Back then, I thought he was poor. I secretly got our marriage certificate without telling my family, and every day he rode an electric scooter to pick me up and take me to work. Then one day, the chairman of a corporation knelt in my living room and called him "Mr. Han."
My name is Shen Nian. I'm a fallen heiress, married to a "broke nobody" named Han Mushen. It's been three years. He wears bargain-bin clothes and rides a secondhand electric scooter. Even my cousin Shen Man laughs at me for marrying a loser. But only I know that he makes me hangover soup late at night, hands over his entire paycheck, and warms my icy feet against his chest under the covers.
Then came that family banquet. Shen Man showed up arm in arm with her new boyfriend and mocked me in front of everyone for "marrying some poor wage slave." Bai Mingxuan came over with a glass of wine and said in a fake-sincere voice, "Nian Nian, if you ever change your mind, I'll be waiting." My husband stood in the corner, quietly peeling shrimp for me until the shells formed a little mountain.
The next day, the headquarters summoned my boss, who had been making my life difficult, and he was fired. The dismissal notice bore the seal of the Han Group. In my husband's study, I found a share transfer agreement with my father's name listed as the beneficiary. The head of the Han family, who appeared on TV all the time and could make the entire business world tremble with a single stomp, was now wearing an apron and clumsily frying me a runny fried egg in the kitchen.
He held it up to my mouth, his eyes brimming with laughter. "Eat up, honey. You're too thin."
I stared at him for three seconds, then reached out and grabbed his collar. "Han Mushen, this shirt you're wearing is custom-made in Italy, isn't it? My best friend saw the same one in a magazine. It costs sixty-eight thousand."
The spatula in his hand clattered to the floor.
Outside the door, Shen Man's shriek rang out. "M-Mr. Han?!"
Bai Mingxuan's face turned green as an overripe lemon.
