Married to a Stranger

Yiran's heartbeat pounded in her ears.

She kept walking, step by step, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown as she approached the man who was now her husband.

Lu Zeyan's gaze was unreadable.

The moment she stopped in front of him, she felt it—a quiet, suffocating pressure, as if the air between them had grown heavier.

This close, she could finally take in the details of his face. Sharp, impossibly perfect features. Cold, dark eyes. A presence that commanded absolute control.

He looked at her, but it wasn't curiosity in his gaze.

It was calculation.

The officiant cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony in a formal, practiced tone. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of—"

Yiran barely heard the words.

Her body stood frozen, locked in place beside Lu Zeyan, yet she felt like an outsider in her own wedding.

Did he know?

Did he know the woman standing beside him wasn't Xia Yuxuan?

Or worse—did he not care?

"Do you, Lu Zeyan, take Xia Yuxuan to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

The room was silent.

For a split second, he didn't answer.

Yiran's stomach twisted.

Then—

"I do." His voice was deep, calm, deliberate.

The officiant turned to her. "And do you, Xia Yuxuan, take Lu Zeyan to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Her throat tightened.

This was the moment.

Once she spoke the words, there would be no going back.

Yiran inhaled slowly, lifting her gaze to Lu Zeyan.

He was watching her. Not impatient. Not indifferent. Just… watching.

Waiting.

As if he knew she was hesitating.

As if he was testing her.

She clenched her fingers. It didn't matter. She had no choice.

"I do." The words felt foreign in her mouth.

The officiant smiled. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

A pause.

"The groom may now kiss the bride."

Yiran stiffened.

Kiss?

She barely had time to process it before Lu Zeyan moved.

He didn't hesitate.

He reached out, took the edge of her veil, and slowly lifted it away.

The moment their eyes met—something shifted.

A quiet, almost imperceptible tension crackled in the space between them.

And then—

Lu Zeyan leaned in.

Yiran's breath caught.

But just as their lips were about to touch—

He stopped.

His lips barely brushed against hers—a phantom of a kiss, a gesture done purely for show.

Then, in a voice only she could hear, he whispered:

"You're not her."

Yiran's breath stalled.

Her entire body went rigid at the words that left Lu Zeyan's lips.

"You're not her."

The whisper barely reached her ears, yet it echoed inside her skull.

She pulled back slightly, but before she could react, Lu Zeyan straightened as if nothing had happened. A faint, unreadable smile played at his lips as he turned toward the applauding guests.

The ceremony was over.

The world around them blurred into soft claps and polite murmurs, but Yiran's focus remained on the man beside her.

Had he just… accused her?

Or was it something else?

Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, but she forced herself to remain still, to not betray her panic. Stay calm. Think.

There was no way he knew the truth. He couldn't.

Could he?

A gentle tap on her wrist made her stiffen.

Lu Zeyan was offering his arm.

Her new husband.

The stranger who had just whispered something only she was meant to hear.

She hesitated, but there was no room for defiance—not here, not now, not in front of the hundreds of guests watching them with sharp, assessing eyes.

With an unreadable expression, she carefully placed her hand on his arm.

His fingers brushed against hers—warm, steady, unshaken.

Unlike hers.

The moment they stepped off the wedding platform, guests swarmed in with polite congratulations, but Yiran barely registered their words.

Her mind spun in tight, frantic circles.

What did he mean by that? Did he suspect something? Was it a test?

She stole a glance at Lu Zeyan.

He was composed as ever, shaking hands with prominent figures, his expression unreadable. Not a single trace of emotion—no satisfaction, no amusement, no hostility.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't questioning her.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because it meant one thing.

He was waiting.

For her to react. For her to make a mistake.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

Whatever Lu Zeyan knew—or thought he knew—he wasn't going to reveal it immediately.

He was going to let her squirm.

Yiran's fingers curled slightly against Lu Zeyan's arm, but she forced herself to relax.

Her heartbeat hadn't settled since the ceremony ended.

You're not her.

That whisper still echoed in her mind, looping over and over like a cruel taunt.

She needed to act normal. To play the role she had been forced into.

Yet, as they moved through the sea of high-society guests, she could feel Lu Zeyan's presence beside her—steady, cold, unreadable.

The moment they reached the grand reception hall, a waiter approached with two glasses of champagne. Lu Zeyan took one, then, without hesitation, offered the other to her.

Yiran hesitated.

There was nothing odd about the gesture—it was smooth, practiced, the kind of thing a gentleman would do. But for some reason, when she accepted the glass, a strange feeling crawled up her spine.

"Are you nervous?"

Her breath caught.

It was the first real thing he had said to her all night.

His voice was deep, calm. Too calm.

She turned slightly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. The way he looked at her… it wasn't the gaze of a husband admiring his new wife.

It was sharp. Assessing. As if she were an equation he was trying to solve.

She tightened her grip on the champagne flute, willing her voice to remain steady. "Should I be?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his dark eyes.

