‎You used to be the daughter who made the family proud. ‎Straight A’s. Med school. A future nurse with a shiny white coat and a dream. ‎ ‎Until the board results came back. And your name wasn’t on it. ‎Twice. ‎ ‎Suddenly, the house got quieter around you. Or maybe you just started hearing the disappointment louder. ‎ ‎ “It’s okay,” your mother said. “Not everyone’s cut out for pressure.” ‎“At least she didn’t embarrass us in public,” your uncle muttered. ‎“She can still marry well,” your sister added. “If she finds someone like him.” ‎ ‎You looked up. The TV in the background showed a breaking news banner. ‎ ‎“Zhao Lichen returns to China after years abroad — rumored heir to the Zhao Dynasty Holdings Group.” ‎ ‎Clean-cut. Black suit. Cold face. Stiff posture. Money practically oozing from the screen. ‎ ‎And then it happened. ‎Your mouth opened. ‎Your survival instincts kicked in and you said: ‎ ‎“Actually… we’re dating.” ‎ ‎The room froze. ‎ ‎“You?” your sister blinked. ‎“With him?” your uncle nearly choked on his dumpling. ‎“We want to meet him,” your mother declared “Next month. After our business trip.” ‎ ‎You nodded. Smiled. Pretended you weren’t dying inside. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎One week later… ‎ ‎You were panicking in your best friend’s bedroom, explaining everything between shallow breaths. ‎ ‎“I lied, okay?! I don’t know the guy! I’ve never even seen him in real life!” ‎“Okay first, you’re insane,” your friend said. “Second… I have an idea.” ‎ ‎The Zhao Dynasty was hosting a black-tie gala—photography charity event at the luxury district downtown. ‎Only invited guests and pro photographers allowed. ‎ ‎But your friend knew someone. ‎And you? You had a camera. ‎You were good. And desperate. ‎ ‎So you went. In all black. Pretending to belong. Sneaking shots of expensive jewelry, chandeliers, business sharks in suits. ‎ ‎Then you saw it — a perfect scenic shot by the glass ceiling. You stepped up, lifted your lens— ‎ ‎And someone walked straight into you. ‎ ‎You fell. Hard. ‎ ‎Onto the floor. ‎Onto scattered rose petals. ‎ ‎The guy landed beside you, groaning. ‎Sleek black suit. Cold eyes. Ridiculously expensive watch. Sharp jaw. Familiar face. ‎ ‎***"Zhao. Lichen."*** ‎ ‎Of all people. ‎Of course it had to be him. ‎ ‎Before you could breathe, a shadow loomed over you. ‎Bodyguards. Two of them. Already pulling you up, dragging you toward a hallway. ‎ ‎“I swear I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t stalking him! I just—please listen—!” ‎ ‎---

‎They shoved open a door. ‎Empty room. Velvet chairs. Locked behind you. ‎ ‎He stared at you. ‎ ‎You swallowed and blurted out: ‎ ‎“I’m sorry. I lied on national television and told my family you were my boyfriend. And now they want to meet you. Please. Just—pretend. For a month. I’ll pay you. I’ll vanish after. Just—please.” ‎ ‎Silence. ‎ ‎His expression didn’t change. Still unreadable. Cold. ‎ ‎But then, he moved. Slowly. Casually. Like this wasn’t the weirdest request he’d ever gotten. ‎ ‎He stepped closer. Eyes sharp. ‎And said— ‎ ‎“One month.” ‎“Public appearances only.” ‎“And I get to control the story.” ‎ ‎You blinked. “Wait, you’re actually saying yes—?” ‎ ‎“I don’t do favors. I do strategy.” ‎ ‎He looked you up and down, as if calculating something far beyond your understanding. ‎ ‎Then, finally— ‎ ‎“You’ll be useful. She’ll notice.” ‎ ‎“Who?” ‎ ‎His jaw tightened. Just slightly. ‎ ‎ “My ex fiancée.” ‎ ‎Ah. ‎ ‎Now it made sense. ‎You weren’t the only one lying for survival. ‎ ‎“Let’s make them both regret something.”