Married to the Cold CEO at 18, I Demand a Divorce at 21—But He Offers Me a Billion Dollars Instead

"Housekeeper Zhuo, this is the divorce agreement. I’ve already signed it. Please help me deliver it to Huo Lingchen." Summoning her courage, the young woman laid the signed document in front of Butler Zhuo. He skimmed through it, and when his eyes caught on a particular line, he let out a long, heavy sigh. "Ah, Yaxuan, how can you be so foolish? Wanting a divorce is one thing—after all, you haven’t seen the young master in three years. But why insist on leaving with nothing at all?" She was still only a university student, an orphan with neither father nor mother. To choose divorce at such a time was unwise enough—why insist on walking away empty‑handed? Nian Yaxuan scratched the back of her head in embarrassment. She never hid anything from the man before her, who had always treated her like a daughter. "I want to... drop out of school." Butler Zhuo stared at her in shock. "Yaxuan, why would you suddenly leave school? Have you run into some kind of trouble?" "No, no, it’s nothing like that. Don’t overthink it, Butler Zhuo. You know me... I don’t like studying. I don’t want to waste any more time on it." In truth, dropping out was only an excuse to fob him off. The real reason was something only she herself knew. Besides, tomorrow—on her twenty‑first birthday—would mark exactly three years since their wedding. At twenty‑one, she was still young. She would not allow a marriage that existed in name only to delay the rest of her life. A husband she had never once laid eyes on was hardly worth any sentimental attachment—especially when their union had been nothing more than an arrangement made by their parents. "Ah. It seems you’ve already decided," Butler Zhuo said at length. "Very well. I’ll give it to the young master today—tomorrow at the latest." "Thank you, Butler Zhuo." Nian Yaxuan let out a breath of relief, a sweet, almost childlike smile blooming on her face. He rose to his feet, his tone turning earnest and grave. "Yaxuan, the young master is a good man. I’ve always felt the two of you would make a fine match. So I still hope you’ll think this over carefully. If you decide to change your mind, call me at any time." A good match? When their marriage was registered, Young Master Huo had been abroad, dining with a president. The entire procedure had been completed without his setting foot in the registry office, and even the "wedding photo" printed on the certificate was a clumsy composite. Over the past three years, he had made it abundantly clear that he had no desire to marry her. What use was being “well matched”? Dragging her thoughts back, Nian Yaxuan drew in a deep breath. "I..." She had already made up her mind, but she swallowed the words that were about to follow. Not wanting to give Butler Zhuo anything more to worry about, she altered them to a simple, "All right." By the following afternoon, Butler Zhuo still had not received a call from her. With a helpless sigh, he took out his phone and dialed a number. "Young Master, there’s a document here that requires your signature." "What document?" The man’s voice was cool, almost detached. Butler Zhuo hesitated. "A divorce agreement." "..." The hand that had been moving steadily across a stack of papers paused mid‑stroke. Oh. He still had a wife. If not for Butler Zhuo’s reminder, he would not even have remembered. "Leave the agreement in my office. I’ll be back in Yuecheng within the next couple of days." "Yes, Young Master." Yuecheng, Blue Night Bar As night slowly fell, more and more young men and women streamed into the bar. Private Room 501 Dozens of bottles—beer, baijiu, champagne—along with an assortment of snacks, lay scattered in cheerful disarray across the tabletops. Usually known to everyone as "Brother Nian," Nian Yaxuan had, in honor of her birthday, made the rare concession of wearing an exquisitely ladylike pale pink lace dress. The sight was so unusual that several people immediately brandished their phones, clamoring to take photos with her. After finally escaping the clutches of a few selfie‑crazed girls, she clinked glasses merrily with a dozen classmates. The birthday presents they had brought formed a colorful pile that filled an entire corner of the room. Slightly drunk, Han Huiming had an arm slung around a buddy’s shoulders and was howling into the microphone, "Love and hate turn in a single instant, raise your