Han Zheng had been raised in the Qi family since childhood. Outsiders all said she was the future young madam of the Qi family, destined to marry Qi Jiahong and become its mistress. Han Zheng believed it too.
But she had overlooked the way Second Master Qi looked at her.
At the engagement banquet, Han Zheng sat alone in the dressing room, nervous, wearing the light, floral wedding dress she loved most.
Qi Qinrong stepped forward, gathered her into his arms, and knelt on one knee. He said softly, “Let me take you away, okay? I'll buy you all the pretty little dresses you like. Come with me, please.”
Han Zheng shook her head and pulled her hand away. “I promised Auntie Qi.”
Qi Qinrong's smile faded. He stood up and said nothing more.
Only Han Zheng knew that later, again and again, Qi Qinrong would grip her hand tightly, their fingers entwined, and say, “How could you? How could you agree to get engaged?”
Distilled water evaporates at 100 degrees.
Ninety-eight degrees is just right.
