Warm light spilled from the café windows, soft against the night. Inside, the air smelled of roasted beans and sugar, a stark contrast to the glittering chill I'd just escaped. Wooden beams, chalkboard menus, shelves of mismatched mugs — all of it worn, ordinary, comforting.
The barista hesitated at the sight of my gown but took my order anyway. I carried an Americano to a corner table and wrapped my hands around the cup. The heat steadied me.
Just coffee. Just quiet. Five minutes to breathe.
The bell over the door chimed. I barely looked up. Another customer. Nothing to do with me.
But then footsteps crossed the floor — steady, measured — and stopped at my table.
I raised my eyes.
Gu Hanchuan.
Of all people.
Up close, he was even more disconcerting than the rumors: clean-cut, deliberate, posture straight as steel. He didn't dominate the room so much as settle it, like gravity finding its level.
My pulse hitched before I forced it calm. Why him? Why here?
He inclined his head. "May I sit?"
Every instinct screamed to keep distance. But refusing would likely cause a scene. I gestured lightly with my hand. "If you'd like."
He lowered himself into the chair across from me, smooth and unhurried. His cup, dark and untouched, joined mine on the table. He didn't speak at once. He just regarded me, polite but too steady.
I curled my fingers tighter around the ceramic. "Strange hour for coffee, CEO Gu. Don't you have boardrooms to haunt?"
His lips twitched once before smoothing out. "Boardrooms can wait. This couldn't."
That earned him a wary arch of my brow. "And what exactly is so important about talking to me that couldn't wait?"
"You were put in a difficult position tonight," he said evenly. His voice was calm, unflinching, without pity. Just stating a fact.
I set my cup down with deliberate care. "Plenty of people noticed. You're the only one that seems to have anything to say about it."
"I don't waste time," he said.
Of course he's blunt. And of course bluntness comes attached to shoulders designed to ruin a woman's concentration. Figures.
His brow lifted a fraction, quickly smoothed.
He shifted, fingers tapping once against his saucer before stilling. "You handled yourself with incredible composure under pressure."
A humorless smile touched my lips. "Composure's cheaper than mascara. Less likely to smudge when someone drags your name through the marble."
A silence stretched. Not awkward — he wasn't the type. But focused, like he was listening more carefully than most people ever bothered.
Why is he looking at me like that? Don't tell me he's cataloguing the state of my eyeliner. Or worse, my shoes. These heels were designed by sadists, not designers.
His brow lifted again, faint and fleeting.
"You didn't seem surprised by the announcement," he said.
I held his gaze. "I've lived with the Shen family long enough to stop being surprised by how low they can stoop."
Something flickered in his eyes at that — recognition, maybe. But he didn't press.
Instead, he asked, "So where do you go from here?"
That caught me. Most people asked what I felt, not what I planned. I stalled with a sip of coffee. Bitter, grounding. "I don't know. Leave the city? I'd just remain fodder under the Shen Family shadow if I remain here."
"You don't look like fodder to me."
I blinked. That, I hadn't expected. Compliments didn't seem like his style. The words landed like fact, not flattery.
Why does it sound different coming from him? It's not like he could have some interest in me…right? Stop. Don't read into it. He's just a man with criminally long eyelashes. Honestly, he should blink slower, so pleasing to the eyes.
The faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.
I coughed, redirecting. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"
His eyes stayed steady on mine. "Because your situation has changed. And different situations attract all sorts of moves."
"Spare me the chess metaphors," I said dryly. "If you wanted to give me a midnight lecture on strategy, you could have found a way to reach out to me over text or email."
"Would you have read it?" he asked.
I hesitated, then snorted softly. "Fair point."
Another silence. Not uncomfortable, but taut. He was circling something. I could feel it.
Finally, he said, "What you lost tonight, others will try to use against you. That's predictable."
I frowned. "You came here to tell me I have enemies? Thank you, but I got that memo years ago."
"No," he said. "I came here to offer a solution."
There it was. The shift in the air.
My wariness sharpened. "What kind of solution?"
He didn't lean closer, didn't lower his voice for drama. He simply said, "A contract."
I narrowed my eyes. "Business?"
"Marriage," he said.
The word dropped into the space between us, soft and steady, but no less explosive.
