‌Chapter 18: I’m Not Interested in Holes

Ye Chenghuan narrowed his eyes. "Where's your sister now?"

"He sent her to rehab… but if I back out, he'll kill her."

"Who is he?" He brushed away her tears.

Zhou Jie shook her head bitterly. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

After a long pause, she whispered, "Long Biao."

He traced her spine. "How can I help?"

"You can't. He's the North Hall leader of the Qinghong Gang—untouchable."

Ye Chenghuan stored the name but shrugged. "Everything will be fine."

Her laugh was hollow.

When she fell asleep, he found a photo in her purse: a teenage girl with a playful pout. He tucked it under his pillow, a silent vow.

Morning revealed an empty bed and a note: Thank you for the memory.

His phone rang as he drove back to Victoria. A cold voice demanded, "Ye Chenghuan? Meet me at Guanlan Golf Club in 30 minutes."

"Busy." He hung up.

The caller persisted. "Come if you care about Lin Peishan."

The manicured greens of Guanlan sprawled along the East River, a sanctuary for the elite. Ye Chenghuan's scruff and slouch clashed with the pristine fairways.

Bodyguards flanked a man in white, his swing elegant but flawed. The ball teetered near the hole.

"Bad shot," Ye Chenghuan muttered.

Lin Peichao—Lin Peishan's brother—turned, sneering. "Security guards critique golf now?"

"I'm not here to play holes."

Lin's jaw tightened. "A million yuan. Leave the city and never contact my sister."

Ye Chenghuan kicked the discarded check. "Too cheap for a VP. Or is 'Vice' all you can afford?"

"You'll ruin her! The board already questions her judgment. A CEO marrying a nobody?"

"She chose me. Your corporate drama? Not my problem."

He snatched a club, launched a ball into the distant cup, and tossed the club back. "Practice more."

Back at Victoria, Lin Peishan glared over breakfast. "Where were you?"

"Missed me?"

"We had wedding photos at 8 AM."

He winced. "Sorry. Forgot."

She slammed their marriage certificates on the table. "This is real. Act like it."

He grinned. "Next time—"

"Next time?"

Her icy composure cracked. "Be worthy of this… or leave."

The certificates glowed red between them—a contract, a challenge, a fragile truce.