The paper felt heavier than it should have.
Xiaoyu stared at the contract in front of her, the words blurring no matter how many times she forced herself to read them. Legal marriage. One year. Mutual non-interference. Confidentiality clause. Penalty clauses so strict they made her chest tighten.
Across the table, he waited.
Calm. Patient. Certain.
As if he already knew the answer.
"You're not even pretending this is fair," Xiaoyu said quietly.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers loosely interlaced. His expression didn't change. "Fairness isn't part of the deal."
She swallowed. The restaurant around them buzzed with soft music and low conversation, but it all felt distant, muffled. Her world had narrowed to this table, this man, and the impossible choice he was forcing on her.
"You destroyed my life once," she said. "And now you want to buy what's left of it?"
His gaze sharpened, just slightly.
"Careful," he said. "That's not part of the agreement either."
Her nails dug into her palm. "You don't deny it."
Silence stretched between them.
Then he said, "I don't deny results. I deny intention."
She let out a short, bitter laugh. "That's convenient."
He stood, moving closer. Too close. The faint scent of clean soap and something expensive filled her senses. She hated that her body reacted before her mind did—heart racing, breath uneven.
"You can hate me," he said, voice low. "You already do. That changes nothing."
His finger tapped the line near the bottom of the page.
"Your mother's surgery is scheduled in two weeks. Delay it again, and the risk doubles."
Xiaoyu froze.
"You checked," she whispered.
"I verify everything."
Of course he did.
Her vision swam. She remembered the hospital corridors, the antiseptic smell, the way her mother smiled weakly and told her not to worry about money. The lies Xiaoyu told in return—that things were fine, that she had it under control.
She didn't.
She never had.
"What happens after one year?" she asked.
"You leave," he said. "No claims. No ties."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then nothing changes," he replied evenly. "Except your mother won't get the surgery."
Cruel. Honest. Absolute.
Xiaoyu closed her eyes.
This wasn't marriage. It was a cage with a calendar.
She picked up the pen.
Her hand shook as she signed her name.
The moment the ink dried, something inside her snapped—quietly, irreversibly.
When she looked up, he was already watching her.
"Welcome," he said. "Mrs. Lu."
She flinched at the name.
"Don't call me that."
He took the contract, sliding it into a folder. "You'll get used to it."
"I won't."
A faint smile touched his lips. Not warm. Not kind. "You say that now."
That night, Xiaoyu lay awake in the guest room of a house that felt more like a hotel than a home.
The ceiling was unfamiliar. The silence was heavy.
She turned onto her side, clutching the blanket. One year. Just one year. She would endure it. She had no choice.
But deep down, she knew.
The real cost of this marriage wouldn't be written in the contract.
It would be written in blood, pride, and everything she still cared about.
And the man sleeping down the hall?
He wasn't done ruining her yet.