As Grace Wen pushed her way through the throng of distinguished dignitaries occupying the Bai family's private box, the glorious chandelier's pendant crystals gleamed in beams above it like a cascade of jewels. She clenched her evening bag tightly in her fist, feeling her pulse race not with excitement but the familiar lurch of discomfort at being placed within earshot or eye contact of anything that might be headed for the spotlight.
To them, this gala was an opportunity to display their fortunes; to her, another painful reminder of her obsolescence.
She adjusted herself on the slippery surface as she moved around a hostess passing by and misjudged her step; one high heel wobbled perilously before catching and holding fast on the slick floor beneath it and sending her balance off kilter. Instinctively, she leapt forward, colliding harshly into a waiter carrying trays stacked up high with red wine goblets. A single glass rocketed skyward in a streak of red flame before bursting against a tall man nearby, showering his pure white shirt with liquid down the front as it absorbed itself among the ink-like darkness spilling across it.
Instinctively, she reached out toward him, offering some form of assistance, only to see his swift recoil—a mask of collected calm overtaking whatever expression might have been present before the collision—before gasps rippled through the group surrounding them. He plucked a spotless silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and began to blot at the stained portion methodically under his scrutiny. Under the weight of his hard grey stare, she faltered mid-apology before realizing she felt emasculated all over again.
His tone when speaking to her contained no hint of friendliness. The voice conveyed an authority he reserved solely for boardrooms and business meetings—a coldness that silenced any word before it had left her lips. Her thoughts stuttered; what was this woman? Why did she yield so easily?
Before she knew it, she found herself face-to-face with security men encased entirely in black, and while embarrassment rose flush to her cheeks in a torrent, just as quickly the pressure dissolved as though they hadn't existed moments ago. Just before chaos erupted between them and the guests present, she noticed him extend a solitary finger skywards before mouthing something along the lines of 'No press,' then immediately turned sharply on his heels, allowing his coat to flutter behind him dramatically. With purposeful certainty, he barked 'Come with me.'
He closed the door slowly before he turned around to face her. "Ethan Huo," he stated matter-of-factly, "CEO of Silver City Holdings."
Grace swallowed. That explained the hush—but not why he was offering her a contract folder.
"I have a private deal to propose," he continued, pulling out his long leather folder. There was only one two-page contract inside, labeled "Marriage Confidentiality Agreement." Her breath caught in her throat.
"Mr. Huo, I—I don't understand." She stared at the signature line: Grace Wen.
She saw his quaking gaze upon him. "Whatever happens between us tonight, has the possibility of becoming a scandal. I do not need to be surrounded by rumors about my personal life, nor does my family or company. You sign this document with me so that neither of us are at risk—of disgraced for you, and sensation for me." She fought against fleeing, against reality. There was a gaping hole blasted into her universe, ringed by layers of secrets and unknowns—and now it was crumbling entirely. But there was no choice; there were no choices but to pretend. Having some part of who Bai really was written across every front page made her queasy.
But as the pen rasped across paper and she signed it, it felt abstract, like she was signing herself away from ever existing at all. As she returned the pen to him, she watched Ethan close the folder first, then tip his head.
"Welcome to our marriage, Mrs. Huo."
When Grace woke up the next morning, instead of being in her small apartment, she was in a huge suite with a view of the glittering city skyline. Morning sunbeams were pouring into the floor-length windows. She thought it was only a dream until she remembered the contract.
She wrenched herself free from the pristine white sheets that clung to her legs and swung her feet off the edge of the bed as the bedroom door opened and Ethan Huo walked in all his gorgeousness. He was wearing a crisp charcoal suit, his hair looked like he'd been groomed by a team of experts, and he carried a tray with two steaming cups of coffee.
"Good morning," he said, placing a cup before her. The steam curled between them. "You slept well?"
She stared, incredulous. "Why am I here? Why did you bring me home?"
He gave the tiniest of smiles -- and it made her skin crawl. "That I am safe and that I am comfortable. Our arrangement stipulates that I must treat you like my wife, always - in private ... in public. And I will."
Grace's throat tightened. "You mean… I call you husband?"
He bowed his head. "If you want to stay out of sight. Dinner casually tonight -- say I'm your wife. And then go."
Dissonance almost knocked her legs out from under her, but between all the tumult of her cognition was a small glee. If he kept his word then it didn't matter what she was doing right now – she trembled at that thought.
She wrapped her fingers around the mug and nodded only a slight bob of her chin to confirm. "Okay."
Ethan wound another step toward her—his movement as heavy with quietude as the air—and before she could brace against it, he had tenderly cupped his hand behind her neck while his robe fell loosely about her shoulders, "You'll need this," his breath whispering so close as to be an exhale along her cheek.
And in the windowpane, Silver City woke—an imagined castle built on the back of a mountain of aspirations—and within its glassed heart Grace Wen sucked in sharp air. It was chaos. Except now, for once, she saw herself.
And when she met Ethan Huo's unwavering gaze, she felt that this covert marriage would cost her even more in terms of heart than she had anticipated.