The contract folder landed on the desk with a soft thud, its weight far heavier than paper should allow. Wen Yuxi didn't touch it. She watched Li Zhenyu instead — the way he stood so still, as if the entire world had narrowed to this moment.
"Read it," he said.
She didn't move. "You prepared a contract for this already?"
"No." His gaze held hers. "I prepared it this morning."
A quiet beat passed.
So he'd been planning this before she even walked in.
She opened the folder. The words blurred for a moment — not from confusion, but from the sheer absurdity of it all. A fake engagement. Public appearances. Shared events. A timeline. A confidentiality clause.
And at the bottom, two signature lines.
Her name was already typed in.
She closed the folder gently. "You really think I'll just sign this."
"I think you're practical," he said. "And ambitious."
Her eyes lifted. "You think you know me."
"I know enough."
She stepped closer, stopping on the opposite side of his desk. "Then you should know I don't do anything without terms of my own."
His expression didn't change, but something in the air did — a subtle shift, like the moment before a storm breaks.
"State them," he said.
She didn't hesitate. "I want your help building my creative studio. Not money. Not sponsorship. I want access. Introductions. Guidance. A real chance."
His eyes didn't flicker. "Done."
"You agreed too fast."
"Because it's reasonable."
"It's not small."
"I didn't say it was."
She studied him, searching for the catch. There wasn't one. He was simply… certain. As if helping her was the easiest decision he'd made all week.
That unsettled her more than the contract.
"And," she added, "I want autonomy. You don't get to interfere with my decisions. Not in my work. Not in my life."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I won't control you."
"You already try."
His eyes met hers, steady, unreadable. "Not in the ways that matter."
The room felt suddenly smaller.
She forced herself to look away, flipping the contract open again. "And what about boundaries? You expect me to play the perfect fiancée in public. What about in private?"
His answer came without hesitation. "In private, nothing changes."
She looked up sharply. "Nothing?"
"You're still my assistant. I'm still your employer. We keep things professional."
Professional.
Right.
Then why did his voice sound anything but?
She closed the folder again. "If I do this, it's temporary."
"Yes."
"And when it ends, we go back to normal."
A faint pause. Barely a breath.
But she caught it.
"If that's what you want," he said.
She didn't know why that answer unsettled her.
She reached for the pen on his desk. Her fingers brushed the metal — cool, smooth, grounding. She uncapped it slowly, aware of his gaze following every movement.
"Wen Yuxi," he said quietly.
She looked up.
"This will change things."
She didn't know if he meant for him, for her, or for both of them.
But she signed anyway.
The pen glided across the paper, sealing something neither of them fully understood yet.
When she finished, she set the pen down. He took the contract, scanned it once, then signed his name with a single, decisive stroke.
Their signatures sat side by side.
A pair.
A match.
A lie that already felt too real.
He closed the folder and looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"From today onward," he said softly, "you're mine to protect."
Her breath caught — not because of the words, but because of the way he said them.
Not cold.
Not commanding.
Something else entirely.
She stepped back, needing space, needing air. "I should prepare for tonight."
He nodded. "I'll have a car pick you up at six."
She turned to leave.
"Yuxi."
She froze.
His voice was lower now, almost careful. "Wear something you feel confident in."
She didn't look back. If she did, she wasn't sure what she'd see in his eyes — or what he'd see in hers.
She walked out, the door clicking softly behind her.
Only when she was gone did Li Zhenyu let out the breath he'd been holding.