Fuli Hotel.
Ethan arrived fifteen minutes early.
Mid-summer sunlight hit the hotel's glass façade and bounced back in a softened glare. The giant gold sign—Fuli—was a little worn around the edges, but the place still carried that old, respectable weight.
He looked up.
Twenty-something floors. Square and solid. Not flashy, but it was one of the city's earliest landmarks.
In his last life, he'd lived outside for years. He'd walked past this place more than once.
But always just passed.
Fuli was the first five-star hotel in L City that had a real guest-room setup—back then, when people said "host the leader" or "receive an important client," this was where their minds went.
It was also genuinely expensive.
When Ethan had been doing projects and business dinners, he'd always picked places with better value.
Fuli was the kind of place you calculated in your head while walking past the door—then quietly crossed off.
He took two steps forward and glanced through the revolving door glass. The lobby ceiling was high enough to feel "grand." Crystal chandelier. Red-wood décor with a bit of age. Floor tiles polished to a shine.
Everything here whispered the same thing:
This place used to be glorious.
"The food's actually decent. Location's strong," he judged quietly.
"If it hadn't been wrecked by a rich kid, it wouldn't have fallen this far."
The founder generation built the foundation. Then the son took over—only he didn't want to simply run a hotel.
He wanted to invest everywhere, buy projects, "do finance," play with money.
He stepped on landmines over and over, dragging the whole group into the mud.
The hotel itself still had workable cash flow. But once it became a "cash machine" to plug other holes, it was only a matter of time before it got hollowed out too.
Ethan pushed the door and walked in.
Cold air hit his face. The lobby carried that clean mix of disinfectant and controlled fragrance—pure five-star hotel smell.
There was a brief "gap" at the front desk—
the tall chair that should've held the front office manager was empty.
From the side of the lobby, a young woman walked up.
Striking.
Light beige blazer, black work slacks, hair pinned neat. Up close, Ethan saw the name tag on her chest:
Quinn / F&B Manager
"Good afternoon, sir. Are you here to dine, or…?"
She hid her nervousness well enough.
So—first step inside and he met her.
He hadn't expected the "architect" behind that extreme-city model to be this beautiful, too.
He recovered quickly.
"Dining," Ethan said. "A private room for two. Quiet is fine."
Quinn paused. Just a fraction.
A two-person room wasn't common in an old-brand hotel like this. Their smallest private rooms were usually set for six.
She hesitated, then answered professionally, preserving the hotel's dignity—even though she knew the smarter move right now was simply keep the customer.
"Sir, our smallest private room is for six guests. But if you're comfortable with it, we can still give you the room as long as you order at the minimum six-person spend. Lunch bookings aren't too tight today—I can coordinate one for you."
She said it gently. Respectfully. Holding up the hotel's face with her own hands.
Ethan glanced at her badge again and smiled.
"Quinn?"
"Ah—yes." She nodded automatically, then realized the oddness. "Sir… do you know me?"
"I do now," Ethan said naturally. "Just surprised the F&B Manager is handling the front desk."
Quinn's ears flushed.
She explained fast: "The F&B floor manager called in sick today, so I'm covering temporarily."
Then, as if the explanation still wasn't enough: "Our service team is very professional, it's just… manpower's tight lately, so…"
"It's fine," Ethan cut in—his tone calm, but firm. "You greeting guests personally is already more reliable than a lot of 'managers' I've met."
He didn't expose the truth—
but he could guess what "called in sick" really meant.
Yet Quinn was still protecting the hotel's dignity. Ethan noticed.
"I'll probably eat here often," he added. "Next time you see me, you don't need to be nervous."
Quinn let out a small laugh, then quickly reined it back in.
"I'll arrange the room for you. Will your guest be joining soon? I can bring tea first—then we can order after the guest arrives."
"Perfect," Ethan said.
"Please follow me, sir."
Quinn personally led him upstairs.
She chose a room with good light. On the small brass plaque by the door, three characters read:
Sakura Court
"I hope you like it," she said, opening the door and letting him enter first. "If you need anything, call me."
"Thank you."
