He Is My Husband!

The boardroom of Di Hao Group hummed with tension as executives eyed the young chairman. Ye Chen leaned back in his leather chair, fingertips drumming the polished mahogany table. On the screen behind him, stock charts of the Zhang and Wang families bled crimson—a silent testament to his overnight dismantling of their empires.

"Chairman Ye," ventured a gray-haired director, "terminating these partnerships risks destabilizing our supply chain—"

Ye Chen cut him off. "Replace them with Xiao's Import Trading by noon." Murmurs erupted. Xiao's Import—a failing third-tier company led by his wife, Xiao Churan—was laughably unqualified.

Meanwhile, at Xiao's Import, chaos reigned. Xiao Churan stared at the 500-million-yuan contract from "Golden Horizon Capital," her name boldly inked as CEO. Her assistant burst in: "Madam Xiao is here!"

The matriarch stormed in, cane striking marble. "You think this charity makes you worthy? Divorce that trash husband, or I'll strip you of this title myself!"

Xiao Churan's fists clenched. Three years of humiliation flashed before her—Ye Chen sleeping on the floor, enduring endless ridicule, yet never once complaining. "No," she said, voice steady. "He is my husband."

Madam Xiao's face purpled. "Then you'll beg on the streets with him!"

As security dragged the matriarch out, Ye Chen watched via a hidden camera feed, his jaw tight. Tang Sihai murmured, "Shall we intervene?"

"Not yet. Let her choose loyalty over fear."

A Declaration in Flames

That evening, the Xiao family gathered for a "crisis meeting." Xiao Churan's parents cowered as relatives hurled accusations:

"Your daughter's stubbornness is bankrupting us!"

"That trash Ye Chen is a curse!"

Xiao Churan stood, her silhouette framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. "If my husband is trash," she said, "then I'll build a empire from scraps." She tossed the Golden Horizon contract onto the table. "This trash just secured your futures."

Silence fell. Then laughter—cruel, disbelieving.

Xiao HaiLong, her cousin, snatched the document. "Fake! No one invests in—" His words died as he spotted the dragon watermark—Di Hao Group's emblem.

Ye Chen chose that moment to enter, clad in a bespoke suit that cost more than the villa itself. "Congratulations, Mrs. Xiao. Di Hao looks forward to our partnership."

The room froze. Di Hao? The conglomerate that had shattered the Zhang and Wang families?

Madam Xiao's cane clattered. "Y-You're Di Hao's chairman?!"

Ye Chen ignored her, offering Xiao Churan his arm. "Shall we dine at Michelin Star 88? Their truffle caviar is exquisite."

As they left, Xiao HaiLong lunged, brandishing a fruit knife. "You're lying! I'll expose you—"

Ye Chen sidestepped, disarming him with a wrist flick. The knife embedded into the wall, quivering an inch from Madam Xiao's throat.

"Remember," Ye Chen said, "I could've ruined you all yesterday. I didn't… for her."

Whispers of the Dragon

Later, atop Michelin Star 88's rooftop terrace, Xiao Churan confronted him. "Why hide your power? Why endure their scorn?"

Ye Chen swirled his wine, the ruby liquid catching moonlight. "To see who'd stand with me when I had nothing." He nodded toward her untouched contract. "You passed."

She traced the dragon watermark—a symbol mirroring his cufflinks. "Golden Horizon… Di Hao… It's all you, isn't it?"

"Every yuan." He leaned closer. "But tonight, I'm just a man taking his wife to dinner."

As midnight chimed, news broke: Di Hao Group's "anonymous donor" had funded Auntie Li's full recovery. In a hospital bed, the old woman wept, clutching a jade pendant Ye Chen had left—a dragon devouring the sun.