Marriage Under Daylight

The afternoon sun blazed relentlessly outside. It was already past noon when the grand quartz clock in the central hall of the Cong Mansion struck twelve, its deep, heavy chime echoing through the entire estate. Yet even a sound powerful enough to wake the whole house failed to stir the woman sleeping in the southeast master bedroom on the third floor. Cong Yi lay curled beneath silk sheets, fast asleep. The night before, she had attended a friend’s bar opening. One drink led to another, music thundered, bodies pressed close, and she danced with her girlfriends until four or five in the morning. After that, she drove her red beast of a sports car through the city at reckless speed, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. Back home, she removed her makeup, finished her skincare routine, poured herself a glass of warm red wine, and slipped into bed, falling asleep under the haze of alcohol without a single lingering thought. The clock’s chime finally reached her ears. In her dream, she turned over lazily, curling deeper into the sheets, unwilling to wake. A knock sounded at the door. “Sis! Are you up yet?” Cong Rong’s voice came from outside, sharp and impatient. No answer. On the bed, Cong Yi frowned, annoyed by the noise. She lifted a pillow and pressed it over her ears, rolling onto her side without opening her eyes. “Jiejie! Wake up already!” Cong Rong knocked harder. “Did you forget? The Wen family is coming over today. We’re having dinner together!” The words hit instantly. Cong Yi’s drowsiness vanished. She froze for two seconds—then shot upright in bed, kicking the silk quilt aside. Her brows knitted sharply as she rubbed her eyes, irritation flashing across her face. On the white carpet beside the bed lay the sapphire-blue haute couture dress she had worn the night before. The matching sapphire earrings were tossed carelessly on the nightstand, still untouched. She’d been too drunk to remember closing the curtains. Now, harsh sunlight poured through the window, glinting off the gemstones and casting sharp blue reflections across the room, adding a dangerous brilliance to the otherwise serene space. Cong Yi jumped out of bed, crossed the room, and yanked the door open. “What did you just say?” she snapped. “Who’s coming?” Her hair was loose and unstyled, falling over her shoulders in natural waves, not messy—just effortlessly indulgent. She wore a black lace backless nightdress with butterfly-shaped detailing, barefoot on the spotless carpet. Each toe was painted a vivid rose pink. She stood there, clearly displeased. “The Wen family,” Cong Rong said quickly. “Today’s the first time your fiancé is coming over. Mom’s been busy since morning, and you’re still asleep!” “Fiancé?” Cong Yi scoffed. “Since when did I agree to marry him?” Her phoenix eyes lifted slightly, sharp with mockery. She tilted her chin, disdain written plainly across her face. “And who said he’s allowed in this house?” “Dad and Mom invited him,” Cong Rong replied. “Is the whole Wen family coming?” “No, just… him.” Cong Yi’s gaze hardened. “Cong Rong, I’ll say this once,” she warned coldly. “He is not your brother-in-law. I don’t have a fiancé.” She turned away mid-sentence, flicking her long hair back. Pulling off the pale pink silk ribbon from her wrist, she loosely tied her hair into a lazy knot, exposing her smooth back and delicate shoulder blades before strolling back into the sitting area outside her bedroom. A bottle of champagne sat untouched on the glass coffee table—last night’s gift from her friend. She collapsed onto the leather sofa, crossing her pale, slender legs with careless elegance. With practiced ease, she popped the cork and dropped a few ice cubes into a crystal flute. Ice clinked sharply. She poured half a glass and took a slow sip. “Dom Pérignon, 2000,” she murmured approvingly. “Good taste.” She glanced at Cong Rong. “Want some?” “You know I don’t drink,” Cong Rong muttered. “I’ve done my job. If you don’t get up, Mom’s coming herself.” With that, she turned and left. Cong Yi watched her go, then drained the rest of her champagne in one smooth swallow. Her phone buzzed. Are you coming to Yaya’s birthday party tonight or not? Without hesitation, Cong Yi typed back: I’m in. Send the address. Leaving now. She tossed the phone aside and headed for the bathroom, casually undoing the ties at her