He didn't say more—only glanced at her back once as she turned.
Careful. Precise. Still trying to protect the last bit of dignity for a hotel that was close to being drained dry.
Good, he thought.
Quinn stepped out and closed the door softly.
Ethan sat down, pulled out his phone, and messaged Summer the room name:
Ethan: Sakura Court.
Less than half a minute later:
Summer: Works. Then I'll come "view the sakura" in a minute.
A slightly teasing smiley followed.
Ethan's mouth curved. He flipped the phone face-down on the table.
Time crept toward 11:30.
…
11:29.
Two light knocks.
"Come in."
The door opened and a faint perfume drifted in first—not heavy, not sweet. Controlled.
Summer stood in the doorway, like she'd just stepped out of hard sun—there was still a trace of heat on her skin, but her posture had already switched into "private-room mode."
She really was dressed "site-style" today:
White shirt. Dark work pants. Badge clipped at her waist. Hair tied in a low ponytail. Minimal makeup.
And because of that—her face looked even sharper.
"Sweetheart," Ethan said, deliberately exaggerated. "You're punctual."
Summer froze for half a beat, then realized he was "in character."
Her ears warmed—barely—but she didn't deny it. She rolled her eyes instead.
"You're calling me that right away? Are you trying to force me into the role instantly?"
She closed the door, sat across from him, and set her bag by her chair.
"Alright," she said. "Talk."
"Hmm?"
"Talk," she repeated, crisp and direct. "Ethan—what exactly am I supposed to be playing?"
Summer didn't like circles, especially when it affected how much trouble she'd be dealing with later.
Ethan held her gaze for two seconds. His playful tone faded.
"Okay. Then I'll lay my own situation out first."
He took a sip of water like he was setting his rhythm.
"Strictly speaking, I don't really have relatives," he said. "I grew up in an orphanage."
Summer's expression shifted slightly.
"An orphanage?"
"Yeah." Ethan nodded. "I've never met the people who gave birth to me. My 'home' was an old building and a bunch of kids."
He didn't try to make it tragic. He told it flat, like it happened to someone else.
"Later I had a brother—Shawn. He was from the orphanage too."
"And my ex-wife… we grew up together as well."
"The three of us were basically the only 'family' we had."
He paused.
"But you know what happened later. You heard it last night."
Summer didn't interrupt. She listened with full attention.
"Now I have a team with me," Ethan continued. "In my head, they're family too."
"After the divorce, they've been… concerned." He used a neutral word on purpose.
"They don't like the idea of me being alone."
"They keep trying to introduce women to me."
"To me, they're my remaining family." He looked at her.
"I don't want them worrying."
Summer's eyes sharpened. "So you need—"
"A girlfriend who looks solid," Ethan finished calmly. "Someone they can see. Someone who makes them feel like I'm okay."
"Not to shield me from trouble. Not to block 'bad romance.' Just for the places I have to attend—stand beside me so they stop worrying."
He said it plainly.
Summer tapped the table lightly, thinking.
"Sounds… not that complicated."
"It isn't," Ethan said. "No tragic acting. No relationship posts. Just meals and appearances when needed."
He added with a faint smile: "Only if you're willing."
Summer looked at him.
Then asked—clean, sharp, no hesitation:
"Do you like me?"
Ethan paused less than half a second—not shocked, just surprised she'd ask it so directly.
Then he exhaled, honest.
"I do."
No teasing. No dodging. Just truth.
The room went still.
Sunlight slid in from the side and lit half her face, making the depth in her eyes brighter.
Summer lowered her gaze and gave a small "Mm," like she'd confirmed something in her head.
Then she looked back up.
"Then I'll be honest too," she said.
"After I went home last night, my grandfather was furious."
Her voice carried a thread of fatigue. "He slammed the table and said I must get engaged to Victor as soon as possible."
Ethan's brow drew together. "That urgent?"
"More urgent than you think." Summer gave a dry smile. "Last night they held a 'family meeting'—me, my parents, him."
She lifted the corner of the truth.
"The city complex project between the Su family and Victor's family has problems."
