Chapter Three: A Surprising Wedding Night

The unfamiliar scent of cedarwood drifted into her nose, and Ling Yu’s eyes snapped open.

It was six-thirty—her internal clock as precise as an atomic clock.

Above her head, a minimalist ceiling light glowed softly; beneath her, the sheets were as soft as clouds… Wait, this wasn’t her cluttered den filled with design drafts!

Fragments of last night’s memories flooded her mind, wrapped in the aroma of tomato beef brisket and the spicy heat of mapo tofu. The loud clang in her head: the silhouette in the open kitchen wearing a little whale apron, the meal so delicious she licked the plate clean, and… the sound of her locking the door of the spare bedroom while clutching a green potted plant, her guilty heart pounding in the silent stillness.

Outside the door came the sound of running water and faint clinking of dishes… then silence as quiet as a chicken’s.

That night, she had been like a rabbit trespassing in the lion’s den, ears perked, sleeping on a strange bed.

Now, the living room was empty.

A gentle, sweet, and mellow scent of grains hung in the air—not the meaty explosion from last night. She sniffed, as if pulled by invisible hooks, and inexplicably found herself wandering toward the kitchen.

Then—

She was petrified.

On the kitchen island, morning light gilded two breakfast plates! The soft-boiled sunny-side-up eggs had edges crisped to golden perfection; the bacon was curled and glistening with oil; bright green broccoli florets adorned the plates; the milk oat porridge looked warm and inviting, sprinkled with dried cranberries and toasted almond slices!

This was breakfast?! This was a Michelin-starred display, no less!

And the creator of this feast, the seemingly ordinary office worker Zhao Chen, stood with his back to her inside the kitchen island. Same light gray tracksuit with a deep blue cardigan.

He bowed his head slightly, focused as if conducting scientific research. His slender fingers grasped a chef’s knife gleaming coldly, blade thin enough to be a lethal weapon.

The knife flashed, “swish, swish, swish,” and golden mango flesh effortlessly separated from the pit, transformed by his fingers into uniformly sized, sharply angled diamond-shaped pieces, as if performing magic. His movements were fluid, exuding a cold precision.

Damn! This knife skill! Was he slicing vegetables or doing micro-sculpture?

Ling Yu’s heart pounded wildly; she barely dared to breathe. This was definitely not a skill for a corporate drone.

Just as she was about to burst from the tension, Zhao Chen suddenly stopped without warning. He turned his head.

Morning light softened his features, and those amber eyes were clear and gentle, as if the fierce knife flashes were just her illusion.

“Morning,” he said with a smile as pure as the first ray of sunlight. “Awake? Perfect timing, breakfast is ready. Want to freshen up first?” His tone was as natural as an old married couple’s daily routine, completely ignoring her wide-eyed stare fixated on the knife and the breakfast.

“Mo…morning,” Ling Yu stammered, struggling to tear her eyes away from the masterpiece breakfast and that heirloom-worthy knife. “Did… did you make all this?” Her voice was so dry it could scrape sand.

“Yeah.” He responded lightly, flicking the knife tip as the mango pieces landed precisely into a glass bowl. “Used whatever was in the fridge. Milk oats warmed up with a bit of honey.” His tone made cooking the perfect soft-boiled egg and cutting fruit into standard geometric shapes sound as effortless as breathing.

Just “whatever”?! Ling Yu stared at the flawless breakfast plate, then at her own cold milk-soaked cereal, a mix of shock, absurdity, and a sudden warm gush surged wildly in her chest.

“I’ll… go wash up!” she nearly fled the scene in a tumble. Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to douse the fluttering in her heart. Her reflection was frantic in the mirror.

Calm down! The agreement! No interference! He was just a dutiful “meal partner”! She silently chanted her mantra, but her fingertips still tingled with the knife’s icy touch.

When she emerged, Zhao Chen was already seated at the dining table, the tablet set aside, his breakfast half-eaten.

“Sit,” he gestured to the seat opposite, pushing over the bowl of golden mango cubes garnished with honey and a sprig of mint deliberately placed on the rim. “Try it? It’s sweet.”

The porridge was smooth and warm; the soft-boiled egg yolk mingled with the crispy bacon and fresh broccoli… a complex layering that made her tongue dance! It utterly defeated all the greasy sandwiches from downstairs.

“How is it?” he watched her, amber eyes hiding… a hint of hopeful anticipation?

“Delicious!” she praised sincerely, then blushed at her own “culinary disaster” label.

Zhao Chen’s lips lifted in a pleased smile. “Good.” He lowered his head and continued eating gracefully. That calmness strangely melted a little of Ling Yu’s wariness.

