I woke up to the soft hum of the city beyond the window, but for once, I didn't move. I stayed still, eyes half open, as the weight of the previous night settled in.
Zihan was already up.
The space beside me was cold, but the faint scent of his cologne still lingered on the sheets. That same sharp, clean scent that now clung to everything in this penthouse—my clothes, my hair, my skin.
I sat up slowly, wrapping the duvet around myself.
The memory of Liang Yunmei's voice was still ringing in my ears.
"If I find out you're after more than just his name, I'll ruin you."
I wasn't sure what scared me more—her threat, or the possibility that I was starting to want more.
I found Zihan in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, already reading through a tablet and sipping coffee like he hadn't been the one pretending we weren't affected last night.
"Morning," I said, stepping inside.
He looked up, his eyes scanning me briefly. "Did you sleep well?"
"Define 'well'."
His mouth twitched like he might smile, but didn't. "You handled yourself better than I expected."
"That's the second time you've said that. Maybe I'm just better at pretending than you thought."
He sipped his coffee. "Or maybe you're not pretending anymore."
My breath caught, but I forced myself to stay calm. "Are you?"
Zihan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he set down the tablet. "We're going to the countryside estate today. My mother insisted."
"The one she retreats to when she wants to 'connect with her roots'?"
"She wants to host a traditional family gathering," he said, walking past me. "And parade her new daughter-in-law in front of the elders."
Wonderful.
Three hours later, we were in a black Mercedes heading out of the city, surrounded by winding hills and ancient family land that whispered wealth in every stone.
The estate was breathtaking—traditional Chinese architecture with modern renovations, red lanterns hanging from carved wooden beams, koi ponds tucked into quiet corners and judgmental eyes in every room.
I stood beside Zihan in a silk qipao that hugged my waist and made me feel far more expensive than I was. His mother greeted us with a smile too tight to be genuine.
"You've gained weight," she said to him, eyes briefly flicking to me. "Is it the wife's cooking?"
"Maybe," he said without flinching.
"Hmm," she murmured. "She looks… humble."
I bowed slightly. "I'm grateful to be part of the Wu family."
"I'm sure you are."
We were ushered into the main hall, where elders I'd never met sipped tea and exchanged glances over their porcelain cups. It felt like being back in school except this time, I didn't know the rules, and failure meant being exiled from high society.
"Come walk with me," Zihan's grandmother said after lunch, her voice soft but firm.
I obeyed without question.
She led me into the garden, walking slowly. Her white hair was pinned into a perfect knot, her steps slow but graceful.
"You speak politely," she said after a while.
"Thank you."
"You're not from a wealthy family."
"No."
"And yet here you are."
I looked at her, unsure how much truth she wanted. "I didn't come here for money, if that's what you're wondering."
Her eyes were unreadable. "Good, because money can be earned. Reputation, however, must be guarded like jade."
I nodded. "I understand."
She stopped walking. "Do you love my grandson?"
The question caught me off guard.
I looked away. "It's… complicated."
"You're honest. I like that."
She turned back toward the house.
I stood there for a long time, wondering if I'd passed or failed.
Later that evening, after hours of smiling politely and deflecting invasive questions, I finally found a quiet balcony overlooking the garden.
I leaned against the railing, breathing in the cooler countryside air. The silence was soothing—until Zihan joined me.
He stood beside me without saying a word.
After a while, I asked, "Did your grandmother interrogate you too?"
"She doesn't need to. She's known me since birth."
"Then what does she think of me?"
Zihan tilted his head. "She thinks you're interesting."
"That's one word for it."
"She also said you're not like the others."
I turned to him. "And what do you think?"
He looked at me then, really looked. "I think I'm starting to forget that this was supposed to be fake."
My heart stopped.
"You don't mean that," I said, barely a whisper.
But he did and I could see it beneath the carefully constructed CEO mask, beneath the ice and calculation, something had shifted.
"I meant it," he said. "The way you held yourself last night, the way you stood in front of people who underestimated you—"
"You started this," I interrupted, voice trembling. "You asked me to pretend. You made the rules."
"I did," he said quietly. "And now I'm breaking them."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to scream, cry, kiss him, run.
But instead, I whispered, "What happens if I fall for you, Zihan?"
His eyes softened. "Then maybe… we stop pretending."
Later that night, when I returned to our room, I found a small box on the pillow.
Inside was a jade hairpin—delicate, beautiful, the kind passed down for generations.
There was no note.
Just the gift, and the quiet understanding that came with it.
I held it to my chest and closed my eyes.
Because for the first time since this all began… I was scared that what I was feeling wasn't just part of the act.
It was real.