Morning light poured into the cold, immaculate penthouse.
Tang Yueru had barely slept. The sheets were too crisp. The silence too loud.
The moment she stepped into the kitchen, she found Lu Shenyan already there—immaculately dressed in a navy suit, sipping espresso like it was war fuel.
He didn't glance at her. Not even once.
"Good morning," she said.
He didn't respond.
So she walked past him and poured herself a glass of water. No housekeeper. No breakfast. Nothing.
This was her new reality. And she would endure it.
He finally spoke without looking at her. "My grandfather expects us at the Lu family estate this evening."
Yueru turned slightly, hiding her surprise. "So soon?"
"He's ill. The sooner he sees us married, the better. You'll wear something appropriate."
She could've asked, What does 'appropriate' mean to a man like you?
But she didn't.
Instead, she nodded. "I understand."
He placed his cup down with quiet finality. "You're not to speak about the contract. Ever. Not even to my grandfather."
"Of course."
"If he suspects anything, this marriage ends."
And so does your father's company. The unspoken words hung between them.
Yueru looked him straight in the eyes. "I don't need reminders. I'm not the one who looks like they regret this already."
His gaze flicked up, sharp.
For a second, something unreadable passed across his expression—surprise? Amusement?
It vanished before she could grasp it.
"You're clever," he said finally, tone flat. "But clever women tend to forget their place."
Yueru's smile was razor-thin. "Then I'll try my best to remember mine… Mr. Lu."
He left with that same air of effortless authority, never once acknowledging that she'd matched his blade with her own.
---
By evening, the storm had already started brewing over the Lu family estate.
It was a mansion carved from generations of power. The air smelled of old money and stricter expectations.
Lu Shenyan's grandfather, Lu Zhonghai, waited in the grand sitting room, frail but commanding. His eyes—once fierce—still glinted with suspicion and wisdom.
"You must be Tang Yueru," he said, taking her hand lightly.
"I am," she replied gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Grandfather."
He smiled faintly, pleased by her calm.
"You're prettier than the tabloids say," he remarked. "And much more composed than Shenyan deserves."
Yueru blinked—but gave a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Good. At least you're not made of glass like the last one."
Lu Shenyan's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
She stored that line away. The last one?
Dinner was filled with tense glances, polite smiles, and hidden knives. Yueru played her role perfectly—polished, respectful, slightly soft-spoken but not timid.
And when Lu Zhonghai took her aside privately after dessert, his voice lowered.
"I don't care about your reasons for marrying him," he said, eyes piercing. "But if you hurt my grandson, or bring disgrace to this family, you'll regret ever stepping into our world."
Yueru's throat tightened. But she didn't falter.
"I'm not here to disgrace anyone. I'm just trying to do my part."
He studied her face for a long moment before nodding. "Let's hope it stays that way."
---
On the way back, the car ride was silent.
Until she finally asked, "Who was 'the last one'?"
Lu Shenyan's voice was like ice. "Irrelevant."
She didn't press. But now she knew—she wasn't the first woman to stand beside him under false pretenses.
And probably not the first to fall.
She stared out the window.
But I'll be the first to leave with my dignity intact.
---