Blazing Contract: The Star in the Domineering CEO's Palm

The rain in Singapore that night was brutal—cold, heavy, and unforgiving. It beat against the windows of "Evening Star Design Studio" so hard Su Wan could barely hear herself think. She stood in the doorway, her cheap jacket soaked through, staring at the bright red seal on the glass door. The words "PROPERTY SEIZURE ORDER" felt like a punch to the gut. Inside, the studio was a mess. Half-finished silver pendants with Nyonya patterns lay on the workbench, loose South Sea pearls rolled around a plastic tray, and a crumpled sketch of a necklace was tucked under a stack of unpaid bills. Her mom’s old sewing machine, the one she’d gotten for her 20th birthday, sat quiet in the corner. Yesterday, this place had been buzzing—her two employees laughing, tools clinking, music playing. Today, it was dead quiet. "Ms. Su?" Xiao Yu, her 19-year-old assistant, stood behind her holding a handful of envelopes. Her voice was shaky. "The suppliers keep calling. They say if we don’t pay by Friday, they’ll take us to court." Su Wan took the envelopes, her fingers trembling. (5k for silver wire, )8k for pearls, $12k for the gemstones she’d ordered for a bridal set. She’d emptied her savings, maxed out her credit cards, and begged every family member she had. Nothing. Not even close to enough. And then there was her dad. The hospital had called an hour ago. Heart attack, they said. Emergency bypass surgery needed—$50k deposit upfront. Fifty thousand. Might as well have been a million. Her mom had been hysterical on the phone, and Su Wan had promised she’d fix it. But how? "It’s my fault," Xiao Yu mumbled, staring at her shoes. "I shouldn’t have let Chen Kai take those design files last week." Su Wan cut her off. "Don’t. I need you to go home—now. I’ll lock up here." She didn’t have the energy for guilt. Chen Kai, her former business partner, had quit three days ago claiming "creative differences." The next morning, a rival studio dropped a collection identical to theirs. The client bailed, the media called it plagiarism, and the tax office showed up with the seal. She knew he’d betrayed her, but proving it would have to wait. Right now, her dad was dying. Xiao Yu hesitated, then nodded. "Call me if you need anything. Anything." Once she was gone, Su Wan slid down the wall and buried her face in her hands. She’d worked three years for this studio—18-hour days, skipping meals, sleeping on the floor during deadlines. All to make her dad proud. He’d always said, "Follow your passion, Wanwan." But passion didn’t pay for heart surgery. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—12% battery, screen cracked from when she’d dropped it that morning. She scrolled through contacts, past everyone who’d already said no, until she stopped at a name she never thought she’d use: Li Jin. Obsidian Capital. The British-Chinese tycoon who owned half of Southeast Asia’s luxury and tech businesses. She’d met him once, at a design show last year. He’d been standing alone in a tailored suit that probably cost more than her studio, staring at Malay silverwork. She’d babbled about her designs blending cultures, and he’d just nodded—cold, quiet, like she wasn’t even there. She’d left humiliated, sure she’d never see him again. But tonight, he was her last shot. She’d heard he was hosting a gala at Marina Bay Sands—some charity thing for rich people. Maybe if she could get in, make him listen, he’d lend her the money. Or invest. Or do something. It was stupid, desperate, but it was all she had. She stood up, wiped rain from her face, and ran to the bus stop. Her shoes squelched in the mud, and she ignored the weird looks from other passengers when she climbed on. She didn’t care about being soaked, about looking like a mess. All she cared about was getting to that gala and saving her dad. Forty minutes later, she stood outside Marina Bay Sands. The hotel’s three towers glowed against the dark sky, and the gala entrance was guarded by two huge guys in black suits. Guests in gowns and tuxedos laughed as they walked the red carpet, holding champagne. Su Wan felt like a ghost in her jeans and wet jacket. She walked up to one guard. "Excuse me, I need to see Mr. Li Jin. It’s an emergency." The guard looked her up and down, sneering. "Invitation?" "No, but my dad’s in the hospital—" "Beat it," he said, stepping in front of her. "Mr. Li doesn’t have time for… this." He waved a hand at her clothes. Su Wan’s temper flared. She heard her phone buzz again—probably her mom. She spotted a service door around the side and made a split decision. She ducked under the guard’s arm and ran. "Stop her!" She didn’t look back. She pushed through the service door, ran past waiters carrying trays, and up two flights of stairs. She followed the sound of music until she reached a set of double doors. She took a breath, wiped her face, and pushed them open. The ballroom was massive. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, a jazz band played on stage, and waiters passed around fancy snacks. Everyone looked happy, like the world outside wasn’t falling apart. Su Wan felt completely out of place—but she didn’t have time to freeze. She scanned the room until she saw him. Li Jin was by the bar, talking to a group of men in suits. He was taller than she remembered, with broad shoulders and dark hair that fell over his forehead. He wore a black tuxedo with no tie, sleeves rolled up to show a silver watch. Even from across the room, he looked cold and in control. She weaved through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers. She was almost to him when someone shouted, "Look out!" She turned just in time to see a guy in a hoodie lunging at Li Jin with a knife. The room went quiet—no one moved. Su Wan acted without thinking. She grabbed the metal design ruler she’d stuffed in her pocket that morning and swung it at the guy’s arm. He yelped and dropped the knife, which clattered across the floor. "What the hell?!" he snarled, turning on her. "Get away from him," Su Wan said, her voice shaking but steady. Before he could move, security tackled him to the floor. The room exploded—people screaming, pulling out phones to record. Su Wan stood there, trembling, holding the ruler. She looked down and saw blood on her arm—she’d scraped it on the guy’s jacket. "Are you okay?" The voice was low and calm, right behind her. She turned to face Li Jin. He was staring at her arm, his eyebrows furrowed. His face was still blank, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. "I’m fine," she said. "Just a scratch." He didn’t say anything. He gently took her arm to look at the wound, then called across the room, "Zhang! First-aid kit." A man in a suit nodded and ran off. Li Jin let go and stepped back. He looked her over—wet hair, muddy shoes, the ruler in her hand. "You’re Su Wan," he said. Not a question. She nodded, surprised he remembered. "We met at the design show last year." "I remember." He paused. "What are you doing here? You’re not dressed for a gala." Su Wan’s throat felt tight. She had to say it—had to ask for help. "My dad’s in the hospital. Heart attack. He needs surgery, and I don’t have the money. My studio’s been shut down—someone framed me for plagiarism. I didn’t know who else to turn to. I heard you were here, and I thought…" She trailed off, embarrassed. She sounded like a beggar. Li Jin was quiet for a long time. He stared at her, and she couldn’t read his face. The room was still chaos, but it felt like just the two of them. Finally, he spoke. "I can help you." Su Wan’s heart jumped. "Really?" "One condition." He leaned in a little, his voice lower. "Marry me. For a year. A contract. I’ll pay your dad’s bills, get your studio back, and clear your name. In return, you act as my wife—go to events with me, meet my family, get them off my back about settling down. After a year, we divorce. No strings." Su Wan stared at him. A contract marriage? She’d imagined him lending her money, or investing—not this. "Why me?" "Because you just saved my life," he said, like it was obvious. "And you’re not like the other women who throw themselves at me. You’re desperate, but not greedy. You have a reason to need this—and a reason to walk away when it’s over." He held out his hand. "Deal?" Su Wan looked at his hand, then at her own—scraped, shaking, still holding the ruler. She thought of her dad in the hospital, of her studio being taken away, of the hopelessness she’d felt an hour ago. This was crazy. Insane. But it was her only chance. She took his hand. His palm was warm, his grip strong. "Deal," she said.