Rain trickled down the glass walls of the Petronas Twin Towers, winding like translucent serpents racing across a mirrored sky.
Emily stood in front of the apartment's floor-to-ceiling window, phone long since hung up, but her father's hoarse voice still echoed in her ears:
"Emily… I'm so sorry. Customs seized the entire shipment..."
Her slender fingers absentmindedly rubbed the edge of the window frame, the skin near her nails turning pale from the pressure. Outside, the entire city lay shrouded in a monsoon storm—blurred and distant, just like her future.
On the desk, the offer letter from Oxford's School of Architecture glowed cold beneath the lamp. Beside it, the tuition invoice—already two weeks overdue—stared back at her like a ticking clock.
Ding.
The microwave beeped. Instant noodles were ready.
Emily turned on autopilot. Her long black hair swung gently around her waist like silk in motion. The cramped kitchen filled with the synthetic scent of flavor packets and despair. She stared at the steaming bowl and suddenly felt nauseated
Emily picked up the fountain pen. The chill of the metal made her fingers tremble slightly.
It was heavier than expected, its surface etched with delicate vine patterns that shimmered with gold under the light. Her eyes drifted across the polished desk, stopping on a photo frame she hadn't noticed before. Inside, a young Asian woman smiled warmly, cradling a boy of five or six. Behind them, Liverpool's Albert Dock stretched out in sepia-toned calm.
"That's…"
"Me and my mother," Ryan said softly from behind her."It was taken a week before she passed."
Emily turned. In his amber eyes, something shimmered—like sunlight catching the ripples of a distant sea. For the first time, the polished exterior of his tailored suit cracked, revealing the quiet ache of a man still haunted by loss in a foreign land.
"I'm sorry," she said instinctively.
"Don't be."
Ryan stepped toward the window. The city lights outlined his figure in a bluish halo, a silhouette framed by night.
"Her greatest regret was not seeing me get married. She always said... a life can't be complete without love."
That sentence landed like a soft hammer against Emily's chest.
She looked back down at the contract—pages of legal terms and conditional clauses—and paused at one line:
"We're expected to attend no fewer than three public events together?"
Ryan turned around, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"There are too many corporate galas every year. I usually show up alone. My partners have started speculating about… well, my preferences."
He took a few steps closer. The scent of cedar lingered faintly around him—subtle, expensive, dangerously comforting.
"Of course, if that makes you uncomfortable…"
"I need time to think."
Emily cut in, setting the pen back on the desk. The click of metal on wood rang sharply in the still room.
Ryan nodded. He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of amber liquid into crystal tumblers. Ice clinked sharply as it settled.
"Scotch. Single malt. Tastes like sea wind," he said, offering her a glass.
Emily took it, her fingers brushing against his by accident. The brief contact sparked heat across her skin like an electric jolt. She pulled back quickly and took a sip. The alcohol burned her throat, but settled into a comforting warmth in her chest.
"About the tuition…"
Ryan's voice broke the silence.
"I can cover the first semester. Regardless of whether you agree or not, you don't have to pay it back."
Emily's head snapped up, the whiskey catching the light in her glass.
"Why? We hardly know each other…"
"Because I've seen too many dreams crushed by reality."
His eyes drifted to a Chinese ink painting on the wall—bold brushstrokes of mountains and mist.
"When I was told I had talent but no formal training, it was an old tailor—someone I barely knew—who paid my first-year tuition. He changed my life. Maybe now it's my turn."
Outside, the city darkened. Their shadows—one seated, one standing—merged in the reflection of the glass. Between them stretched a silence both intimate and impossibly distant.
Emily stared into her drink, watching the ice melt.
"Give me three days," she said at last, voice barely above a whisper.
Three days later, Emily stood outside Ryan's apartment, clutching the signed contract in her hand. The heavy glass door opened with a quiet hum, and she was immediately greeted by the scent of fresh white roses.
A large bouquet bloomed from a crystal vase on the coffee table, petals still beaded with morning dew.
"You came," Ryan said, stepping out from the hallway.He was dressed in a light gray sweater, casual and warm, a far cry from the sharp-suited man she had first met."You're earlier than I expected."
He took the folder from her. As their fingers touched, she felt the same subtle heat from before—startling, but not unwelcome.
Emily's gaze drifted to the envelope and check on the table, both marked with the Oxford University crest. Ryan followed her eyes.
"The paperwork's complete. This is your first semester's tuition."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked quietly."We barely know each other."
Ryan didn't flinch. Instead, he knelt down on one knee and gently took her hand in his. His palm was warm and steady, his thumb tracing slow circles on her knuckles.
"Then let's start from the beginning."
"I prefer Bach over Mozart. I hate anything with coconut. I believe in love at first sight—but I'd never experienced it… until I saw you in the rain."
Emily's heart raced, humming in her chest like the wings of a trapped bird.
From his jacket pocket, Ryan produced a small, velvet box. Inside was a simple, elegant diamond ring. Not flashy—just enough light to catch and hold her gaze.
"The contract calls for a proper engagement," he said softly, though his eyes carried a weight far deeper than business."If you don't like the style, we can—"
Emily held out her left hand.
She watched the ring slide smoothly onto her finger, the cool metal warming instantly against her skin. The diamond caught the light like a droplet of starlight.
"It fits perfectly."
Ryan's voice came out low, almost rough.He didn't let go. Instead, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her skin—a kiss so light, it barely landed. But it sent a ripple of heat spiraling up her spine.
