Anya lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep far from her eyes. Just a while ago, Zain's mischievous smile had made her heart race—but then, like a cruel reminder, the marriage contract surfaced in her mind.
Zain's words echoed in her ears.
"Just one year, Anya. After that, you go your way, I go mine. I won't have to tolerate you anymore."
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and soaked into the pillow.
"How foolish I am," she whispered to herself. "Sometimes, the way he behaves makes me feel like he cares. But in reality, I'm nothing more than trash to him—something he'll throw out of his life after a year."
Anya had learned one important thing from watching countless K-dramas: how to persuade men.
She made a decision. The next morning, she would put on an act—the Perfect Wife Act—so that Zain would be pleased enough to allow her to go out for dinner that night.
At six in the morning sharp, Anya was already in the kitchen. She prepared Zain's favorite continental breakfast—fresh juice, perfectly toasted bread, and a fluffy omelet.
When Zain walked down the stairs, he froze.
Anya had removed her glasses. Her hair was neatly tied back, and her face carried a gentle smile—the kind worn by a perfectly happy wife.
In an unusually sweet voice, she said,
"Good morning, Mr. Yan. Your coffee is ready. I made all your favorites for breakfast today. Shall I fix your tie?"
Zain stopped in his tracks. He stared at her carefully. The girl who had called him a villain last night—how had she suddenly turned into such a cultured, ideal wife?
Suspicion crept into his eyes.
"Anya… do you have a fever?" he asked. "Or did you break something expensive of mine again this morning?"
"Oh no!" she replied quickly. "I'm just appreciating all the hard work you do. By the way…"
She joined her hands innocently.
"May I please go out for dinner with my friends tonight?"
Zain took a sip of his coffee and leaned closer to her face. His cold eyes scanned her carefully, as if5 trying to read through her mask of innocence.
"So all this was for that one dinner?" he said flatly. "Fine. You're not allowed to go."
Anya didn't give up.
As soon as Zain sat on the sofa, she stood behind him and gently began pressing his shoulders.
In her most innocent voice, she said,
"Boss, you work so hard at the office all day. You must be exhausted. Let me give you a little massage. After all, isn't that a wife's duty?"
Zain closed his eyes. The massage was relaxing—but he knew very well that something was going on in Anya's mind.
Taking a dramatic sigh, she continued,
"You know, Boss, I always dreamed of marrying someone like Kang Tae-moo from Business Proposal. Such a powerful CEO—handsome, rich, just like you. But he never stops his wife, Shin Ha-ri, from going out with her friends. He always lets her live freely. I wish… my husband were like that. Shin Ha-ri is so lucky."
Zain's eyes snapped open. He grabbed Anya's wrist and pulled her toward him.
"So you think I'm inferior to that Kang Tae-moo?" he asked coldly. "Or are you trying to say I'm not a good husband?"
Anya fell silent. The strange glint in Zain's eyes made it hard to tell whether he was angry—or amused.
"Fine," he said at last. "Go to your dinner. But listen carefully to my condition."
His grip tightened slightly.
"You must be inside this house by exactly 10:00 p.m. If you arrive even at 10:01, I'll come there myself to bring you back. And if anyone finds out that you're my wife—remember this—no one can be worse than me."
Anya swallowed hard.
"Ten o'clock?" she whispered. "But dinners usually start late—"
"You have time until 9:59," Zain interrupted. "From 10:00 onward, your time belongs to me. Now leave before I change my mind."
Filled with excitement, Anya rode her scooter toward the restaurant, already imagining how she would complain about Zain to her friends and gossip about K-dramas all night.
But the moment she stepped inside the restaurant, her excitement vanished.
Only Jing and Kaiya weren't there.
Sitting beside Jing was Qian—Zain's right-hand man and Jing's boyfriend. Next to Kaiya sat her husband, Nan Pan.
Anya's face fell.
Her Girls' Night had instantly turned into a double date—and she was the awkward third wheel standing there like an unwanted extra.
What is this?! she screamed internally.
My dream of bad-mouthing Zain has shattered like glass! What are they doing here?!
She shot an angry look at Jing.
Jing smiled innocently.
"Anya! You're here. Surprise, right? I was only going to invite you and Kaiya, but Qian suddenly called."
Qian added seriously, though his eyes sparkled,
"Yes, Anya. The boss suddenly gave me a day off today. He said I work too much and should take my girlfriend out for dinner. So I thought I'd surprise Jing."
Anya understood immediately.
A day off? From Zain Yan?
Impossible.
It was Zain's plan—to make sure Anya couldn't plot anything against him with her friends, and to keep Qian there to keep an eye on her.
She dropped into her chair angrily and glared at the menu.
"That arrogant boss," she muttered. "Using poor Qian as a spy. He must be relaxing at home while ruining my evening."
"Did you say something?" Qian asked.
"No!" Anya replied quickly. "I was just thinking how kind the boss was to give you a day off."
As soon as everyone settled down, Jing fixed her sharp gaze on Anya.
"Enough of that," she said. "Tell me something first. The 'Mrs. Yan' voice I heard from your room last night—whose villain voice was that? I researched all night, but none of the K-drama villains sound as similar to our grumpy boss as that voice did."
Anya's throat went dry. She quickly took a sip of water.
"Oh, Jing… that was from a new independent drama," she lied. "It hasn't been released yet—only the trailer is out. You probably haven't seen it."
Just then, Kaiya touched the fabric of Anya's cardigan thoughtfully. Her husband ran a textile business—she knew fabrics well.
"Anya," Kaiya said slowly, "this fabric… it feels like a blend of pure Italian silk and Kashmiri wool. And these slit pants—don't they look like something from international designer Elia's collection? When did you buy all this? These clothes cost more than three months of your salary."
Cold sweat broke out on Anya's back.
In truth, these clothes had been bought by Zain. After forcing her into the contract marriage, he had sent a personal stylist to completely replace her wardrobe—so that Mrs. Yan would never look ordinary.
She laughed nervously.
"Oh, these?" she said. "I bought them at that sale behind the mall—you know, the one with first copies. They just look real."
Qian turned his face away to hide his laughter.
He knew very well that the "sale" clothes Anya was talking about had been specially ordered from a Paris boutique—items worth as much as a small apartment.
Madam, he thought, if Jing ever finds out that these 'sale' clothes cost a fortune, she'll faint on the spot.