The dinner table was too long. Too white. Too… quiet.
Shen Yaojin stared at the crystal wine glasses, pretending not to notice the way the chandelier light caught his reflection, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.
He shouldn't be here. Not tonight. Not with his parents' smirks, their subtle glances at the man sitting across the table, Lu Zhiyuan, who looked impossibly calm, impossibly perfect, and impossibly terrifying.
Zhiyuan didn't speak. Of course he didn't. His father had done all the talking so far, setting the stage like a chess master. Yaojin's father had even smiled, the kind of smile that belonged in high-level boardrooms, not family dinners.
This is a nightmare dressed as civility, Yaojin thought, gripping his fork so tightly the silver cutlery cut into his palm.
The Contract Reveal
"Yaojin, Zhiyuan," his father began, voice smooth and measured, "we need to discuss the future of our families."
Yaojin's stomach knotted. He hated the tone. It wasn't a discussion. It never was.
His mother chimed in, serene as ever, "And by future, we mean… strategic alliance. Business, bloodlines, security. You understand."
Yaojin laughed bitterly. "I'm supposed to understand what exactly? That I marry him?"
Zhiyuan's gaze flicked toward him for the first time. Cool, assessing. An unreadable shield.
"Yes," Zhiyuan said simply. Flat. No expression.
Yaojin's hand stilled over his glass. "I… what?"
"Marriage contract," Yaojin's father said. "A formal, legal agreement. For the company shares. For our families' stability."
Yaojin froze. His heartbeat skipped. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. Instead, he stared, dumbstruck.
Zhiyuan, of course, didn't react. Calm as ever. Probably plotting. Probably enjoying the shock etched across Yaojin's face.
Great. My life just became a stock option.
Tension Across the Table
The room was too quiet after the announcement. A chandelier above them cast sharp shadows. The clink of silverware on fine china felt deafening.
Zhiyuan's lips pressed into a thin line. Yaojin hated how that made his pulse pick up.
"You two don't have to like each other," Yaojin's father said. "You just have to… cooperate. Publicly. Privately, that's your business."
Yaojin's teeth ground together. "Privately, huh? As if I'd want to be anywhere near him."
Zhiyuan tilted his head slightly, the tiniest gesture, but it was enough to make Yaojin's stomach twist.
What is it about him that makes me want to argue—and yet… He shook his head. No. Stop.
The First Cold Exchange
After dinner, Yaojin and Zhiyuan were left alone in the lounge. High ceilings. Marble floors. Shadows that seemed to watch.
"So," Yaojin said finally, trying to keep his voice steady, "this is really happening."
Zhiyuan didn't sit. Leaned against the doorway instead. "It's happening. You can try to fight it, but it's easier to survive it."
"Survive it?" Yaojin echoed, crossing his arms. "I'm not planning to survive. I'm planning to—"
He cut himself off, because he could see Zhiyuan's eyes narrowing just slightly. Dangerous. Calculating.
"I don't intend to make this easy for you," Zhiyuan said softly.
Perfect. Yaojin thought bitterly. Just what I wanted.
Private Thoughts
Yaojin walked down the empty corridor afterward, hands in his pockets, pacing. The shadows of the grand estate seemed to follow him. He couldn't stop thinking about the contract. About Zhiyuan. About the public dating, the future marriage, the mansion he would soon have to call home.
He imagined the fake smiles. The cameras. The strangers. The city watching.
And the worst part? he thought. I don't even know if I can hate him properly yet.
He shook his head. No. He wasn't going to fall first. Never.
Foreshadowing the Move-In
The next morning, Yaojin went to meet his friends. He needed advice. Needed someone to remind him that he wasn't completely trapped.
Bai Lianyi and Xie Yunhao were waiting in a quiet café. Their expressions shifted the second they saw him: shock, amusement, a little disbelief.
"You look like death warmed over," Lianyi said.
"I feel like it," Yaojin muttered. "Contract marriage. Fake dating. Public image. Private nightmare. And his—" He paused, shaking his head. "Never mind."
Xie Yunhao smirked. "Sounds like your parents just sold you. Don't tell me you're going to fall first. That's suicide."
Yaojin chuckled darkly. "Suicide or war, I haven't decided yet."
They spent hours discussing strategies, logistics, and potential traps. Where the bedrooms would be. How many bodyguards were assigned. Cameras. Maids. Separate wings. The city's media would swarm. The trip his parents had already planned loomed in the background, a forced "honeymoon" disguised as business.
And somewhere in all of this, Yaojin thought, he would have to survive Zhiyuan—cold, calculating, impossible Zhiyuan.
Nightfall Reflection
That night, in his own apartment, he stared at the city lights. The contract sat on the table, paper shining under the lamp. A golden cage, carefully wrapped in polite words and social expectation.
He pressed his palm to his chest. His pulse thundered.
I'm not afraid. Not yet.
But even as he thought it, he felt something shift, faint but undeniable. Something in the air when Zhiyuan was around—an unspoken tension that would follow him into the mansion, the trip, and everything else.
Pretend to hate him. Pretend to survive. That's all I can do.