“The President's Surrogacy”.

6

“Zixin, come to the Imperial Hotel on Hong Kong Island tonight.” The voice on the other end of the line was Yaqing's, sharp and hurried. Before Zixin could respond, the call abruptly ended. She stared at her phone, the words echoing in her mind. Why that hotel again? The thought gnawed at her, a sense of unease creeping in—was she being sent to sell herself?

Shaking her head, she tried to dispel her troubling thoughts. This is for my sister, she reminded herself firmly. Gathering her notes and laptop from the desk, she removed her glasses and quickly left the library.

Night fell, and under the dazzling neon lights, the Imperial Hotel stood resplendent, a luminous gem adorning Victoria Harbour.

Inside, the hotel’s grand banquet hall was already filled with notable figures and members of the media, all gathered to witness the Spring Collection unveiling by international fashion powerhouse M. Established in Korea in 188 years ago, M had spent two decades blending Europe’s liberating elegance with Asia’s refined aesthetic, creating a series of groundbreaking designs that positioned it as a leader in global fashion.

The runway was striking in its simplicity. Without extravagant embellishments, it exuded understated elegance. Soft lighting enveloped the hall, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere as the guests mingled in animated clusters.

Among the crowd, a dazzling figure stood out—Luo Yiwei and his wife, Xia Yaqing, the epitome of a perfect couple. With her arm gracefully linked through his, Yaqing’s poised steps and flawless makeup drew every eye, while the aura of her charismatic husband further magnified their allure.

Whispers filled the air.

“It seems the Xia family has truly struck gold.”

“Having a beautiful daughter must indeed be a family’s greatest asset.”

These murmurs of envy, tinged with subtle derision, soon faded into the elegant strains of music filling the hall.

Meanwhile, backstage in the makeup room, chaos reigned. Assistants and staff bustled frantically, the air thick with urgency as they prepared for the grand show.

A junior assistant, clutching a garment sealed in plastic, pushed her way into the makeup room, panting heavily. Approaching a man referred to as “Director,” she addressed him in Korean. “Director, here are the clothes,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow and exhaling in relief. She had made it just in time.

The director—Han Zhengxi—straightened and turned. He took the garment, thanked the assistant with fluent Korean, and swiftly unwrapped it. As he inspected the piece, his brows knitted tightly, and he muttered a single expletive under his breath: “**!”

“Director, is there a problem?” The assistant’s heart sank as he asked, fearing the worst.

While the craftsmanship of the garment was flawless, the issue was glaring—“The size is too small! None of our models can wear it, and it’s a finished piece, completely unalterable.” Han Zhengxi pressed a hand to his temple. His assistant, Jin, vocalized the same concern, confirming his fears.

“Unbelievable.” The assistant sank into a chair, overwhelmed with guilt. How had he overlooked such a critical detail? The international models hired for the show were all Western, naturally larger in frame than their Eastern counterparts.

Han Zhengxi patted the assistant on the shoulder, signaling him not to blame himself entirely. Turning to Jin, he instructed, “Contact the agencies and see if there’s a smaller-framed model available.”

Jin immediately began making calls, but each one ended with disappointment. Returning with a grim expression, he reported, “None of the agencies can provide a suitable model on such short notice.”

Faced with a dilemma, Han Zhengxi made a swift decision. Striding toward the door, he announced, “Finish the preparations here. I’ll find a solution.”

At that moment, a taxi pulled up outside the hotel. Xia Zixin stepped out, gazing up at the grand structure before her. The four gilded characters of the hotel's name seemed to mock her unease. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath before entering the lobby.

Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone only to discover it had run out of battery. With no other choice, she approached the front desk.

“Good evening, miss. How may I assist you?” The receptionist’s voice was polite and professional.

“I was wondering if you could…” Zixin hesitated. Yaqing had warned her to keep a low profile. Asking the staff to locate her sister might draw unnecessary attention. Before she could decide, a man rushed to the desk.

“Is the manager available?” The man’s Mandarin was halting but earnest, and as he leaned forward, his shoulder accidentally brushed Zixin’s. A gust of air swept his bangs aside, revealing a prominent birthmark on his temple.

The receptionists exchanged fleeting glances but maintained their composure, their attention quickly shifting to the man’s striking appearance.

“I’m sorry!” The man switched to English in his flustered state.

“It’s fine.” Zixin looked up—and their eyes met.

It’s him!

It’s her!

The realization struck them simultaneously.

Flustered, Zixin turned away, unwilling to engage. “I…” She started to speak but was interrupted by the receptionist’s sudden indifference. Ignoring Zixin, the woman smiled at the man and asked, “Mr. Han, how may we assist you? Would you like us to relay a message to the manager?”

Growing anxious, Zixin blurted, “Excuse me, could you tell me where the banquet hall is?” She refrained from mentioning Yaqing, opting instead to find her on her own.

“Do you have an invitation?” The receptionist’s tone turned curt, eyeing Zixin’s casual attire with suspicion. “Our venue doesn’t admit paparazzi.”

“Paparazzi?” Zixin exclaimed, flustered. “I’m not with the press! I’m just here to find someone—”

Before she could finish, a hand suddenly rested on her shoulder. She froze, looking up to see Han Zhengxi grinning down at her.

“She’s with me,” he said, switching to a mix of English and Mandarin. “Will that suffice?” Without waiting for a response, he guided Zixin toward the banquet hall.

Baffled, Zixin glanced back at the receptionist, whose expression mirrored her own confusion. She yanked her arm free and stopped abruptly. “What are you doing?”

Han Zhengxi’s smile widened as he rested his hand on her shoulder again, his eyes appraising her. “I need your help,” he said confidently. From the moment he saw her, he had been sizing her up—her frame was exactly what he needed.