"Progress behind schedule. Cash return pressure enormous."
"So Victor's family seized the chance and proposed: 'Marriage alliance stabilizes cooperation.'"
"Your grandfather agreed?" Ethan asked.
"He sees it as 'win-win.' Our project stabilizes, and they pull me into their family."
Summer rubbed her brow. "My parents respect me, but in that level of business war, they don't have the leverage to fight him."
Then she met Ethan's eyes.
"If I refuse, they'll temporarily remove me from the project, hollow me out… and then force me to say yes."
That wasn't "I have no choice."
It was a concrete trap.
Ethan stayed silent, but his mind immediately threaded the whole line:
She wasn't impulsive.
She wasn't romantic.
She had been pushed to a cliff edge.
Summer inhaled and continued:
"Last night I sat in my room for two hours."
"I thought about my parents. The company. My grandfather. Victor."
Then she said quietly:
"And I thought about you."
"I can feel you like me. And I…" Her voice tightened slightly. "I like you too."
"And you're the first man who's made me feel that."
She spoke softly, a little stiff—but Ethan heard every word clearly.
Then she offered the real proposal:
"If you're willing… we can do a marriage first, love later."
Her tone was steady, but tension sat beneath it.
"If we don't work out, we can divorce by agreement later. I'll compensate you with whatever I can."
"But right now—" her stubbornness and helplessness braided into a rare fragility. "I need a husband."
"Victor's family won't accept a divorced daughter-in-law. If I'm already married, they have to back off. My grandfather has to accept the reality."
"And…" She hesitated, then said it anyway. "For reasons I can't explain, I trust you."
She stopped.
No pushing. No pressure.
Like she'd placed every chip—pride, bottom line, dignity—on the table in one move.
Two seconds of silence.
Ethan's face stayed calm. In his mind flashed his last marriage, his last Summer… and then his first, second, third look at her in this life—admiration, attraction, the desire to step closer.
It took him only a few seconds.
Then he looked at her.
"Summer," he said—lower, steadier. "I'm willing."
She froze, clearly not expecting him to answer that fast.
Ethan continued:
"But one thing."
"Marriage isn't a contract," he said slowly. "From this moment, don't treat me like a tool. Even if we start as 'partner spouses,' spouses are still spouses."
"I won't be careless with anyone who stands beside me."
Summer's breath wavered for a beat. She lowered her eyes; her lashes trembled slightly.
Before she could answer—
Soft footsteps outside. Then two knocks.
"Sir, ma'am—would you like to order now?"
Quinn's voice.
"Come in," Ethan said, smoothly.
Quinn pushed the cart in, professional smile back in place.
"This is our recommended lunch menu. If you prefer, you can tell me a rough budget and I can build the set for you."
"You decide," Summer said, taking the menu with a polite smile that didn't look forced.
Quinn confirmed several items and left.
The door closed. Quiet returned.
Ethan turned back to Summer.
"Summer," he said softly. "We weren't finished."
She looked up.
"I want us to be in this together," Ethan said, voice steady. "I can help you with more than you think."
He looked at her like he was concluding an important meeting:
"Because I like you."
"And I respect you."
"And I'm willing to stand beside you."
Summer's breath caught half a second. Her ears reddened again—yet she didn't look away.
"Then…" she said softly. "We start cooperating today?"
"Right now."
Ethan extended his hand, palm up.
"Summer—if you're willing, we can register this afternoon."
She stared at his hand, then smiled faintly and placed hers into his.
"Partner spouses, then."
"Good."
Their eyes held. The atmosphere shifted—no longer negotiation, but a real pull beginning to form.
Food arrived dish by dish.
Fuli was no longer at its peak, but its foundation was still there. The flavors were clean, heat controlled, plating careful—what an old-brand five-star should be.
They ate at a steady pace.
After Quinn left again, only their breathing remained, the soft clink of cutlery on porcelain, and the quiet tension between them.
Halfway through, Ethan set his chopsticks down and asked:
"Summer—when do we register?"
It should've been the woman asking that. Yet from his mouth it sounded natural.
Summer paused.