She was just about to get up and clear the dishes when he naturally took over. “I’ll do it. You get ready for work.” His movements were so quick she couldn’t react.

“Ah? No need…” Before she finished, he rolled up his sleeves and headed to the sink. The sound of water washing fine porcelain was crisp and neat. Ling Yu watched his upright figure bathed in morning light, the contours of his shoulders etched clearly. This script… she must have grabbed the wrong one.

***

“By the way,” he said, drying his hands and turning, voice casual as if asking what day it was, “your office is in Creation Tower? On the way, I’ll give you a ride.”

“A ride?” Ling Yu was stunned, instinctively resisting. “No! The subway is super convenient!”

Zhao Chen paused mid-dry, eyebrows knitting slightly. His eyes clouded over with a clearly visible, perfectly timed look of grievance. His voice dropped a notch:

“But… the agreement says to ‘maintain each other’s image in front of our original families.’”

He paused, leaving a suggestive silence. “What if your mom suddenly checks in and asks, ‘Did Xiao Zhao give you a ride to work?’ And I say no?” He shrugged, the unspoken implication like a tiny needle pricking Ling Yu’s stubbornness—exposure! How to ‘collude to dodge marriage pressure’?

Ling Yu: “…”

She was utterly stumped by this airtight logic based on the contract! Playing a loving couple… providing rides seemed mandatory?

Seeing her at a loss, Zhao Chen’s look of grievance evaporated in an instant, replaced by a gentle, harmless smile with a hint of slyness.

“So, shall we go? If we dawdle, you’ll be late.” He picked up a thin wool coat, slipped it on, and as if by magic, plucked a car key from the entryway cabinet and dangled it.

The keychain bore a low-key silver trident emblem that dazzled Ling Yu in the morning light.

Maserati.

“Y-your car?” Her voice cracked.

“Oh, this?” Zhao Chen glanced at the key, expression casual as if mentioning a bunch of green onions. “A friend’s. Going abroad for a few months, worried it’d get rusty in the garage, so they forced me to ‘take care’ of it.”

As he spoke, he opened a drawer with a clatter and tossed the Maserati key inside like garbage. “I usually squeeze onto the subway. But today, I’m driving you.” His excuse sounded flimsy as paper.

Ling Yu stared at the Maserati key casually discarded in the drawer, then at the honest-looking face before her. Her doubts exploded into a mushroom cloud! Friend? Taking care of a car? The mysteries surrounding this man were deeper than the Mariana Trench!

“Let’s go, really late now.” Zhao Chen seemed oblivious, opening the door.

Ling Yu took a deep breath, suppressing her shock. Whatever! If there’s a luxury car, she wasn’t letting it go to waste! Consider it a deep undercover mission.

***

In the days that followed, Ling Yu deeply felt what it meant to receive “the ultimate service from a contract husband,” or rather—the full-scale invasion of the “Zhao Chen-brand domestic clinginess”!

[Feeding Chapter]

Every morning, she was woken precisely by a new, never-repeated five-star aroma drifting from the kitchen. The table always held two nutritious, exquisite works of art, carefully avoiding her culinary no-go zones (cilantro? offal? Not here!). If she casually mentioned feeling a bit overheated, the next morning a bowl of warming rock sugar pear soup awaited her, gentle and soothing.

Ling Yu thought: Dude, do you have a bug in my room, or is there a worm in my belly?!

He handled all the household chores with professional efficiency like a cleaning robot. When Ling Yu tried to take a turn, barely picking up the mop, he gently but firmly “asked” her to step aside:

“You work hard. I’ll do this. ‘No interference’ means I don’t want to see you suffer.” His reasoning was impeccable, leaving Ling Yu tearfully relegated to being useless.

[Driving Chapter]

No matter how much she stressed the convenience, environmental friendliness, and peace of mind of the subway, he always had perfect excuses rooted in “the spirit of the contract” (maintaining image) or “on the way” (“just happening to go nearby,” “company day off today”), appearing punctually, come rain or shine, outside her office building.

At first, sitting in the passenger seat (his car switching seamlessly between understated Mercedes, Audi, or even the flashier Land Rover Range Rover, which he always explained as “a friend’s”) made her nervous, especially when caught by stunned looks from colleagues.

“Don’t drive this car next time! Too flashy!” she once snapped.

“Okay. I’ll switch to something low-key tomorrow.” The next day, a brand-new, sleek, understated, and luxurious black Land Rover Range Rover was parked downstairs. Ling Yu gave up resisting. Fine, your friends are many, your friends are rich, and your friends run car dealerships! She tried to hypnotize herself into being just a random passenger.

