Chapter 7: "We’re Not That Close"
Ye Chenghuan didn't answer. The car rocketed along the riverside road at 350 km/h, leaving the pursuing SUVs and police cruisers in oblivion. Lin Peishan squeezed two icy words from her constricted chest:
"Stop. Now."
The BMW screeched to a halt, tires smoking. Lin scrambled back to the passenger seat, face bloodless, clutching her heaving chest.
"Enjoy the ride?" Ye grinned, though his mind raced—Who were those hunters?
Lin swept sweat-damp hair from her face, her glare glacial. "Is this a game to you? Some twisted ego trip?"
He'd expected tears, rage—not this lethal calm. Awkwardly, he shrugged. "Just testing your car. You drive."
They swapped seats. The urban frenzy faded into pastoral greens and distant misty peaks. Nestled among cypress trees stood a white European manor—"Victoria"—its red-tiled roofs crowned by curling chimney smoke. A marble Venus rose from the fountain's mist, curves echoing the white yacht docked at the private pier beyond.
"Stunning," Ye breathed.
Lin's frost softened. "This is my home."
"I meant you."
A blush crept up her neck.
Inside, the mansion's grandeur struck like a velvet hammer: Baroque pillars embraced art nouveau ceilings frescoed with masterpieces. Every surface—the hand-knotted Persian rug, sandalwood tea tables, Yixing clay bonsai pots—whispered obscene wealth. Even the spiral staircase coiled like a sculpted serpent.
Ye whistled, thumping a human-sized vase. "Fake ones cost a fortune too, eh?"
Lin rolled her eyes. "Make yourself… uncomfortable. I'm showering."
"Need a guard?"
Her stiletto heels stabbed the marble stairs in reply.
As Ye marveled at room after curated room, a regal woman in her fifties appeared—hair swept into a jet-black chignon, skin rivaling porcelain.
"You are…?"
"Ye Chenghuan. Peishan's… guest. And you, fair sister?"
Sister? The woman's lips twitched. "Call me Auntie Wan. Where's—"
Lilac-scented air shifted.
Lin descended in crimson silk—damp curls clinging to collarbones, legs bare and luminous. The robe's neckline trembled with each step, threatening revelations. Ye's throat went dry.
Auntie Wan draped a white fox stole over Lin's shoulders. "Mind the draft."
Alone now, Lin massaged her temples. "In this house, you'll learn: See nothing. Say nothing. Think nothing."
"Smile, wife. We've decades of marital bliss ahead!"
"Never call me that!" Her fist whitened around the armrest. "This 'marriage' is transactional. Sign this—or leave."
The contract blazed with clauses:
No entry to女方房间 post-midnight without explicit permissionZero tolerance for sexual harassment (verbal/physical)Mandatory emotional support during女方心情欠佳Forfeit all rights to invite guests
"Tyranny!" Ye snorted.
"Your alternative?"
As he feigned reluctance, Lin allowed herself a micro-smile. "Sign. Auntie Wan will show your room."
"Counterproposal—let me guard you closely. Bedside, perhaps?"
Her stilettoes clicked upward, vibrating with contained fury.
Auntie Wan led Ye to a minimalist chamber where sunset gilded the linens. Alone, he unfolded the contract—and grinned. Every prohibition was a challenge.
Somewhere above, Lin stared at her canopy bed, the day's adrenaline crystallizing into dread. This man—this reckless, infuriating cipher—now held half her fate.
The yacht's horn moaned across the bay. Ye's laughter drifted up through floorboards.
War had been declared.