Rain tapped lightly against the tall windows of the Li family residence, casting ripples of shadow across the living room's polished marble floor. A vase of peonies sat on the center table, their soft pink petals drooping under the weight of time—just like Li Wei’s heart.

He sat on the edge of the velvety couch, hands folded tightly in his lap. His father, Li Jiansheng, stood before him, arms crossed and voice stern.

“You will marry him, Wei. The contract is already signed.”

Li Wei’s soft eyes widened in disbelief. “What…? I thought—I thought the arrangement was with the Zhao family’s daughter…”

“There is no daughter,” his mother interrupted, voice gentler but resolute. “Zhao Yan is the heir. And the Zhao Group is in trouble. So are we.”

Li Wei’s heart sank. Not only was he being married off like some commodity, but to a man. And not just any man—but Zhao Yan. The man he once saw on a magazine cover and found too handsome to be real. Cold eyes, sharp jawline, business genius, and infamous for being heartless.

“But he’s… straight,” Li Wei murmured, his voice barely audible. “He won’t agree to this.”

“He already did,” his father said with finality. “He’s marrying for the merger. And so are you.”

Li Wei looked down. His chest ached. The air around him felt heavier by the second.

“This isn’t love. This isn’t even… fair.”

His mother sat beside him and took his hand gently. “Sweetheart, life isn’t always fair. You don’t have to fall in love. Just get married. Make it work. Do it for the family.”

Li Wei turned his head away, blinking rapidly. He had always known he was different. While his classmates in university talked about crushes on actresses, Li Wei quietly fell for a man two years above him—Chen Yuze. He had never told his parents about the heartbreak, or the late nights crying in silence. And now, he was being thrown into a marriage with a stranger… again without being asked.

---

Across the city, in a sleek black office overlooking the skyline, Zhao Yan removed his tie with a sharp tug.

“So it’s settled?” he asked.

Zhao Qingshan, his father, nodded. “The Li family agreed. The wedding will be in a month. You’ll sign the documents next week.”

Zhao Yan’s jaw tightened. “I’m marrying a man.”

“Yes, and that man comes with a controlling share in Li Studios, the art company with national reputation. You want expansion into cultural markets? This is your fastest way in.”

Zhao Yan scoffed, pouring himself a drink. “And what does he get? A lifetime of being ignored?”

His father’s expression hardened. “He gets the Zhao name. A future without financial struggle. That should be enough.”

“I’m not gay,” Zhao Yan snapped.

His father’s lips curled. “This isn’t about your orientation. This is about legacy. About survival.”

Zhao Yan downed the drink in one gulp, but said nothing more. For a man who had climbed corporate ladders with brutal precision, emotions were distractions. Love, least of all, was irrelevant. If marrying Li Wei saved the Zhao Group and made his empire stronger, then it would be just another transaction.

---

Back at the Li residence, Li Wei sat in his bedroom, hands curled around his sketchbook.

He had once drawn Zhao Yan’s face, after seeing him in a business magazine three years ago. Sharp eyes, unsmiling lips, and an aura of distance. Back then, it was a silly crush. Something unreachable. Safe.

Now, that same man would be his husband.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

---

A week later, the two families met at an upscale restaurant for the official engagement dinner. Li Wei dressed in a soft cream suit, his curls falling gently over his forehead. He looked beautiful, like a fragile porcelain figurine. But his heart thudded nervously in his chest.

Then he saw him.

Zhao Yan walked in like a storm in a tailored black suit. He didn’t even glance at Li Wei. His eyes were on his father, his assistant, the documents. Not once did he look at the man he was supposed to marry.

Li Wei’s stomach twisted.

So this is what it feels like—to fall harder for someone who hasn’t even noticed you exist.

---

“Zhao Yan,” his father said, “this is Li Wei.”

Zhao Yan turned to him for the first time. His eyes flicked over Li Wei’s delicate frame, his soft gaze, his trembling hands. He said nothing.

Li Wei bowed slightly, forcing a smile. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

Zhao Yan gave a small nod, impersonal and cold. “Likewise.”

That was it. No compliment. No warmth. No curiosity.

Li Wei bit his lip and looked away.

The contract was signed that night. A quiet celebration followed with expensive wine and hollow smiles. Zhao Yan didn’t stay long. He left before dessert was served, stating work as an excuse.

Li Wei watched him walk away, and whispered to himself, “He really doesn’t want this.”

But the worst part wasn’t that Zhao Yan didn’t want this marriage.

It was that Li Wei did.

Even if it meant hurting alone.

The bar was lively, wrapped in a haze of low lighting and scattered laughter. Blue and amber lights danced over polished bottles behind the counter. A jazz-pop remix played in the background, mellow but rhythmic, while the scent of cologne, alcohol, and something floral hung in the air.

Zhao Yan walked in alone.

He wasn’t the type to make an entrance—but heads turned anyway. Dressed in a dark blazer and black shirt, he looked like a man carved out of shadow and ambition. He made his way toward the VIP booth where three of his closest friends were already gathered with drinks in hand.

“Look who decided to show up,” Han Qiao grinned, raising a glass. “The man of the hour.”

“Not married yet,” Zhao Yan replied coolly, slipping into the booth.

Jin Rui laughed. “Close enough. One week left, right?”

Zhao Yan didn’t respond.

A round of drinks was served, and idle conversation circled for a while—business, clients, a scandal involving someone’s assistant—until the topic shifted again.

“So…” Han Qiao leaned in with a mischievous gleam. “We heard a little rumor about your fiancée.”

Zhao Yan’s gaze didn’t even flicker. “It’s not a fiancée.”

“Right. Because it’s a guy,” Jin Rui cut in. “I thought it was a joke at first, but it’s real, huh? You’re actually marrying a man.”