cup to the moon, let feelings reach the heavens..." His sharp, high‑pitched voice made several of the girls clamp their hands over their ears. "Hey, hey, enough singing for now—let’s play a game!" cried Zheng Xiaoke, loud and forthright, calling out to the two would‑be vocalists. Zheng Xiaoke was the "boss" of Nian Yaxuan’s dorm—"boss" simply meaning she was the eldest. At her shout, the private room finally quieted down. A dozen boys and girls gathered around the two long tables, looking at her with open expectation. No one was better at dreaming up games than Zheng Xiaoke. "Truth or Dare," she declared, her voice dropping into an air of exaggerated mystery. The others exchanged looks of theatrical disdain. "Sister Zheng, that game is ancient history," someone scoffed. Second‑generation rich kid Han Huiming shot her a dismissive glance. For the sake of this group, he had already reined in most of his wilder habits; he had not expected their idea of entertainment to be this hopelessly tame. Zheng Xiaoke glared right back at him. "It’s Yaxuan’s twenty‑first birthday. We’re going to make things interesting." A sly, conspiratorial smile curved her lips. They were, after all, still students—upstanding citizens, more or less. Their previous rounds of Truth or Dare had been innocuous: hitting the high note in *Qinghai‑Tibet Plateau*, carrying a member of the opposite s*x piggyback around the room, or singing a love duet with a friend. The first dare began under the weight of everyone’s anticipation. Casting a sideways glance at Nian Yaxuan, who was contemplating the red wine in her glass, Zheng Xiaoke gave the group a subtle signal. Everyone understood at once. "Whoever loses this round has to step outside, turn right, and kiss the first person of the opposite s*x they see—on the lips," she pronounced. "If you refuse the dare, you punish yourself with ten shots of baijiu." Now that was asking for trouble. The atmosphere in the room instantly boiled over again; in their eyes, this was far more exciting. Han Huiming snorted but did not comment. He knew these people well enough to trust their basic decency. When the game of rock‑paper‑scissors ended, every gaze converged on a dumbfounded Nian Yaxuan. She stared at her own "scissors," then at the "rock" in Zheng Xiaoke’s hand and the wicked grin on her face. There was no doubt about the loser. "Zheng Xiaoke, I hate you!" Thinking of the terms of the dare, Nian Yaxuan could have cried. She was already unsteady on her feet; she could hardly down another ten shots of baijiu. Amid roars of laughter, they watched as she wobbled her way to the door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open. Turn right. First man she saw. Opposite her stood a tall, broad‑shouldered man. He wore a simple white casual shirt tucked into black dress trousers, polished black leather shoes sinking with quiet elegance into the carpet. His eyes were jet‑black and unfathomably deep; his brows were thick and sword‑straight; the bridge of his nose was high and aristocratic; the line of his lips perfectly sculpted. Every feature proclaimed innate nobility and effortless grace. Yet in those dark eyes lay nothing but ice and indifference, enough to make the usually fearless Nian Yaxuan instinctively want to retreat. "Damn, he’s gorgeous. Brother Nian, hurry up! We’re all watching!" whispered Zheng Xiaoke from where she hid just inside the doorway, softly urging her on. But the man looked strangely familiar. Where had she seen him before? Spurred on by that hushed prompting, Nian Yaxuan took another deep breath. Ignoring the powerful aura that seemed to radiate from him, she stepped forward and blocked his graceful stride. Up close, she too felt that uncanny sense of familiarity. She had definitely seen this man somewhere. But as her body swayed with the wine, the thought was shaken loose and flitted away. Boldly, she moved to stand directly before him, a faint smile touching her lips. Rising on tiptoe, she looped her arms around his neck. A clean, masculine scent enfolded her at once. Huo Lingchen, who had been on his way to the side corridor to make a phone call, suddenly found his path blocked by a young girl. Feeling her abrupt nearness, he drew his finely shaped brows together. And yet… why did this girl’s eyes seem so familiar? Seizing that brief instant while he was still caught in thought, Nian Yaxuan brushed a light, fleeting kiss against the man’s slightly cool, thin lips.