His lips curved slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

"Not if you have nothing to hide."

Yiran's fingers nearly slipped against the glass.

Was that a test? A warning? A trap?

Before she could respond, an older woman approached—one of the Lu family elders. She greeted Lu Zeyan with warm familiarity before shifting her attention to Yiran.

"So, this is the new Mrs. Lu," the woman mused, her gaze sweeping over Yiran's face.

Yiran tensed. The new Mrs. Lu.

Because there should have been another one standing here instead.

She forced a polite smile. "It's an honor to meet you."

Lu Zeyan remained quiet, letting Yiran handle the moment alone.

Her chest tightened.

From the outside, he looked like the perfect groom—attentive, composed, perfectly poised. But he was leaving her to fend for herself on purpose.

He wanted to see how well she could play the part.

A game.

This was a game to him.

And Yiran had just been thrown onto the board.

Yiran forced herself to smile as the Lu family elder studied her with quiet scrutiny.

"This is the new Mrs. Lu," the older woman had said. The words still lingered in the air, weighted with something unspoken.

Yiran kept her expression composed. "It's an honor to meet you."

The woman—Madam Lu, one of Lu Zeyan's distant aunts—narrowed her eyes slightly, as if searching for something beneath the surface.

"You certainly are different from what I expected."

Yiran's heart skipped.

Different?

Was it just a passing remark? Or was there a deeper meaning behind those words?

She carefully chose her response. "I hope that's not a bad thing."

Madam Lu gave a light chuckle. "Not bad. Just unexpected." She turned to Lu Zeyan. "I suppose this was your decision, after all."

Yiran glanced at him instinctively.

But Lu Zeyan didn't immediately answer.

He simply took a slow sip of his champagne, his dark gaze lingering on Yiran for a second longer than necessary before speaking.

"A necessary decision," he finally said, voice even.

A chill ran down Yiran's spine. Necessary?

She wasn't sure which was worse—that he spoke as if this marriage had been a business strategy, or that he didn't even bother to pretend otherwise.

Madam Lu hummed in approval, but before she could say more, another guest—an older gentleman—joined the conversation.

"I must say, it's a shame Xia Yuxuan couldn't be here today."

Yiran's breath caught.

The words were casual, thrown into the conversation without thought. But to Yiran, they felt like a dagger slicing through the air.

Xia Yuxuan.

The name she was not supposed to react to.

She kept her smile steady, but she could feel Lu Zeyan's gaze shift toward her.

Waiting.

Testing.

Does he want to see if I'll flinch? If I'll slip up?

Yiran exhaled smoothly and tilted her head slightly, playing along. "I wasn't aware she was invited."

The older man gave a small chuckle. "Well, she was quite famous in high society, after all. It's strange not seeing her here."

Yiran's nails dug slightly into her palm, hidden beneath the long sleeves of her gown.

"Strange, indeed," Lu Zeyan murmured.

There was something about his tone—low, thoughtful, laced with amusement.

Yiran dared to glance at him.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze still focused on her.

And then—so quietly that only she could hear—he spoke.

"But I suppose we make do with what we have."

Yiran's stomach twisted.

That was a warning.

He knows.

Yiran kept her expression neutral, but beneath the layers of silk and lace, her entire body was tense.

Lu Zeyan knew.

Or, at the very least, he suspected.

His words—calm, deliberate, just slightly taunting—left no room for doubt. He wasn't simply treating this marriage as a business transaction.

He was watching her. Testing her.

But why hadn't he said anything outright?

The reception continued around them, laughter and conversation weaving through the air like background noise. Guests mingled, glasses clinked, cameras flashed.

To everyone else, this was just another grand society wedding.

But to Yiran, it felt like a slow descent into an inescapable trap.

She swallowed the unease creeping up her spine and focused on keeping her posture composed.

Play the part. Do not let him see fear.

A waiter passed by, offering a tray of fine wine.

She reached for a glass, desperate for something to ground herself. But before her fingers could curl around the stem, a hand closed over her wrist.

Firm. Unyielding.

Lu Zeyan.

Yiran's breath hitched slightly as she turned to him.

His grip wasn't tight, but it was deliberate. As if reminding her, wordlessly, that he controlled the pace of this night.

"A bride shouldn't overindulge," he murmured, taking the wine glass himself instead. He raised it slightly in a mock toast before taking a slow sip, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

The message was clear.

Stay sharp. Stay in control. Don't get careless.

Yiran exhaled through her nose and forced a small smile. "Of course."

He studied her for a second longer, as if measuring the weight of her reaction. Then, without another word, he set his glass down and extended a hand to her.

"Come," he said.

It wasn't a request.

Yiran hesitated only for a second before placing her hand in his.

His fingers wrapped around hers—warm, steady, possessive.

She felt the silent shift in the air between them.

This wasn't just the start of a marriage.

It was the start of a dangerous game.