Zhao Yan lifted his water glass, unbothered. “It’s a business arrangement. That’s all.”

“You always liked girls though,” Han Qiao said, genuinely confused. “Now suddenly you're engaged to some guy from an art family? And I heard he’s… well, gay. Openly.”

“Apparently,” Jin Rui added with a low whistle, “he’s also insanely good-looking. Like the kind of pretty that makes even straight men question life. Cute, soft-spoken, delicate. The full package.”

Zhao Yan didn’t react. He stared at the condensation on his glass for a long second before replying, “It’s a contract. Three years. That’s it. After that, we go our own way.”

“But doesn’t that feel weird?” Han Qiao asked. “Living with someone who might actually fall for you?”

Zhao Yan’s tone was clipped. “He won’t.”

There was a brief pause.

“Confident,” Jin Rui chuckled.

Just then, a tall woman in a glittering red dress slid up to the table. Her eyes were on Zhao Yan from the moment she entered. She leaned casually against the edge of the booth, letting her perfume drift toward him.

“Zhao Yan?” she purred. “I’ve seen you in the business section. Didn’t know you came to places like this.”

He gave her a brief glance, impassive. “I usually don’t.”

She took that as an invitation and sat beside him, brushing her fingers against his sleeve. “Mind if I join you?”

Zhao Yan shifted away almost imperceptibly. “I do.”

The rejection was polite, cold, and final.

The woman blinked, confused, then stood with a pout and walked away without another word.

His friends looked at him, stunned.

“You didn’t even let her finish her drink,” Han Qiao said, shaking his head. “You’ve really changed.”

“Or,” Jin Rui added thoughtfully, “you’re more affected by this marriage than you let on.”

Zhao Yan didn’t answer.

The music played on, low and smoky. Outside the glass wall, soft rain started falling, painting streaks on the window. The world felt a little more muted.

Zhao Yan stared into the ice of his untouched drink, and for just a fleeting moment, the image of Li Wei's gentle eyes surfaced in his mind—fragile, unsure, and oddly sincere.

But he blinked it away.

One week. Just one more week, and this obligation would begin.

And three years later?

He wouldn’t even remember what color Li Wei’s eyes were.

The wedding day

The grand hall was dressed in white and silver, like winter frozen in time. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above like stars locked behind glass. Rows of orchids lined the aisle, their petals trembling gently beneath the breeze of the air-conditioning. Every detail had been curated to perfection—yet the atmosphere felt cold.

Too cold.

In a private dressing room tucked behind the altar, Li Wei sat silently before a tall, ornate mirror. He wore an ivory-white wedding suit tailored perfectly to his slim figure. The jacket shimmered faintly under the lights, its subtle embroidery curling like vines across his sleeves. A delicate brooch, shaped like a plum blossom, was pinned just above his heart—his mother’s idea.

His hair was neatly curled, soft waves falling gently across his forehead. Pale skin, rosy lips. Beautiful. Almost unreal.

And yet…

He couldn’t smile.

Li Wei stared at his reflection, hands resting quietly on his lap. The corners of his mouth curled faintly, trying to feign happiness. But his eyes betrayed him.

Does this really count as a wedding?

Will this ever become real… or am I just a name in a contract?

He remembered Zhao Yan’s distant face at the engagement dinner. The way he hadn’t even looked at him. The way he walked out before dessert. Since that day, not a single message. Not a call. Not a glance. And now… they were about to be married.

Not as lovers. Not even as friends.

Just two strangers tangled in duty.

A soft knock came at the door.

“It’s time,” said the assistant, bowing.

Li Wei stood, smoothing his jacket. He took one last look in the mirror, then followed them down the hallway, every step heavier than the last.

---

The ceremony was grand.

Dozens of guests filled the hall—business elites, family friends, reporters, and investors. Cameras flashed. Champagne glasses clinked. But beneath the celebration, whispers moved like shadows.

> “That’s the groom? The one marrying Zhao Yan?”

“He’s so delicate… looks like he’d break if you touched him.”

“They say he’s gay, you know. Poor thing. Zhao Yan doesn’t even swing that way.”

“Still, look at him. Even the women here are jealous.”

Li Wei walked down the aisle with a soft gaze and a graceful posture, never quite meeting anyone’s eyes. He could feel them watching him—commenting on him like he was an art piece in a gallery.

At the altar stood Zhao Yan.

Tall, sharp, and distant.

He wore a sleek black suit with a high-collared shirt, no tie. His presence was commanding, his face emotionless. Not even a flicker of warmth crossed his eyes as Li Wei approached. He stood like a statue, untouched by the occasion.

When Li Wei took his place beside him, Zhao Yan didn’t even turn his head.

The officiant began to speak.

Words passed—about unity, promises, and partnership. But Li Wei barely heard them. All he noticed was the silence between their breaths. The cold space between their hands.

When the officiant finally said, “You may kiss your partner,” all heads turned toward them.

Zhao Yan didn’t move.

He simply bowed slightly, extending a formal hand to Li Wei like it was a business handshake. Li Wei reached out, fingers trembling, and accepted it.

No kiss.

Not even a smile.

Only silence.

A low murmur spread through the guests. The photographers hesitated before snapping the final pictures. The lack of affection was obvious. Painfully so.

Zhao Yan released his hand quickly, stepping aside.

Li Wei stood alone for a moment, blinking against the lights, the sound of clapping somehow distant. His chest felt tight. He forced a small smile to stay on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

---

Later, at the reception, Zhao Yan stood talking to shareholders. Li Wei sat at the head table, untouched wine in front of him, staring down at the embroidered napkin folded neatly on his lap.

People still whispered.

The food was exquisite. The venue beautiful. But the groom's indifference? Icy.

And all Li Wei could think was—

> If this is what being married feels like... I think I’d rather be alone.

---