chapter 12
Chapter 12: The Vow
Plum Rain Chronicles
The air thickened with the scent of bergamot and rain as Zhong Shuning's gaze locked onto He Wenli's profile. His profile, sharp as a blade against the storm-lit windows, seemed to carve through her very soul.
"Mrs. He," he murmured, the syllables rolling off his tongue like a deadly promise.
The title hung between them like a poisoned chalice. She'd dreamed of this moment—of belonging, of safety—but never imagined it would come cloaked in his predatory elegance. Her fingers trembled against the damp fabric of her dress, each stitch a reminder of the life she'd just escaped.
He Wenli's proposal was a masterstroke of cruelty. By offering her everything she'd ever craved—a home, security, dignity—he'd stripped the choice of its nobility. This wasn't salvation; it was a gilded cage.
"Your terms are... generous," she said, voice hollow. Generous like the wolf offering the lamb a choice between its teeth and its throat.
The contract lay pristine on the marble coffee table, its pages shimmering under crystal chandeliers. Chen Zui stood sentinel by the bar, mixing a whiskey sour with surgical precision.
"Read it again," He Wenli commanded, swirling the brandy in his glass. "Or are you afraid of what you'll discover?"
The clause about annual income sharing made her stomach churn. Not because of the money, but the implication—this wasn't marriage. It was indentured servitude dressed in silk.
"Your family won't accept me," she said, the words slipping out unbidden.
He Wenli's laughter was low, dangerous. "My dear, my family is the reason you're here. They've been grooming you since the day you arrived in Qingzhou."
The revelation struck like lightning. The orphanage's sudden interest in her academic achievements, Zhou Boyu's calculated "affection"—all pieces of a carefully constructed trap.
A sob caught in her throat. She'd been a pawn in their game long before the ink dried on this contract.
"Drink," He Wenli ordered, thrusting a glass into her hand. The whiskey burned going down, a welcome distraction from the cold calculus of her decision.
By midnight, the documents were signed. Three carbon copies now bound her fate to his with legal steel. As Chen Zui whisked the papers away to be notarized, He Wenli turned to her, his eyes darkening.
"Time to consummate the union," he said, his voice a silken threat.
The bedroom awaited like a cathedral of temptation. Heavy drapes kept the storm at bay, but nothing could mute the raw energy between them. He Wenli's touch was featherlight as he undressed her, each movement methodical—like a surgeon preparing his patient.
"You're trembling," he noted, pausing to trace the scar on her ankle. "Still bitter about that accident?"
She flinched. The scar was a map of her suffering—years of forced smiles, suppressed screams, the slow erosion of selfhood.
His mouth claimed hers then, a masterful blend of tenderness and domination. She melted against him, not from desire but desperation. Here, in this gilded prison, she could pretend for just a little while longer that she mattered.
Outside, thunder raged. Lightning illuminated the grounds, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for her from the abyss she'd just jumped into.
When dawn broke, she'd be Mrs. He Wenli—a title that promised both salvation and damnation.
For now, though, there was only the warmth of his embrace and the lie they'd built together.