The ride to the marriage bureau was quiet and painfully slow.
Mo Yichen had a hundred things to say, but none that felt right. Or maybe he just knew it wasn't the time. Silence hung thick between them as the car rolled down the highway. Then, with a flick of his gaze toward her hand, still bleeding, he gave a soft instruction to his assistant. The car changed direction, heading toward the hospital.
He kept glancing at her hand, the crimson seeping through her skin like a slow confession. Yet she didn't even flinch. She didn't look at him. Didn't wince. Didn't react. Just kept her eyes on the passing vehicles, the drifting clouds. Completely detached. Was she even present in her body?
She seemed fixated on the clouds, light, pale, drifting aimlessly across the sky. What was so fascinating about them? Or was she even fascinated? Her face didn't show it.
She hadn't spared him a glance since stepping into the car. No hint of curiosity. It irked him. He wanted to mock her, say something biting. But the sight of her so... aloof, so detached, so cold left him more irritated than anything.
Was she trying to play the victim? He was the one being forced into this marriage. And what was with the blood? Did she hurt herself on purpose? How vain, how pathetic.
The car came to a stop in front of the hospital.
"Let's go get your wound bandaged," he said, his voice dry.
Still, she didn't look at him. His jaw clenched. The indifference cut deeper than it should have.
"I don't want people thinking I forced you to sign the marriage form. Get it bandaged. Stop being an eyesore."
The words came out sharper than he intended, edged with a bitterness he didn't understand. She didn't say a word. Just moved to get out of the car like a machine.
Robotic, he thought bitterly.
Against his better judgment, he followed her out. His own legs were moving before his mind caught up. What the hell was he doing? Why was he going with her? He hated this, this pull toward her, this confusion in his chest. She was nobody to him. Just a pawn. Just a means to secure his inheritance. And he would end this stupid deal the moment he had the chance.
Inside the outpatient ward, the antiseptic smell hit him like a wall. He scrunched his nose in disgust. She was already seated on the iron bench against the white marble wall, still, as a statue. No restlessness, no expression. Just staring straight ahead.
A picture. That's what she looked like.
A picture of haunting beauty. Unmoving and Unalive.
Her wavy hair spilled like a calm river down her back. Her eyes, those pretty, pretty eyes, were fixed on nothing. She wore white silk from neck to toe, like some ethereal being that didn't belong in this world.
And yet here she was.
Something stirred in his chest again. That damn itch.
"Why aren't you getting it treated?" he asked as he walked toward her. His voice echoed more in his own ears than in the hallway. At the same time, a nurse appeared with a tray of medical supplies. Before the nurse could help, Xia Ruyan took the tray from her hands. His brows arched.
With steady fingers, she picked up the scissors and began cutting away the bloodied bandage.
The nurse offered to assist. "Let me help you...."
"I don't like being touched," Xia Ruyan said slowly and coldly, refusing her help.
Mo Yichen blinked. Again, he was intrigued.
She peeled the fabric from her skin with careful hands. The wound was a clean, straight cut. A knife wound. Clean and precise. Too deliberate to be an accident. He made a mental note: find out how she got it.
And then, before he could process more, she uncapped the antiseptic bottle and poured it directly onto the open wound. The nurse gasped, covering her mouth. Mo Yichen tensed. She didn't even blink.
Did she not feel pain? How can that be?
She took the ointment and applied it next, as though following some ingrained ritual. Then came the cotton, then the bandage, which she tightened by pulling with her teeth. Her teeth, white as pearls, bit gently against the bandage, framed by soft, plump lips the color of blushing roses.
Mo Yichen couldn't look away. What kind of woman was she?
She finished the job with a piece of medical tape and stood up without a word.
Without waiting and flinching, she walked to the reception to pay for her own medicine, leaving Mo Yichen standing there like an idiot.
"What the hell…" he muttered under his breath, watching her slim figure fade into the corridor.
Why did this woman, this quiet, emotionless, infuriating woman, always manage to leave him speechless?
"It won't take long. I'll get rid of her soon," Mo Yichen told himself.
Half an hour later, they arrived at the marriage bureau. No ceremony, no conversation, just a sense of duty. Everything had already been arranged. After all, it was Mo Yichen. His name alone had people scrambling to prepare. At first, he'd planned to send his assistant to handle the formalities, but the moment his grandfather found out, the old man had exploded, demanding Yichen attend in person.
He sighed. Just a few months. Once the inheritance is secured, his grandfather wouldn't be able to dictate a damn thing.
Like two robots, they walked in. No connection, just an exchange. They signed the marriage form with mechanical indifference. When it came time for the photo, they stood beside one another in stiff silence. The photographer paused, looking at them with professional awe.
"You two look perfect together," he said, motioning for them to smile, to move closer.
They didn't.
Mo Yichen shot him a cold glare, sharp enough to silence. The photographer quickly clicked the photo as they stood, frozen, unwilling.
The forms were stamped. The staff handed them the papers.
Marriage certificates.
It was done. They were married. Legally bound to each other. Xia Ruyan looked at the papers, her fingers tightening slightly.
Her name now carried someone else's surname. She would be called someone's wife. Her breath hitched. She didn't want this. She would've chosen death if she could.
But she couldn't die, not now. She had made a decision. A sacrifice for her mother's life. If this meant carrying a stranger's name for a few months, then so be it.
It is temporary. A phase. An illusion.
And when the time comes, she will end it.
She will end everything.