A Contract of Hearts

The air inside the Liang Group headquarters was crisp, clinical, and silent—except for the rhythmic tapping of expensive leather shoes echoing down the marble hallway. Liang Yichen walked like he owned the world, and in many ways, he did. Tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his expression unreadable, he exuded power. Assistants stepped aside with nervous glances as he passed, none daring to meet his eyes. His schedule was packed, his time calculated, and his heart—untouched. He entered the private meeting room, where his lawyer, Mr. Zhang, stood waiting with a folder in hand. “It’s done,” Mr. Zhang said, bowing slightly. “Your grandfather’s will was confirmed this morning. You must marry within thirty days to inherit full control of Liang Group.” Yichen narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “Ridiculous.” “I agree. But without a legal marriage certificate, the board has grounds to contest your position as CEO.” He let out a sharp breath. “So, I marry. For a year. Then divorce.” Zhang hesitated. “That… would fulfill the condition.” Yichen crossed the room and looked out the window, twenty floors above the city. His reflection stared back at him—controlled, logical, alone. “I don’t care who it is,” he said coldly. “As long as she agrees to the contract and signs the NDA.” Unbeknownst to him, someone was listening. --- Xia Wenqing was in the copy room, one floor above, trying to fix the ancient printer that had jammed for the third time that morning. She worked as a temporary assistant for the finance department—low pay, no benefits, but it was better than nothing. She needed the job. Her father’s hospital bills were piling up. The landlord was threatening eviction. And today, she had exactly twelve yuan in her bank account. As she leaned down to yank out a crumpled page, the ceiling vent above her hummed strangely. She heard voices—faint, but clear enough. “…must marry within thirty days…” “…don’t care who it is…” Her eyes widened. Wait—was someone actually saying they needed to marry anyone… just for a year? She paused, heart racing, not believing her ears. --- By lunchtime, the words kept spinning in her mind. Maybe she’d imagined it. Or maybe the stress was finally breaking her brain. She sat on a bench outside the building with a half-eaten sandwich and a headache. “Marry for a year… easy money…” she murmured, laughing bitterly. Then a voice spoke from behind her. “You think marriage is easy money?” She turned around too fast and nearly dropped her food. There he was—him—the man from the elevator, the one everyone whispered about. Liang Yichen. He looked taller up close. Sharper. Eyes like dark glass. Unreadable. Dangerous. “I—uh—no,” she stammered, standing awkwardly. “I was just talking to myself. You know, stress… lunch… life.” He studied her for a moment. “You’re from finance?” “Temporary hire,” she said quickly. “Just three weeks. Copy girl. I refill the printer.” He didn’t smile. “You were near the vent this morning.” Her stomach dropped. Busted. “Did you hear something?” he asked smoothly. She swallowed. “Maybe a little. Not on purpose.” His expression didn’t change. “And now you’re joking about it in public.” “I wasn’t—” She stopped. What was the point of lying? “Look, I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” A pause. Then he said something that shocked her to her core. “Do you want the job?” She blinked. “What job?” “The one you joked about. Marrying me.” Wenqing stared, certain she’d misheard. “I—what?” “I need a wife. On paper. One year. No intimacy, no interference. You’ll be paid monthly. A lump sum after the divorce. I’ll ensure your family is financially secure.” She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Are you serious?” “I don’t joke.” “Why me?” “Because you’re desperate. And smart enough not to ask too many questions.” The wind stirred her hair. She felt dizzy. She thought of her father, pale and coughing in a hospital bed. The nurse bills. The cold rice for dinner. The landlord banging on the door last night. She bit her lip. “How much?” “A million yuan. Total. Half now, half when we file for divorce.” Her knees almost gave out. “But,” he continued, voice like steel, “if you breach the contract, speak to the media, or catch feelings, it’s void.” “Catch… feelings?” she repeated weakly. “I don’t do love, Miss Xia. Only business.” She stared at him. The kind of man who could break hearts without blinking. Ice behind the elegance. And yet here he was, offering a lifeline wrapped in barbed wire. “I need a few hours,” she whispered. “You have one.” --- She walked. Through crowded streets. Past noodle stalls and traffic. Her phone buzzed with reminders: overdue bills, rejected payments, hospital calls. A million yuan. That wasn’t money. It was salvation. But could she live a year as a stranger’s wife? Could she sell her name, her life… her heart? She looked up at the sky, gray and clouded, then back at her cracked phone screen. Dad’s message from yesterday stared at her: “Don’t worry about me. Just live your life, okay?” She closed her eyes. Then turned back toward Liang Group. --- Exactly 57 minutes later, she stood before him again. “I’ll do it,” she said. He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “Good. The contract will be ready tomorrow.” She hesitated. “Do I get… to know anything about you?” “No,” he said. “It’s safer if you don’t.” She bristled. “What if someone asks how we met?” “Make something up. You seem creative.” “And what about your family?” “They’ll believe what I tell them. They always do.” She took a deep breath. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” He finally looked at her—not past her, not through her, but directly at her. And in that moment, for the first time, his voice softened by a fraction. “Me too.”