The restaurant was not just upscale. It was the kind of place where the menu had no prices, the waiters all looked like they moonlighted as models, and the lighting was dimmed just enough to make you forget about your bank account.
Lin Yaoyue tried not to fidget with her dress as they walked past the glass doors. Jiang Zeyan walked beside her with practiced ease, cool and confident. He didn't even glance at the reporters still snapping photos from outside the velvet rope.
She followed his lead. Chin up, steps slow and poised, one hand delicately resting on his arm. It felt unnatural, like slipping into someone else's skin. But judging from the way heads turned, it was working.
At the far end of the room, a round table filled with men in tailored suits and women dripping in jewelry was already waiting. Laughter floated through the air. Wine glasses clinked. No one looked entirely genuine.
As they approached, a tall man with graying hair stood. His face lit up with the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Zeyan," he said. "You're late."
"I'm not," Jiang Zeyan replied flatly, pulling out a chair for Yaoyue. "You're early."
A few chuckles followed. The man's gaze flicked to Yaoyue, lingering longer than she liked.
"And who is this lovely surprise?"
Before she could open her mouth, Jiang Zeyan answered.
"Lin Yaoyue," he said. "My partner."
The word felt strange. It slid across the table like a chess move.
"A partner," the man repeated slowly, as though testing the word. "Interesting. You've never brought anyone before."
"This is different," Jiang said, lifting his wine glass.
Everyone at the table seemed to take that as a cue to begin their silent inspection. The women offered tight smiles. The men looked curious, calculating. One of them leaned over and murmured something to his wife, who immediately started whispering behind her hand.
Yaoyue knew what they were thinking.
Who is she?
Where did he find her?
Is she from a political family? A wealthy one? A model agency?
She took a sip of water and smiled politely at no one in particular. If they were trying to figure her out, let them keep guessing.
---
Dinner passed in a blur of overpriced courses and conversation she didn't understand. Terms like quarterly leverage, acquisition play, offshore holdings. She nodded occasionally, tried not to look like she was zoning out, and stabbed her salad like it had personally insulted her.
Jiang Zeyan, meanwhile, was in his element. He spoke with the quiet authority of someone who didn't need to prove anything. His words were few, but every time he spoke, people listened.
It was strangely fascinating. In his world, silence had weight. Confidence didn't come from volume, but precision.
At one point, the man with gray hair leaned over to her.
"So," he said. "How did you two meet?"
Yaoyue blinked. "Oh. Um… at a coffee shop."
Zeyan, without missing a beat, added, "She spilled tea on my laptop."
The man laughed, though it sounded more forced than amused. "That's… charming."
Yaoyue smiled. "Not for his laptop."
Zeyan tilted his head slightly toward her. Just enough that only she could hear.
"You're surprisingly quick."
She muttered back, "You're surprisingly okay at lying."
---
By the time they exited the restaurant, the photographers were still waiting. Jiang Zeyan reached for her hand automatically, fingers cool but steady as they laced with hers.
She forced a smile and let herself lean slightly into him, knowing every movement would be captured, studied, dissected by whoever was watching.
She didn't know how he could act so effortlessly, like he had been born to wear masks.
When the car door closed behind them and the windows tinted the world outside, she finally exhaled.
"That was… exhausting."
"You did well," he said, glancing at her briefly.
"I smiled so much my jaw hurts."
"It's part of the job."
"Do you ever stop working?"
"No."
Figures.
---
Back at the penthouse, Yaoyue peeled off her heels the moment they stepped inside. Her toes sighed in relief.
Zeyan had already disappeared into his study without a word. Probably to read five reports and build a multi-million-dollar deal before bedtime.
She sat on the edge of the sofa, dress still on, hair still pinned up, feeling like Cinderella after the ball, minus the magic.
She checked her phone. No messages from her brother. That was a good sign. It meant he had groceries and enough to get through the week. She'd wired him part of her signing bonus already.
It was strange, the quiet of this place. No neighbors arguing. No traffic outside. Just stillness and space and the constant hum of wealth.
She wandered toward the glass wall overlooking the city. The skyline glittered, alive with a thousand stories.
Somewhere out there, her old life was still going on.
Here, she was someone else.
---
Later that night, she stood barefoot in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something edible that didn't come wrapped in gold foil.
She was halfway through inspecting a fancy bottle of yogurt when she heard footsteps behind her.
"You're not asleep?" Jiang Zeyan's voice was lower than usual, almost relaxed.
She turned. "I was hungry. Your fridge is intimidating."
He leaned against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, no tie. It was the most casual she had seen him so far. He looked... real.
She held up the yogurt. "What is this? It has rose petals in it."
"It's imported. Most people like it."
"Well, it smells like soap."
He watched her for a moment. Then said, "I'll have the housekeeper stock it with simpler things."
Yaoyue paused, surprised. "You don't have to."
"I know."
She stared at him, trying to read his expression. There was something in his face tonight that hadn't been there before. Less steel. More shadow.
"Do you ever stop pretending?" she asked quietly.
His gaze didn't waver. "Do you?"
The question landed harder than she expected.
He walked past her, opened a cabinet, and pulled out two plain ceramic mugs.
"Chamomile or jasmine?"
"You drink tea before bed?"
"Not really. But I figured you would."
She blinked. "Why?"
"You look like someone who carries too much in her head."
She didn't answer. Just watched as he poured hot water into the mugs and handed one to her.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights sparkled behind them. The kitchen was warm. And for the first time since she had signed that ridiculous contract, it didn't feel like acting.
It just felt quiet. And almost honest.