waist as she walked. The lace slid down her body and pooled at her feet. She did need to get ready. Just not for her so-called fiancé. After a long rose-scented bath and meticulous grooming, Cong Yi slipped into a custom-made Alisa dress delivered just yesterday. Purple silk heels wrapped around her ankles, sharp and elegant. While her mother was busy overseeing dinner preparations, Cong Yi stepped on the gas and drove straight out of Deep Water Bay. Face? Manners? A so-called “welcome dinner”? And that man—whose name she hadn’t even bothered to remember? To hell with all of it. Dusk settled slowly, the sky dyed a turbulent gray-blue. Winter in Hong Kong wasn’t particularly cold, but the wind carried a sharp edge. Her red Maserati roared to life, the modified engine screaming as she pushed it to its limit. The sound of burning money thrilled her. Her mood lifted instantly. She reached up, pulling the ribbon from her hair. Long black waves flew free, scented with heavy black opium perfume, streaming behind her in the night wind. Tonight was Shen Xiya’s birthday party. As the Shen family’s fourth daughter—and one of the few women in Hong Kong capable of rivaling Cong Yi—Shen Xiya lived for extravagance and attention. The two had never quite gotten along. Normally, Cong Yi wouldn’t bother attending. But tonight? Anything was better than running into that “fiancé.” Before leaving, she’d lingered in her jewelry vault, eventually selecting a honey-gold cat’s eye ring—originally a gift from the Wen family months ago. A beautiful stone. Useless to her. Perfect for regifting. At the party, familiar faces surrounded her. Shen Xiya appeared moments later, glowing in red silk and rubies. “Happy birthday,” Cong Yi said coolly, handing over the box. Xiya smirked as she opened it. “I thought you’d be busy planning your wedding.” Cong Yi didn’t bother responding. The teasing continued. Questions. Curiosity. Speculation about the mysterious Wen heir. Finally, irritated beyond patience, Cong Yi stood. “Go see him yourselves,” she snapped. “Fly to Beijing if you’re that curious.” Laughter followed. She left the party early. The wind outside was colder now. She glanced at her phone—missed calls flooded the screen. She ignored them, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. She wasn’t going home. At least—not yet. She sped through the city again, letting anger and frustration fuel her recklessness. Meanwhile, back at the Cong Mansion, dinner sat untouched. Cong Minxing forced a polite smile as he explained, “Yi had an unexpected engagement tonight. She may be late.” Wen Shiyi listened calmly, unbothered. “No problem,” he replied evenly. “I’ll be staying in Hong Kong for a while. We’ll have time.” He was courteous. Impeccable. Only after leaving did he check his phone. A headline flashed across the screen. Heiress or Party Girl? Cong Family’s Former Successor Caught Street Racing Late at Night Wen Shiyi stared at the photo. His expression didn’t change. “Get the car ready,” he said quietly. The night deepened. At Victoria Harbour, Cong Yi continued racing through the streets when suddenly— A black shadow surged up beside her. She stiffened. The car was unmistakable. A black Bugatti. Rare. Powerful. Untouchable. Even more striking— The license plate. The same number. Her birthday. Anger flared. The car accelerated. So did she. Red and black streaked through the night, engines roaring, wind screaming, rain suddenly pouring from nowhere. Lightning split the sky. They raced until the rain stopped as abruptly as it began. The black Bugatti won. It slid to a smooth stop ahead. The door opened. A tall man stepped out, dressed in a gray overcoat, standing beneath the moonlight with quiet dominance. Cong Yi got out of her car. They faced each other. She looked at him. Foreign features. Sharp bone structure. Gray-blue eyes. Unfamiliar. And dangerously calm. “Is that license plate from the summer auction?” she demanded. “Yes.” “You were the one who outbid me?” “Yes.” Her smile turned cold. “You knew it was my birthday.” “I did.” He met her gaze steadily. “Then give it to me,” she said mockingly. “Along with the car.” The man’s lips curved faintly. “Come with me,” he said evenly. “If you’re still unhappy after, we’ll call off the engagement.” Her blood ran cold. “…What did you say?” He stepped closer. “I’m Wen Shiyi,” he said quietly. “Your fiancé.”