Outside, Kuala Lumpur basked in sudden sunlight. The Petronas Towers gleamed, no longer blurred by rain. Emily found herself thinking: perhaps her life, like this city, had a chance at clearing after the storm. But even the brightest skies could still hide fog on the horizon.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from the landlord: "Your rent's overdue. Final notice."
Emily exhaled deeply, the tropical air heavy with damp and mildew. She grabbed her bag and ran out—forgetting her umbrella entirely.
The palm-lined paths of the Kuala Lumpur Botanical Garden looked even more haunting under the rain.
Emily wandered aimlessly. The storm quickly soaked through her white shirt, turning the fabric translucent and clinging to her skin. She didn't care. There was no one else around—just wilted traveler's palms drooping under the weight of the water, and the occasional lizard darting across the stones.
"Miss! Do you need an umbrella?"
A low, calm voice cut through the downpour.
Emily looked up, water dripping from her lashes. Through the blur of rain, she saw a long black umbrella—and beneath it, a man's sharply defined face. He looked to be in his early thirties, with thick brows and striking amber eyes that glowed like lanterns in the storm.
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
She instinctively stepped back. Her soaked sneakers squeaked against the stone path.
But the man pressed the umbrella into her hand anyway.
"Take it. You'll catch a cold."
His fingers were long and graceful, his nails neatly trimmed. A mechanical watch peeked from under his cuff—clearly expensive, but understated.
Only then did Emily realize the man's suit was already half drenched. Rain darkened the shoulders of his navy jacket into near black.
"What about you?"
"My car's nearby."He smiled, softening the angles of his face."Ryan Lee. British-Chinese. And you are?"
"Emily."
The name slipped out before she could stop it. She immediately regretted it—giving her name to a stranger in a foreign country? Stupid.
"Beautiful name," he said, holding her gaze for a second too long.
Something about the way he looked at her made her ears go hot. No one had ever looked at her like that before—like she was the only person in the world worth seeing.
The rain grew heavier, pounding on the umbrella like a thousand tiny drums. Suddenly, Ryan shrugged off his wet suit jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders.
"There's a nice café nearby. Let me buy you a hot chocolate," he said."Let's call it... fate."
Emily wanted to say no. But the residual warmth of his jacket and its subtle sandalwood scent chipped away at her resolve.
Three hours later, she was still sitting across from him in a cozy café, sipping her third cup of hot chocolate. Warmth had returned to her fingers—but also, unexpectedly, to her heart.
"…So now I have no choice but to go back to China and find a regular job."
Emily stared into her cup. The whipped cream on top of her hot chocolate had long since melted into a cloudy swirl. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Across the table, Ryan tapped his fingers gently on the wood. The rhythm was steady—almost like a heartbeat.
"What if I had an offer for you?"
Emily blinked.
"What kind of offer?"
"Marriage."His tone was so calm, he might as well have been talking about the weather."A fake one. I help you get a UK visa and cover your tuition. In exchange, you sign the paperwork and pretend to be my wife."
Emily nearly knocked over her cup.
"Are you insane? We've known each other for—what, a few hours?"
"Time doesn't always define depth," Ryan said, leaning in slightly.
His shadow stretched across the table, brushing against her like a silent dare.
"I know it sounds crazy. But believe me—I fell for you the moment I saw you standing in the rain. Even if this marriage is just a contract, I still want to help you chase your dream."
The soft lighting carved shadows across Ryan's face, making his features even sharper. Emily noticed a faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow—a thin, silver line barely visible unless you looked closely. For some reason, that tiny flaw made him feel more real.
"Why me?" she asked, still on guard."You could've asked anyone."
Ryan smiled, and for a fleeting moment, he looked years younger.
"Because when I saw you standing there—drenched, your shirt soaked through, your spine straight despite everything—you reminded me of someone. Twenty years ago, at the Liverpool docks, I was just like you: broke, desperate, and too stubborn to fall."
He pulled a business card from his wallet and slid it across the table.
The name shimmered in gold print:Ryan Lee — Partner, L&R Architectural Design
"Think about it."He tapped the card lightly."I live in the Bangsar district—the building with the glass dome on top. You're welcome to visit anytime."
Emily didn't respond.
But three days later, when her landlord changed the locks, tossed her belongings into the corridor, and left her no place to go, she found herself dialing his number.
Ryan's apartment was even more luxurious than Emily had imagined.
Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a dazzling night view of Kuala Lumpur. A grand piano sat in the center of the living room. Shelves overflowed with English hardcovers, and on the wall hung a massive, unfinished Chinese ink painting.
"My grandfather was from Suzhou," Ryan said, following her gaze."This is my attempt at recreating A Panorama of Rivers and Mountains. I've never quite mastered layering the peaks."
Emily stepped closer and noticed a small red seal in the corner of the artwork. Three delicate Chinese characters carved into the stone: Li Rui'an.
That tiny detail hit her unexpectedly. Maybe this well-dressed man across from her was far more layered than he appeared.
"I've prepared the contract."
Ryan disappeared into his study and returned with a folder.
"After marriage, you'll immediately qualify for a spousal visa. I'll cover all your expenses at Oxford—tuition, housing, living costs. All I ask is that you maintain the marriage for two years. After that, you're free to walk away."
Emily flipped through the document. It was incredibly thorough—down to details like how many dinners they'd be expected to share each week.
"This is… intense."
"It's meant to protect both of us," Ryan said, handing her a pen."Of course, you have three days to decide."
Emily looked up, only to find him watching her again.
That gaze—steady, unreadable—reminded her of the wolves she had once seen at a zoo as a child. Not aggressive. Just… waiting. Focused. Patient.
And dangerous.