Fake Bride, Real Fortune: Unmasking My Husband's Trillionaire Identity

“No change of clothes? If you don’t mind, you can wear mine for now.” The man’s deep, husky voice shattered the silence. Shang Wanxing, flustered, looked up. A clean black men’s T-shirt and a pair of black men’s shorts were thrust into her hands. The dim light in the room made everything feel distant. His powerful hands flashed in front of her, the thick calluses on his fingertips evident. His skin was dark, his arms muscular, resembling towering mountains, exuding an overwhelming aura of masculinity. It was with these hands that, just moments ago, he had lifted her in the pouring rain, trudged through the mud and puddles without a hint of effort, and carried her back home. Clutching the clothes tightly, her ears burned, and finally, she mustered the courage to meet his eyes, to clearly see his face. It was Cheng Mo. Her new husband, whom she had never met before. Tonight was their first encounter, and their wedding night. The torrential rain had trapped her wedding car in the mud, and it was he who had carried her home. He was tall—at least six feet three—and had to stoop slightly to fit inside the low-ceilinged, makeshift home. His features were sharp—thick eyebrows, bright eyes, a high nose bridge, and a face so sculpted it seemed chiseled from stone. His short, spiked hair looked as sharp as a blade, cold and masculine. Earlier, on their way back, he had carried her horizontally in his arms. She had held the umbrella for him, but he had complained that it obstructed his view, coldly instructing her several times to move it further away. In the end, the umbrella had shielded her completely, while half of his body had been drenched by the rain. Now, his soaked vest and shorts clung tightly to his body, tracing the contours of his strong chest muscles, abs, and his powerful legs—an image both intoxicating and overwhelming. His dark eyes, deep and bottomless, swept over her. In that moment, Shang Wanxing inexplicably felt a tightness in her chest. He probably wouldn’t realize she wasn’t the real Shang Yan, just a stand-in, right? If he ever discovered that she was merely the adopted daughter of the Shang family, forced into this marriage, she couldn’t even imagine the consequences. But she wasn’t doing this willingly. In order to force her into marriage, Madam Shang had hidden her acceptance letter and cut off her father’s medical treatment. Her father’s brain surgery had been scheduled with the world’s top neurosurgeons. If they missed this chance, he might never wake up. Only by taking Shang Yan’s place could the surgery go ahead. Her own happiness meant nothing, but her father, Shang Heng, was the most important person in her life—her life-saving benefactor. She couldn’t ignore his fate. Suppressing the emotions rising in her chest, Shang Wanxing tightly gripped the fabric in her hands, glancing around the shabby wedding room. Her face flushed as she quietly said, “I’d like to take a shower first.” The light in the man’s eyes dimmed, and Cheng Mo’s deep, cold voice reached her ears. “The bathroom’s outside. I’ll take you there.” She gritted her teeth, clutching the clothes in her arms as she followed him. The rain had stopped. The small, rural courtyard smelled damp, and the occasional barking of a dog echoed in the distance. The night was pitch black. This was a poverty-stricken area, dozens of kilometers away from the port city. Though she had mentally prepared herself before the marriage, the environment still left her feeling uneasy. The bathroom was rudimentary, simply a shed. Cheng Mo, towering with his long legs, bent down to bring her a kettle of hot water from the kitchen, and turned on the bathroom light for her. “I’ll wait outside.” His voice was low, but his intense gaze didn’t linger on her. Though it felt humiliating, she didn’t refuse his offer to guard the door. The place was too desolate, too dark; bathing alone here would have made her feel unsafe. She carefully locked the wooden door, then began to undress. The thought that a stranger—her new husband—was waiting outside made her skin burn with heat. According to Madam Shang, he was an illiterate, uncouth thug with a violent past, someone who had even killed before, spent time in prison, and only been released six months ago. After being released, he had struggled to find work due to his criminal record, ending up on a construction site, doing manual labor. The marriage contract between the Cheng and Shang families had been set twenty years ago, but how could the proud Shang Yan ever agree to marry into such a poverty-stricken, remote place and bear children for a thug? But Cheng Mo had warned that if the Shang family didn’t honor the contract, he wouldn’t hesitate to return to his old ways and make the Cheng family bury their own. Madam Shang, fearing his ruthlessness, had forced her, the adopted daughter, to take Shang Yan’s place. Though Madam Shang had spoken of Cheng Mo as if he were worthless, tonight, she had felt a warmth and gentleness she hadn’t expected from him. Perhaps he wasn’t the scoundrel the rumors claimed him to be. Maybe he was a good man, someone who would treat his wife like a normal husband would. With that thought, a small sense of comfort settled in her heart. Soon, the sound of running water drifted through the door, clear in the still night air. Cheng Mo stood at the doorstep of the main house, casually removing his soaked vest, revealing his powerful muscles. His towering physique was charged with raw, undeniable masculinity. He filled a bucket with water from the outdoor tap, and poured it over his head. It took only two or three minutes before he was done. His dark eyes caught the fleeting outline of her slender figure through the wooden door. The movement, as if on instinct, made him look away, pulling out a cigarette to light. The faint glow of the cigarette’s ember obscured the darkness in his gaze. Suddenly— Click. The bathroom light went out. A few moments later, her panicked voice came from inside, “Cheng Mo, are you there?” “What happened?” His voice was low and cold, carrying a chill that seemed to match the night. It felt as if everything was going according to his plan. He stepped closer, his shadow towering over the door as he blocked the remaining light from the room. Inside, Shang Wanxing flushed with embarrassment, trying to stop him. “Wait, don’t come in! Has the power gone out?” She fumbled for the light switch, but the space was cramped, and she wasn’t familiar with the layout. In her panic, her foot slipped, and she fell out of the bathroom. “Ah!” The door crashed open with Cheng Mo’s forceful entry. The flimsy lock couldn’t hold him back. He shone the flashlight inside, and his gaze immediately fell on her, naked, huddled in the corner. He clenched his cigarette tighter between his teeth. His long legs moved swiftly, his strong wrist pulling her up from the ground. Shang Wanxing instinctively tried to hold on to him, but she didn’t want him to see her body. However, the flashlight had already revealed everything—what should have been seen, and what shouldn’t. His cold hand gripped her waist tightly, and he asked directly, as if he were ready to fulfill his husbandly duties at that very moment. “Are you done?”