papers stupidly. When the hell did I sign these cursed papers?!
But then, my eyes fell on something even more ridiculous. The marriage contract had several conditions mentioned. And not just any conditions, these were straight out of a lunatic's diary.
Condition 1: Party B must obey every instruction given by Party A.
Condition 2: Whenever Party A calls, Party B must answer immediately. Failure to do so requires Party B to compensate with ten kisses.
Condition 3: Party B must smile at Party A at least three times a day, even when angry. Fake smiles will incur penalties.
Condition 4: Party B must give Party A a "Good morning" kiss, a "Goodnight" kiss, and a "You're annoying but still hot" kiss daily.
Condition 5: If Party B ever says, "I hate you," she must immediately follow it with, "But you're still handsome."
Condition 6: If Party A gets jealous, Party B must comfort him by saying, "You're the only one I want, even if you're insane."
Condition 7: If Party B makes Party A angry and is found guilty after investigation, she must soothe his heart through bedroom role-play.
Condition 8: Party B must cook for Party A wearing an apron. Only an apron.
My jaw dropped.
I didn't even bother reading the rest. I just wanted to fling the papers at his smug face and whack him with the bedside lamp for good measure.
"You—You maniac!" I shouted, my face flaming. "What kind of shameless, perverted contract is this?!"
"This is fraud!" I hissed, shoving the contract at him. "You're a perverted fraudster who tricked me into this ridiculous marriage! I do not agree to this!"
He blinked at me, completely unbothered, as if I'd just accused him of stealing a cookie. "What's wrong with my conditions?" he asked innocently. "This is just love between a husband and wife."
".........…"
What husband and wife?! What love?! It was just a one-night stand! Wake up and get your brain checked, mister!
Looking at this man, it was obvious—he was the kind of person who didn't understand the word no. And with that face, that confidence, and that unbothered smirk, he definitely screamed rich young master, the kind who probably escaped from a high-end mental asylum.
And lucky me, I was the one who slept with him. A perfect start to my so-called second chance at life.
Since I clearly couldn't undo last night's disaster, I decided the best move was a quick escape. No way was I staying another minute with this dangerously handsome, mentally unstable specimen.
I jumped off the bed, grabbed my clothes, and got dressed at lightning speed. I could feel his gaze following my every move like a hungry predator watching its prey.
Pervert.
I cursed him silently as I stuffed myself back into my clothes, grabbed my purse from under the table, and stormed toward the door.
Before leaving, I looked back once. He was still lounging on the bed, perfectly calm, eyes locked on me with that infuriating smirk.
"It was a fun night," I smiled sweetly, "But I think you've got a serious neurological problem. Get it checked. Goodbye!"
Then I slammed the door so hard the frame rattled, pretending not to hear the low, amused chuckle that followed me out.
"Married? Not in this lifetime, Mr. Psychopath-in-a-suit," I sneered at the closed door before leaving the place in long, purposeful steps.