The lobby smelled like polished marble and intimidation. Gold lettering announced Gu Corporation across the glass doors, gleaming as if even sunlight bowed to it.
I tightened my grip on my clutch, heels clicking across the floor with the confidence of someone who hadn't spent the morning Googling "how long can fifty thousand yuan last you?"
Great. Just great. One meeting with a CEO and I'm already feeling like an unpaid intern.
The receptionist glanced up, froze, then plastered on the kind of smile usually reserved for royalty. "Miss Shen, President Gu is expecting you. Top floor."
Of course he was. Did this man ever not expect people to do exactly what he wanted?
The elevator ride stretched like a funeral procession. Each ding climbed higher, reminding me this was the tallest building in Haicheng — and I was stepping straight into its dragon's den.
The doors opened to a hushed corridor. No assistants, no secretaries. Just sleek black doors at the end, waiting.
I exhaled sharply, squared my shoulders, and pushed them open.
He was already standing by the window.
Gu Hanchuan, perfectly tailored in charcoal gray, sunlight catching at the sharp lines of his jaw. He didn't look at me at once. He didn't need to. His stillness was louder than any greeting.
Of course he'd do the whole dramatic window pose. What's next, a villain monologue about power and destiny?
His shoulders shifted—just the faintest ripple, like he'd stifled a laugh.
Finally, he turned. "You came."
I lifted my chin. "Don't sound so smug. I could've just gotten lost."
"On a straight elevator ride?" His brow arched.
I pursed my lips. Damn him.
His office was cavernous. Sleek glass walls framed the skyline, Haicheng glittering beneath us like a field of diamonds. The silence stretched between us, vast and heavy, as though even the city outside was holding its breath.
He gestured to the table at the center of the room. Not a massive conference spread — just a low glass table with two chairs. A thin folder rested at his side.
I sat in the chair across his desk, crossing my legs with more elegance than I felt. "So. Let's hear it. The grand bargain."
He slid the folder toward me. "As we discussed previously, contract marriage. Public when necessary, private otherwise. Shared decisions on public appearances. Privacy respected. Exit clause — clean, no penalties."
I flipped the pages. It read like a merger agreement, which, in a way, it was.
"You've done this before," I muttered.
"Contracts?" He allowed the faintest curve of his lips. "Often."
I skimmed further. My brows shot up. "Clause twelve: I keep my name? Already included?"
He met my gaze steadily. "You previously said it mattered."
My fingers tightened on the folder in surprise. Was he… paying attention? Actually listening?
I cleared my throat. "Fine. I know I said this previously, but I have to make this very clear. No parading me like a trophy. I won't be dragged to every dinner where you need arm candy."
"No parading," he repeated without hesitation, pen already moving.
That threw me more than if he'd argued. Most men would have balked, whined about image. Why does him agreeing so easily feel more dangerous than if he'd decided to argue?
His brow ticked upward — subtle, sharp.
I scowled. Stop doing that eyebrow thing. It's unsettling. And… unfairly attractive.
His lips twitched again, like he was holding back some private amusement.
I snapped the folder shut in mild annoyance. "And if I refuse?"
His gaze didn't flicker. "Then you refuse."
Just like that. No threats. No promises. No attempt to sweeten the deal.
His casual flair of indifference was worse than pressure. As if he'd already accounted for every possibility.
My pulse thudded in my ears. Does he even doubt? Or is he so certain I'll bend that he doesn't bother pretending otherwise?
I let out a breath. "Suppose I sign. What then?"
He leaned back, folding his arms. "We go to the Civil Affairs Bureau. Immediately."
I nearly choked on my own spit. "Immediately? As in, today?"
His gaze didn't waver. "There's no advantage in delay."
Oh, of course. Just casually get our marriage certified right before lunch. Why not?
His eyebrow rose again, ever so slightly.
"Stop that!" I blurted out reflexively.
He blinked. "Stop what?"
"That—" I waved vaguely at his face. "That thing where you twitch your eyebrows like you're looking right through me."
Silence. His lips curved the faintest degree.
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. "God. You're impossible."
He slid the pen across the table. "Hm. I'm sure you'll come to understand me as we get to know each other."
The pen gleamed, heavy in my hand. The signature line stared back at me like a trap and a lifeline all at once.
For a long moment, I just stared. The air conditioner hummed faintly overhead, cool and indifferent, while below my ribs something hot and stubborn rebelled against the inevitability of it all.
Don't do it, Yue. Signing means chains. Signing means walking straight into this unfathomably handsome man's world.
I pressed my nails into my palm, grounding myself. But signing also means armor. And maybe… just maybe… a side dish of Gu Hanchuan comes with it.
My hand moved before I could second-guess. Ink scrawled across paper, neat and final.
The contract was signed.
I set the pen down with a thud, heart hammering. "Happy now?"
His gaze was steady. "Mhm. Here's to a happy cooperation."
I exhaled, slumping back. "Fine. But I swear, if you so much as twitch an eyebrow at me during the Bureau photos—"
"Tomorrow morning," he interrupted smoothly, ignoring my threat. "We'll get the certificate."
I gaped. "You're actually serious about the 'immediately' part?"
"Delays invite interference," he said, calm as ever. "And I don't like interference."
His eyes held mine, unwavering, until my pulse betrayed me by tripping over itself.
I looked away first. "You really don't waste time, do you?"
"No," he said. "Especially when I already know the outcome."
My head snapped back toward him, catching an almost imperceptible smirk on his lips.
And I realized, with a sinking mix of dread and reluctant thrill, that I might never win in a war of words with this man.