The lawyer slid the final agreement in front of me. The rustle of paper rang out in the unnaturally quiet penthouse. I took a deep breath and looked at the man on the sofa opposite me: Lu Jingchen, my business rival, who was about to become my husband on paper.
He wore an immaculate suit, every cufflink perfectly in place, his features as cool as distant mountains in winter. Just last week, we’d been fighting tooth and nail at a bidding meeting.
“Miss Lin,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “Read the terms carefully. After the wedding, we won’t interfere in each other’s private lives or share a bedroom. When necessary, we’ll help each other deal with our families. The marriage will automatically end after three years.”
“Of course.” I picked up the pen and tried to make my signature look smooth and confident, as if I were signing another business contract instead of a marriage agreement.
But on the very first night after I moved in, I realized something wasn’t quite right.
