A/N: First six chapter done! Opinions please! Please maintain civility as fellow human beings.
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The morning light crept through the hotel curtains like it owned the place. Golden beams slid across crisp white sheets, glaring judgment at me for surviving another day.
I rolled over, arm flopping across the empty bed. Sleep had been a rumor, not a reality. My ears still rang with the other night's whispers.
Fake heiress. Pitiful girl. Not even real.
Ha. I gave my palm a sharp pinch. Real enough to bleed, apparently.
I dragged myself upright, padding barefoot across the carpet to where my phone buzzed endlessly. Notifications swarmed the lock screen, piled like vultures fighting over scraps.
[Weibo Trend #3]: #FakeHeiressFallout
[Socialite Circle Chat]: "Imagine raising her for nineteen years, what a waste."
[Gossip Thread]: "She'll be begging some man to take her in within a week."
I dropped the phone on the desk like it was toxic. Begging? Please. I bet they'd gouge their own eyes out if they knew that I'd just been proposed to by THE Gu Hanchuan over a cup of Americano.
I fished his business card that I had stuffed into the side pocket of my clutch and held it gingerly, like it might burn me. Nope. Not thinking about him. Definitely not about his jawline, or how unbothered he looked in that café, or the fact that my brain replayed his soft voice like a broken mixtape in my dreams last night.
Putting the card back into the clutch, I rolled over on the bed and reached for the remote to turn the tv on. Wrong move. The news anchor's smile was sharp as glass.
"…Tuesday night's Shen Family banquet ended with a shocking announcement. Miss Shen Yue has been confirmed not to be the biological daughter of the Shen family…"
Click. Black screen.
"Brilliant," I muttered. Public execution on primetime. Guess I should thank them for the free marketing.
Another buzz. This time, an email from Haicheng University.
[Registrar Notice]: Student enrollment under Shen family sponsorship has been revoked. Please contact the financial department at your earliest convenience to discuss possible payment options.
My stomach dropped.
Of course. The Shens wouldn't just cut me off at home—they'd scorch the earth. Nineteen years of piano lessons, etiquette drills, violin calluses, and now my degree? All collateral damage in their campaign to erase me.
The screen blurred for a moment. Didn't they remember the nights I studied until dawn, eyes burning, cramming formulas until the numbers swam? The hours bent over sheet music, bow digging into sore fingers, just to prove I was worth something?
I had clawed for every grade, every skill, every scrap of approval, because maybe—just maybe—it would buy me a place at their table.
And now, with one cold email, it was gone. Years of effort reduced to a line of bureaucratic text.
I laughed once, sharp enough to hurt my throat. Wow. They're efficient. If only they'd used this energy on raising their actual daughter.
The laugh died quickly. Tuition wasn't pocket change. My severance stack suddenly felt like dwindling toilet paper.
The phone buzzed again—another forwarded screenshot from an "acquaintance."
[WeChat Status]: Shen Jiayi at brunch. Caption: "Grateful for my family. Some bonds are written in blood."
The accompanying photo was nauseating: Jiayi smiling sweetly between Father and Mother, both beaming like they'd never disowned anyone in their lives.
I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted copper.
"Grateful for my family, huh? Jiayi must've bribed the photographer too — otherwise, no way Shen Father smiles without stocks going up."
The streets outside were already alive. Vendors shouted over each other, frying dough and flipping scallion pancakes. Children tugged their parents toward toy stalls. Normal, ordinary, blissfully unaware of the implosion still trending online.
I bought a pancake from a nearby stall out of spite. At least sesame oil never judged me.
But the moment I tore into it, laughter nearby cut through the haze. A group of girls held up a phone, voices shrill with glee.
"Look—someone caught her leaving the ballroom last night. Alone. How humiliating."
"Honestly, she lasted longer than I thought."
"Think she'll drop out of university now?"
My fingers crushed the pancake paper until sesame oil leaked through. Careful, ladies. I might autograph your gossip posts for authenticity.
I turned away before sarcasm slipped into homicide.
The city's chaos pressed in from every angle—horns blaring, bicycles whirring past, hawkers waving skewers under my nose. All of it so alive, so utterly indifferent to the implosion of my so-called "heiress" life.
I envied them for that.
Back in the hotel, I sat on the edge of the bed, pancake half uneaten, phone clutched like a lifeline.
Three options lay in front of me:
Keep bleeding pride until the Shens and Jiayi carved out the last of my dignity.Flee the city and find work else whereCall the man whose eyelashes deserved their own fan club.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. God, is it survival instinct that makes me reach for his card, or pure thirst? Fifty-fifty at this point.
The truth was, Gu Hanchuan wasn't wrong. I'd been stripped of protection, left dangling like bait for every socialite's claws. Jiayi had her family, her fiancé, her Fanclub. I had sarcasm, a hotel bed, a rapidly shrinking stack of cash, and an out of this world offer from a very handsome CEO.
I pulled the business card free, edges pressing into my palm. His name gleamed silver in the dim light. I traced the letters with my thumb, hating how steady it made me feel.
I have ambitions. Just giving up and fleeing the city would pretty much be declaring that I, Shen Yue, have lost. My best option would truly be to take his offer.
This is ridiculous. Normal people eat dumplings when their lives implode. I'm about to marry a CEO over coffee.
I dropped back onto the mattress, card balanced on my chest.
Don't do it, Yue. Once you call, you can't un-call. You'll be tethered. Watched. Maybe caged.
A beat of silence.
…But you'll also stop being easy prey and a side dish of Gu Hanchuan comes with it.
The phone slipped into my hand before I'd made a conscious decision. My thumb hovered over the keypad, hesitation pounding like a second heartbeat.
Pride or survival, Yue? Which one tastes worse when it burns?
I pressed the number.
The line rang once. Twice.
My pulse jumped with each chime.
Click.
"Shen Yue."
His voice was low, steady, threaded with the same composure that had haunted me since last night. Not pity, not curiosity—just fact.
I swallowed, spine straightening despite myself. "We need to go over that contract."
A pause. Not surprise—of course not. He'd predicted this.
"Come by tomorrow morning," he said simply. "We'll discuss terms properly."
I clutched the phone tighter, waiting for him to add something—mockery, warning, even satisfaction. Anything.
Nothing. Just that calm certainty, like a chess player who'd seen the endgame before I'd touched the board.
My throat worked. "You're awfully confident I'll show up."
"I'm confident you'll do what you can to fight back," he replied. The faintest sound of glass against wood in the background, like he was sipping coffee mid-call, utterly unbothered.
The nerve of this man.
I should have hung up. I should have said no.
Instead, I heard myself answer: "Fine."
The call ended with a soft click, leaving me in the hush of the hotel room, heart still racing.
I flopped back against the pillows, card pressed against my chest like a brand.
Congratulations, Yue. You just RSVP'd to your own survival. Potential groom: one dangerously attractive CEO, no refunds.