Chapter 2 To Hell with the Fiancé
1236 Words
Cong Yi had always been proud of her driving skills.
In Hong Kong’s elite circles, few dared to challenge her on the road. Even the so-called racing prodigies among the rich young men knew better than to provoke her.
But tonight—
She had to admit it.
The owner of that black Bugatti was on a completely different level.
The storm came as suddenly as it left. The heavy clouds scattered under the cold wind, moonlight spilling through the cracks in the night sky. The wet asphalt reflected distorted streaks of neon light, making everything feel unreal.
Cong Yi sat in her car for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Then she pushed the door open and stepped out.
The two cars—red and black—stood a few meters apart, engines still ticking softly as they cooled.
She studied the man standing beside the Bugatti.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm to the point of indifference.
His gray overcoat hung perfectly from his frame, untouched by the rain. Under the mixed glow of streetlights and billboards, his face was sharp and striking—high brow bones, straight nose, pale skin. His eyes were an unusual gray-blue, deep and unreadable, not quite Asian, not quite Western.
A stranger.
Someone she had never seen in Hong Kong.
“You drive well,” Cong Yi said coolly, breaking the silence. “But not well enough to steal from me.”
The man didn’t react to her tone.
He simply looked at her.
Steady. Unflinching.
“That license plate,” she continued, crossing her arms. “The one auctioned at Yonghui Pavilion this summer. You bought it.”
“Yes.”
“You were the anonymous bidder in the VIP section?”
“Yes.”
Her lips curved into a sharp smile.
She remembered that day vividly.
The moment the plate number 0730 appeared, she had raised her paddle without hesitation. Seven figures. No one dared compete. Everyone knew that date—her birthday.
Everyone except that mysterious caller.
He had pushed the price higher. Again. And again.
Until the hammer fell.
She lost.
And now—
Now the plate was right here, flaunted openly in front of her.
“You like provoking people?” Cong Yi asked lazily.
“No,” the man replied. “I like efficiency.”
She scoffed. “That makes two of us.”
She stepped closer, heels clicking crisply against the wet ground, circling him like a cat assessing prey. Purple silk straps wrapped around her ankles, rain glistening on her exposed skin.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t flinch under her scrutiny.
Up close, she could see it clearly.
Perfect bone structure. Sharp, masculine features. His eyes were cool, restrained, carrying an unshakable sense of control. He was tall—so tall that even in heels, she barely reached his chin.
Annoyingly so.
“You know who I am,” Cong Yi said at last.
“It’s not difficult,” he answered calmly. “Your birthday is public information. So is your reputation.”
Her gaze darkened.
“My reputation?” she repeated softly.
“Yes.”
She laughed—a low, mocking sound.
“So you think throwing money at me makes you special?” she asked. “A car. A plate. Is this how you impress women?”
His expression didn’t change.
“If I wanted to impress you,” he said, “I wouldn’t do it this way.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head. “Then why are you doing it?”
There was a brief pause.
Long enough for the tension to sharpen.
“Because they’re part of your dowry,” he said evenly.
The words landed like a slap.
Her smile vanished.
Dowry.
That single word ignited something sharp and ugly inside her.
She finally understood.
Everything clicked into place—the sudden appearance, the plate, the timing.
Her parents’ precious candidate.
The man they were so eager to marry her off to.
She laughed again, harsher this time.
“So it’s you,” she said. “The Wen family’s golden heir.”
He nodded slightly. “Wen Shiyi.”
She tasted the name on her tongue.
Then spat it out.
“Congratulations,” Cong Yi said coldly. “You’ve officially become the man I hate the most tonight.”
She turned away, reaching for the door of her car.
Wen Shiyi stepped forward—not blocking her, but close enough that his presence pressed down on her senses.
“You can leave,” he said. “But our engagement won’t disappear because you walk away.”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned back, eyes blazing.
“Engagement?” she laughed incredulously. “Who agreed to that? My father?”
He didn’t deny it.
Her anger flared.
“Then you can wait,” she said sharply. “Wait forever. Because I will never marry you.”
The wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face.
She grabbed her shawl from the hood of the car and tossed it aside, chin lifted proudly.
“I despise men who steal from me,” she continued. “Especially those who steal something and then pretend it’s a gift.”
She stepped closer, voice low and dangerous.
“Do you think you’re richer than me?”
“If that’s how you want to interpret it,” Wen Shiyi replied calmly, “then yes.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I’m telling you this clearly,” he continued. “Marrying me will not lower your standard of living. You will still be Cong Yi—respected, powerful, untouchable.”
“Whatever you want,” he added. “I can provide.”
She stared at him, stunned by his sheer audacity.
Arrogant.
Blunt.
And utterly unashamed.
“I don’t need your money,” she snapped. “I was born into wealth. Everything you think you’re offering—I already have.”
He studied her for a moment.
Then he said, “And yet, you’re still angry.”
The words hit their mark.
Her fingers curled into fists.
She turned sharply, pulling open her car door.
“If you truly want to apologize,” she said over her shoulder, “sell me the car. Plate included. Name your price.”
She paused, lips curling.
“I won’t bargain.”
The rain-scented wind surged again, lifting her hair like flames.
For the first time, Wen Shiyi smiled faintly.
“Interesting,” he said. “But no.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Then stop wasting my time.”
She slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.
The engine roared to life.
But before she could drive away—
“Cong Yi.”
Her hand tightened on the steering wheel.
“You can run,” Wen Shiyi said evenly, his voice cutting cleanly through the night. “But eventually, you’ll have to face reality.”
She rolled down the window, eyes sharp as knives.
“Reality?” she sneered. “My reality doesn’t include you.”
He met her gaze steadily.
“We’ll see.”
She sped off, leaving nothing but exhaust and anger behind.
As her taillights disappeared, Wen Shiyi stood alone under the streetlight, rainwater dripping from his coat.
He looked down at his left wrist briefly—where a watch concealed scars no one dared mention.
Then he exhaled slowly.
“She’s more difficult than expected,” he murmured.
But not impossible.
- Writer