[Late-Night Feeding]

The real warmth came unexpectedly on a late night at work.

After ten, Ling Yu was alone in the office, trapped in a mess of garbled data, dizzy and hungry enough to sing an empty fortress tactic. Rubbing her throbbing temples, she reached for her phone to order takeout—but the screen lit up first.

[ZhaoC]: Still at work? Starving, right? Send me your location, I’m nearby.

She froze, her hand quicker than her mind, sending her location.

[Ling]: Yeah, working late. A bit hungry. It’s okay, I’ll order something to survive.

Less than five minutes after sending the message, a soft knock came at the door. Zhao Chen entered, carrying an insulated bag, shoulders slightly chilled by the night, but his smile was like a little sun.

“Sorry to bother you. Brought some supper. The security guard is pretty easy to talk to.” (Ling Yu’s thoughts: How did you manage that?!)

He opened the bag—inside was the Cantonese fresh fish slice congee she had mentioned needing to queue for days! Along with crystal shrimp dumplings and vibrant oyster sauce lettuce! The enticing aroma immediately seized her taste buds and exhausted nerves.

“Eat while it’s hot.” He handed her utensils and pulled out a chair. “I’ll wait for you to finish. I’d be bored otherwise.” His tone was casual, but his gaze held a gentle insistence that brooked no refusal.

Ling Yu cradled the warm bowl. The warmth radiating from her fingertips spread into her heart. The office was filled only with the soft sound of her sipping congee and his occasional phone swipes.

He was silent as a mountain, but his quiet companionship was more nourishing than any motivational talk. The warm porridge slid down her throat, the warmth spreading, cracking the hard shell of loneliness she had been digesting alone on countless late nights.

Her nose prickled unexpectedly. She hurriedly lowered her head, pretending the steam had made her eyes water. Zhao Chen noticed the subtle emotion and quietly nudged the shrimp dumplings closer.

When she had devoured everything, he tidied up swiftly.

“Done? I’ll head out first. Don’t stay up too late or you’ll get panda eyes.” He stood. “Message me before you leave, I’ll come pick you up.”

“No need! I’ll take a taxi…”

“Not safe this late.” He cut her off, his gentle tone harboring an unyielding firmness, a faint sharpness flashing in his eyes. “Be good. Wait for my message at home.” Without waiting for her protest, he turned and disappeared.

That word “be good” brushed her heart like a feather. Ling Yu sat back at her computer, her anxiety miraculously eased. Her stomach was warm, and somehow her heart felt quietly warmed too. Even her keystrokes became lighter.

***

[Sweet Romance Overload]

A few days later, on a weekend morning.

Ling Yu shuffled in slippers to the floor-to-ceiling window to check on her beloved green potted plant. The leaves gleamed lush under the sunlight, full of life. She smiled contentedly and leaned closer—

Her gaze suddenly froze.

Next to the green plant stood a small white ceramic watering pot, about the size of a palm! Rounded and adorable in shape, with a slender spout, its glaze pure and warm beyond belief—obviously expensive! The soil was moist and carried a subtle, fresh scent not from the cheap nutrient solution she usually bought!

She remembered watering it herself last night! And she had never bought this kind of pot!

Her heart rate shot to 180.

It was Zhao Chen! Not only did he remember to water it, he used nutrient solution and even prepared such a delicate little pot! Just for her green plant!

She held the small, warm pot in her hands, standing bathed in the morning light. Outside, the sound of traffic, lingering breakfast aromas, the financial magazine he had glanced at on the sofa (the cover featured a familiar profile of a financial summit magnate)—all the small, subtle details he had quietly woven into her life, along with the morning congee, the precise breakfasts, the silent companionship, and those hidden warm currents beneath the “agreement” and “roommate” facades—because of this pot meant only for her plant, all that warmth broke free like a dam bursting!

His attentive care was almost invasive in its delicacy.

The attentiveness that fell on the tiniest details of life.

This was no obligation. This was no quid pro quo.

This was… indulgence! Pampering! Overwhelming affection!

A strange and overwhelming emotion crashed into her chest, scorching and disorienting. She looked down at the pot’s warm surface, fingers curling, her cheeks uncontrollably flushed.

The hard shell inside her heart, called “discomfort,” cracked open with a clear and dangerous fissure. Something was breaking free uncontrollably through that crack, trembling with the thrill of spring’s first sprouts.

Who was he really? What secrets lay behind this “surprise”?

Clutching the watering pot tightly, Ling Yu realized, clearer than ever, that her curiosity and desire to explore this contract husband had grown like wild grass, completely drowning out the boundaries of that contract paper.