The apartment was silent—the kind of silence that made your ears ring.
Han Jiayan sat on the edge of his bed, suit jacket tossed carelessly across his desk. His phone screen glowed beside him, a quiet countdown ticking inside his head with each passing second.
11:43 PM.
Seventeen minutes left until the deadline she'd given him. Seventeen minutes until this storm would either swallow him whole or pass him by.
He wasn't sure which was worse.
Running a hand through his hair, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His heartbeat echoed like a dull, steady drum inside his chest.
"You don't belong in poverty."
Her words echoed again. Not spoken in pity. Not even with warmth. Just cool, undeniable certainty.
His pride snarled. He wasn't some stray she could toss scraps to. He had goals. Talent. A dream of building something from the ground up with his own hands.
But dreams didn't pay rent. Pride didn't buy medicine. And reality didn't wait for the underdog to catch up.
The screen lit again.
[Han Meilin 🐯]: The landlord came again. He said tomorrow's the last chance. Sorry to bug you so late. I know you're tired. 😔
[Han Yue 🧊]: I'll take an extra weekend shift. Try to sleep early, Jiayan. Don't overthink. You always carry too much.
He exhaled slowly.
They were trying to protect him—but they were barely standing themselves.
Jiayan opened his top drawer. Inside was the envelope she'd handed him on that strange, unforgettable night. The contract.
Smooth matte black paper. Her signature already etched in clean, assertive cursive.
All that was missing… was his.
---
Li Xinyue sat alone in her study, a glass of red wine poised delicately in her hand, eyes fixed on her silent phone.
11:51 PM.
She didn't need to check the time. Her body knew. Her instincts ticked louder than any clock.
She had done everything right: extended the offer, pulled the strings, even handed him the illusion of choice.
And yet… something coiled tight in her chest.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Curiosity.
Who was Han Jiayan, really?
Would he take the leap?
Or walk away?
She picked up her phone, typed a message. Deleted it. Then tried again.
Finally, she hit send.
[Li Xinyue]: 9 minutes left. Are you signing it, or do I need to show up again? 😊
---
Jiayan stared at the message.
He could almost hear her voice in it—cool, composed, and maddeningly smug.
Who texts like that after slapping a marriage contract on someone?
And more confusingly—
Why did he kind of like it?
He stood and walked to the mirror.
The man staring back didn't look like someone who belonged in a ballroom. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes shadowed with fatigue.
But his shoulders were straighter now. His gaze steadier.
He wasn't a boy anymore.
He had endured too much to keep crawling.
This wasn't surrender.
This was strategy.
A temporary one.
He picked up the pen and, with a steady hand, signed his name.
11:56 PM.
---
The next morning, a sleek black car pulled up in front of Jiayan's apartment.
Li Xinyue stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, exuding elegance even in the early morning haze.
Her assistant blinked. "Ma'am… would you like me to wait here?"
She smirked. "Of course not. I came to collect something."
She ascended the steps like she owned them and knocked twice.
The door opened slowly.
Jiayan stood there, hair tousled, wearing a plain grey T-shirt, eyes still fogged with sleep. "You could've waited till at least nine."
"Time is money," she replied smoothly. "And now, so are you."
He held up the signed contract. Her gloved fingers brushed against his—cool, firm, deliberate.
Her lips curved upward.
"Congratulations, Mr. Han," she said, her voice silk and steel. "You're officially mine."
Jiayan's heart gave a single, hard thump.
He wasn't sure if it was dread—
Or something dangerously close to thrill.
---