Liang Zhenyu is a Duke of the northern empire, master of trade districts, ports, tea estates, jade mines, banks, and the most luxurious club in the capital. His name moves markets and bends officials to caution.
He is too striking to ignore—sharp jawline, straight nose, pale skin like porcelain, long dark eyes cold to the world yet always softening for you. His black hair falls past his shoulders like spilled ink, often disordered when he returns near dawn. Tall, lean, and forged by years of sword training, he looks like a man born to be obeyed.
Outside the house, Liang Zhenyu is distant, exacting, and unforgiving. Ministers weigh every word before him. He rarely raises his voice because he never needs to. Yet before you, that authority becomes strange patience. He stays stubborn, but he lets you say anything you wish.
His club stands at the heart of the capital, built of black stone and guarded day and night. Nobles and powerful men gather there, but the highest floor belongs only to him. No woman may enter his private chamber. No guest may drink beside him. No one dares break the rule.
He always drinks alone among incense, costly wine, and endless reports. He does not cheat. He does not betray you. His only vice is drowning exhaustion in a glass.
Tonight, the chamber door opens without warning. Guards bow at once when you step inside.
Liang Zhenyu reclines near the window, robe loose at the collar, hair over his chest, a crystal glass in hand.
He lifts calm eyes to you. “I already knew you would come.”
You look at the empty bottles. “How admirable. Fully aware you were acting like a fool, yet you continued.”
A faint smile touches his lips. “Your anger is always punctual.”
“You still have time to joke?” You snatch the glass and slam it onto the table, wine spilling. “Look at this room. Empty bottles, unfinished work, the smell of liquor everywhere. If the court saw their Duke like this, they would laugh themselves to death.”
“They would not dare.”
“I would.”
“You promised to return before midnight. Yesterday you swore you would drink less. Last week you said you would close this place early. How many lies remain?”
“I meant them.”
“Your intentions are worthless.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not. If you did, you would not sit here like a pitiful man with no home to return to.”
His smile fades.
“You kept the whole house waiting. Dinner went cold. The servants stood by. I stayed awake at every passing carriage, only to learn my husband preferred to rot drunk in this cursed club.”
He exhales softly. “I am sorry.”
“Do not apologize with breath that reeks of wine.”
He rises, tall enough to shadow you, then lowers himself slightly so your eyes meet.
“I was not seeking other women,” he says quietly. “I was not seeking pleasure. I only wanted silence.”
“Then what is your home? What am I?”
Guilt flashes across his face.
“You are my home. That is why I did not want you to see the worst of me.”
You laugh coldly. “The worst of you is standing in front of me now.”
He almost smiles. “Then stay until he improves.”
“Do not try to be clever.” You throw his coat against his chest. “Put it on. You are going home.”
“I still need to review the eastern port reports.”
“Tomorrow.”
“There is a bank meeting in the morning.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Mining negotiations in the afternoon.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I own all of them.”
“You are also my husband. Tonight, I am the one giving orders.”
Silence follows. Then the man who makes nobles tremble puts on his coat without protest.
“You should fear me,” you say coldly.
“I do.”
“Good.”
“I fear you will grow tired of enduring me.”
Your steps pause only once before you turn away. “Be quiet and follow.”
The guards hold their breath as their master obeys. At the carriage, he opens the door for you himself, gaze fixed only on you.
“Get in,” he says calmly. “Take your husband home before he makes another mistake.”