The Rolls-Royce purred like a sleeping beast as it glided through the upscale district, effortlessly parting morning traffic.
Inside, Han Jiayan sat stiffly beside Li Xinyue, the signed contract burning a quiet hole in his inner jacket pocket.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was deliberate—hers, not his.
She didn't need words to dominate a space. Her presence alone commanded it.
Jiayan glanced sideways. Her profile was sharp against the morning light—high cheekbones, blood-red lips, eyes like frozen jade.
A queen en route to war.
Finally, he asked, "Where are we going?"
She didn't look at him. "To your first lesson… in being my husband."
His heart did a strange little skip.
---
They arrived at a private penthouse atop one of the Li family's luxury towers, the kind of place where silence had weight and the air reeked of wealth—from the polished marble floors to the floor-to-ceiling windows that drank in the skyline.
Xinyue stepped out first, heels clicking like a gavel. Jiayan followed, feeling like smudged ink in a pristine painting.
Her assistant handed over a sleek black folder and vanished, as if trained to disappear.
Xinyue turned and held the folder with two fingers, like it weighed nothing. "These are the conditions. Terms. Behavioral expectations."
He raised a brow. "We already signed a contract."
"That was the deal," she replied coolly, stepping closer. Her perfume wrapped around him like silk laced with steel.
"This… is control."
He took the folder.
Opened it.
---
Rule 1: You will live with me. My home, my rules.
Rule 2: You will attend all family and social functions by my side. No excuses.
Rule 3: You will not associate romantically with any other woman. I do not share. Ever.
Rule 4: You will maintain physical presentation. A stylist will attend to you weekly. No objections.
Rule 5: The nature of our relationship is confidential. You speak of it only when I allow it.
Rule 6: You listen to me. Always.
In public. In private.
Especially in private.
Jiayan let out a soft scoff, flipping the last page shut. "This isn't a marriage. It's conscription."
Xinyue smiled, eyes glinting. "Yet you signed willingly."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Rule 3 though… That implies something physical. Are you—"
"Planning to touch you?" she cut in, unbothered. "Not yet."
His ears flushed crimson.
"But…" she leaned in, voice a whisper, lips dangerously close to his ear, "I expect exclusivity. You may not be my husband in bed—yet—but you are mine in name.
And I protect what's mine."
---
Later that afternoon, they arrived at a private high-end shopping plaza, a luxury playground owned by the Li conglomerate.
Jiayan's jaw tightened as they entered the men's fashion floor—rows of bespoke suits, polished oxfords, and stylists who practically hovered with measuring tapes.
"I can't afford any of this," he muttered.
"You don't need to," Xinyue said. "You're my husband now."
A tailor approached, measuring tape already in hand.
Jiayan stiffened. "I don't—"
"Relax," she said softly, but with that same steel underneath. "Let them see what I see."
He frowned. "And what's that?"
She didn't answer right away.
Her gaze swept from his lean frame to the quiet tension in his eyes.
"Potential."
He looked away.
The fitting process was meticulous—measurements taken, skin tones analyzed, fabric matched. A barber was called to refine his jawline.
Jiayan felt like a project.
A mannequin with a pulse.
But when he looked in the mirror…
He blinked.
The boy who walked in looked like he delivered late-night ramen.
The man now staring back?
He looked like he owned the restaurant chain.
---
Xinyue stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Jiayan turned, adjusting the cuffs of a charcoal grey blazer. "Why me?"
She didn't hesitate. "Because you're obedient enough to follow orders… but just dangerous enough to disobey them."
She paused at the doorway, glancing back.
"And because," she added quietly, "you're honest. That's rare in our world."
---
By evening, they returned to her mansion—a fortress in the city hills, wrapped in quiet power and guarded gates.
The staff bowed. Jiayan hesitated, unsure whether to nod or salute.
"Don't worry," Xinyue said, not looking back. "You'll get used to the power."
They stepped into the living room.
Jiayan stopped short.
On the grand velvet sofa sat Li Zhenhai—the patriarch of the Li Family.
Tall. Imposing. Eyes like obsidian and voice like gravel that had scraped across empires.
Beside him sat a younger woman—Li Xinya, with sharp brows and an expression of curious mischief.
Zhenhai's eyes raked over Jiayan like a blade weighing his worth.
"Well," the old man said slowly, "so this is the man who thinks he's good enough to marry my daughter."
Jiayan swallowed.
Zhenhai's gaze darkened.
"Let's see if you're strong enough to survive me."
---