The hospital corridor smelled like disinfectant and despair.
Lin Xiaoyu stood outside Room 307, her back pressed against the cold wall, fingers clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. The white light above her head flickered faintly, making her already pale face look even worse.
Inside the room, her mother lay unconscious.
Thin. Fragile. Motionless.
Machines surrounded the bed, their steady beeping the only proof that she was still alive.
Xiaoyu lowered her head, biting her lip hard.
The doctor's words echoed mercilessly in her mind.
"The surgery must be done within three days."
"Two hundred thousand upfront."
"If the payment is delayed, we can't guarantee the outcome."
Three days.
Two hundred thousand.
She laughed softly, the sound broken and bitter.
Since when had time ever waited for people like her?
Her father had died five years ago, leaving behind debts, lawsuits, and a ruined family. Relatives who once smiled at her now avoided her like a plague. Friends disappeared the moment money became involved.
Xiaoyu had sold everything she could sell.
Her savings were gone. Loans were rejected. Even dignity had a price — and she had already paid it.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Unknown Number.
She frowned. For a moment, she considered ignoring it. But something in her chest tightened, an instinct she couldn't explain.
She answered.
"Lin Xiaoyu," a man's voice said calmly. "I have a proposal."
Her brows knitted. "You have the wrong number."
"No," he replied. "I don't."
She straightened. "Then you should stop calling me."
"There's no need to be impatient," he said, unhurried. "You're short on time. And money."
Her heart skipped.
"…Who are you?"
"You'll find out soon," he said. "Come to Shen Corporation. Top floor. Ten minutes."
The call ended.
Xiaoyu stared at the dark screen. Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white.
Ten minutes later, she stood in the lobby of Shen Corporation.
Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling. The marble floor reflected her worn shoes and cheap clothes with cruel clarity. People in tailored suits passed by, each of them exuding confidence and wealth she didn't belong to.
She felt out of place.
An assistant led her straight to the top floor.
The moment the office doors opened, silence rushed to greet her.
Behind a massive desk sat a man in a black suit.
He didn't stand when she entered.
Tall. Composed. Cold.
His facial features were sharp, almost indifferent, and his eyes were focused on the document in his hands, as though nothing else in the room mattered.
"Sit," he said without looking up.
Xiaoyu didn't move.
"I don't have time for games," she said flatly. "Say what you want."
That finally made him lift his head.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his dark eyes.
Surprise.
Then it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Good," he said calmly. "I dislike weak women."
He placed the document down and slid it across the desk toward her.
"Marry me."
The words hit her like a slap.
"…What?"
"A legal marriage," he continued, as if discussing the weather. "One year. No love. No interference in my private affairs. You will live in my house and appear when necessary."
Xiaoyu let out a short laugh. "Are you insane?"
"And why would I agree?" she asked coldly.
He tapped the contract lightly with his finger.
"Because I'll pay for your mother's surgery," he said. "Every expense. Including future treatment."
Her breath hitched.
So he knew.
Xiaoyu lowered her gaze to the contract. The words blurred slightly as her hands trembled despite her effort to stay calm.
Then her eyes froze on the name at the bottom.
Shen Yichen.
Her vision darkened.
Five years ago.
A courtroom filled with accusations.
Her father kneeling on the floor, his back bent under shame.
A company collapsing overnight.
A man walking away without once looking back.
That name had been carved into her nightmares.
Slowly, Xiaoyu raised her head.
Shen Yichen was already watching her.
"Do you recognize me?" he asked quietly.
Her heart screamed.
Hatred surged, sharp and uncontrollable.
But her face remained expressionless.
She picked up the pen.
"No," she said softly. "I don't."
The pen moved.
Ink met paper.
And with one signature, she married the man who ruined her life.