She studied him for two seconds, a flicker of surprise in her gaze—but she didn't evade.
"If you're willing," she said calmly, "this afternoon works."
Her tone was steady, decisive.
"I'd rather do it fast," Ethan said, smiling.
Summer gave a small "Mm," like a stone had finally rolled off her chest.
"After lunch we each go get our household registry books," she said. "If we reach the Civil Affairs Bureau before three, we'll make it."
Their eyes didn't dodge now. No testing. No retreat.
It was the moment two lines began to overlap.
1:40 p.m.
They stepped out of the private room. Quinn was coordinating lunch peak wrap-up. She paused when she saw them, then returned to her professional smile.
"Thank you, sir, ma'am. We look forward to seeing you again."
"We will," Ethan said, without hesitation.
Quinn blinked—then returned to her work.
She didn't know yet:
This hotel was about to change owners.
And her life was about to be rewritten.
Outside, the sun was sharp.
Summer stood on the steps and extended her hand slightly.
"Civil Affairs Bureau at 2:50?"
Ethan took her hand.
"2:50."
A brief touch. Yet both hearts jumped.
They parted, each to fetch documents.
2:52.
They arrived almost at the same time.
The hall wasn't crowded, but the bright red words Marriage Registration still made the heart tighten.
Forms. Verification. Confirmation. Photo.
The whole process took less than twenty minutes.
At the red background board, the staff looked up.
"Closer."
They hesitated, then stepped toward the middle.
Close enough to hear each other breathing.
"Smile."
Summer pressed her lips and smiled lightly.
Ethan smiled too—eyes carrying a softness no one else would understand.
Click.
The photo froze.
Ten minutes later, two bright red booklets were handed over.
Their fingers touched as they both reached.
No one spoke.
But both knew:
This was the first official document of their shared fate.
Outside, sunlight was blinding.
Summer opened her umbrella and turned her head.
"Ethan."
"Hmm?"
"From now on… we're married."
Ethan's smile couldn't be hidden. "Yeah. Mrs. Ethan."
Summer's ears burned. "Don't call me that."
She took two steps, then stopped as if remembering something.
"By the way—one more important thing."
Ethan turned. "Go ahead."
Summer's smile vanished. Her eyes sharpened into the woman who ran a construction site in the morning:
"Tonight… shouldn't you move in?"
Ethan blinked. "Tonight? We're sleeping together already—"
"Ethan!" She snapped, flustered. "What are you thinking?"
She lowered her voice quickly.
"Victor will come harass me. I live at Majestic Residence. He knows it—my grandfather told him."
"My place has four bedrooms. Plenty of space."
"You're still living in the hotel. We… we should get used to each other. Learn each other."
Her voice dropped as soon as she touched emotional topics—stumbling slightly, soft.
Ethan laughed, teasing: "I thought you were eager to live with me."
"I said it's because Victor will harass me!" Summer shot back, trying to sound stern.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, amused.
"Fine. I'll move in tonight. Then we'll wait for him."
"When he comes, I'll show him the marriage certificate."
His tone settled into something solid.
Summer's face turned red all the way to her ears.
"But—listen," she said nervously. "You're moving in as a roommate. We agreed—slow development. No crossing lines."
Ethan smiled. "Understood, Mrs. Ethan. I'll give you time."
"But I doubt Victor will believe a 'certified couple' living together is 'pure.'"
"That's better!" Summer blurted out. "Let him know I'm your wife. Let him go back and tell his family so they explode."
Her logic was clean. Strategic. Controlled.
A smart woman.
Then she realized what she'd just said. Her face went even redder. She rushed out:
"I'll send you the address. I have a meeting. Ethan—I'm going, going. See you tonight."
Ethan paused three seconds, then smiled.
"See you tonight."
He looked at her, open and certain:
"You don't need to be embarrassed. I'm willing to live with you."
"And I'm willing to let Victor see—
you're my wife."
Summer froze.
Wind passed between them, but it didn't cool the heat in the air.
Ethan waved once.
"Go. Mrs. Ethan."
"...Shut up."
Her blush spread to her ears as she turned and hurried away.