For a second, I just stared. Then I let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?"
"Not sentiment," he said, composed as ever. "Mutual benefit. You gain protection. I gain a partner no one challenges lightly. It shields us both."
I blinked. Once. Twice. Marriage? At midnight? In a coffee shop? Is this my life now?
Outwardly, I kept my chin up. "That's absurd."
"It's practical," he countered.
"Practical?" I scoffed. "You don't even know if I snore. Risky investment."
The corner of his mouth twitched. He caught it quickly, but not before it betrayed him.
Did he just almost smile? Damn! It went by too quickly! I didn't even have a chance to appreciate it.
I pressed. "Why me? You could find a dozen candidates with better pedigrees."
"You don't fold under pressure," he said. "You didn't beg. And you're not ruled by the same need for approval that cripples most people in your circle."
My throat tightened. I forced a smirk. "You've been watching me, then?"
"I pay attention," he said simply.
I looked away, smoothing the napkin beneath my cup. Wonderful. He's serious. Absolutely serious. And why do I find that part of him so damn sexy?
His eyebrow rose by the faintest degree before smoothing again.
Upon seeing his curious yet amused look I felt my cheeks start to burn slightly.
"Ahem," I cleared my throat, trying to clear my embarrassment. "And if I refuse?" I asked, steady but sharp.
"Then you refuse," he said. No hesitation.
That calm unnerved me more than pressure would have. He wasn't chasing me. He was laying out options, plain and patient.
I tried to shake him off with sarcasm. "You don't strike me as the kind of man who hears no often."
His gaze flickered — not offended, not amused. Just a quiet shift, like a page turning. "I hear what matters," he said.
The words lodged somewhere uncomfortably deep.
I broke the almond cookie on the saucer, crumbs scattering. "Suppose I entertained this idea. Hypothetically. What does it look like?"
"Simple," he said. "Public when necessary. Privacy respected. Decisions shared. An exit clause, clean, if either of us wants it."
Clean. Simple. Like he'd thought it through already.
We sat there, cookie crumbs between us, silence stretching taut but not breaking.
I stared at him, wary. He stared back, steady.
And beneath my armor, treacherous thoughts stirred. What would it even feel like, to stand beside him? No one would dare sneer. No one would dare whisper. And—damn it, Yue. Stop thinking about his jawline.
He watched me intently, the corner of his lip twitching upward, quick and gone.
"You've given me your blueprint," I said at last, voice clipped. "If I ever considered it, I'd have conditions."
"Name them," he said.
"No parading me like a trophy. I won't be a prop for corporate dinners or your rivals' gossip."
"No parading," he agreed without pause.
"I keep my name," I added sharply.
"You keep your name."
"And privacy. My space is my own."
"Understood."
That threw me more than if he'd argued. He accepted each demand like they'd already been written into his silent plan.
I pushed back my chair. "I need time to think."
"Take it," he said immediately.
"I don't have much time," I admitted quietly. The Shen family would most likely move against me before long. I am the ultimate stain on their 'pristine' record after all.
"You have enough," he replied, steady and certain.
He reached into his jacket and set a slim black business card down by the saucer. "If you want it in writing, contact me and I'll send it. If you want counsel present, we will. If you want it forgotten, it will be."
I stared at it before slipping it into my bag like it might burn. "You even anticipated I wouldn't answer right away?"
"I considered it," he corrected. "Planning assumes certainty."
That hint of gentle confidence unsettled me more than power could have.
"Thank you," I said stiffly, not sure whether I meant for the conversation, the clarity, or the offer itself.
He stood when I did — a courtesy most men forgot.
At the door, I hesitated. "If I refuse—"
"Then you refuse," he said.
No pressure. No warning. Just fact.
The bell chimed softly as I stepped into the night. Cool air wrapped around me, peeling away the scent of roasted beans.
The city stretched ahead, dark and watchful. The card pressed like a weight against my side.
Not salvation, I told myself. An option.
And options meant more time to breathe.
**********
A/N: A proposal already!? Well, it's a contract one so not quite. Anyways...another common trope! Once again...who care? I love these tropes. Who says you can't mash them all into one novel? Mind-reading, fake-heiress, contract marriage, transmigrating into a book...what other tropes could I possibly include?