Chapter Eight: The Line Between Real and Pretend
1591 Words
I avoided him the next morning.
Not intentionally at first. I just… needed time. Space to think. To breathe.
But the truth was, the kiss had cracked something open inside me. Something I hadn’t been ready for.
I’d gone to bed with my fingers still tingling, lips sore from the memory. And now, in the gray light of dawn, I felt like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t understand.
Because what if this wasn’t pretend anymore?
What if it never really had been?
I sat at the breakfast table, staring down at the congee the housekeeper had prepared. I hadn’t even heard her come in this morning. My mind had been too loud.
I poked at the food, appetite gone.
Zihan hadn’t come out of his room yet—or maybe he’d already left without saying goodbye. The thought sent a pang through my chest, sharp and sudden. I hated that it affected me. That I even cared.
I was supposed to be the placeholder. The fake fiancée. The cover story.
So why did it feel like every moment with him mattered too much?
Why did my heart skip when I remembered the way he’d looked at me before he kissed me? Like he was choosing me, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
I pushed the bowl away and stood.
I needed air.
I found myself walking without a destination.
Just moving through the city, letting the sound of horns and voices wash over me, trying to drown the confusion in something louder.
Everything felt hazy. Unreal.
Maybe it was because this whole relationship had always been built on a lie. Maybe that lie was just starting to rot from the inside out. Or maybe it was turning into something dangerously close to truth.
Either way, I couldn’t pretend nothing had changed.
Not after that kiss.
Not after the way he looked at me like I was more than a contract.
I found myself near a park and sat on one of the stone benches beneath a willow tree, watching the world pass me by. Children chased bubbles. An old couple fed the pigeons. Life moved on, unaware of the storm in my chest.
“Li Xue.”
The sound of my name cut through the noise, low and familiar.
I turned, startled.
Wu Zihan stood behind me, hands in his pockets, eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his dark coat.
I blinked. “How did you find me?”
He walked closer. “You’re not hard to find when you’re trying to disappear.”
His voice was unreadable. Calm. But there was a tension in his shoulders that said more than his words.
“You left early,” I said, turning back to the path.
“So did you.”
A pause.
“I needed space,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
Another pause.
“But space doesn’t erase what happened.”
I bit my lip. “I wasn’t trying to erase it.”
“Then what were you doing?”
I turned to him. “I don’t know. Thinking. Processing. Trying to understand what this is.”
He exhaled slowly. “It’s complicated.”
“No, Zihan. It’s not. It’s only complicated if we keep pretending we don’t feel something when we clearly do.”
His eyes met mine. Sharp. Bare. “Do you feel something?”
I hesitated.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The word hung between us like a confession. Like a dare.
His jaw flexed, and for a moment, I thought he might say something. But instead, he sat beside me, staring out at the same path I had just been watching.
“My father once told me emotions are liabilities,” he said after a moment. “He said, ‘The moment you start to care about someone is the moment you give them the power to destroy you.’”
“And do you believe that?”
“I used to.”
“And now?”
He turned his head, eyes on me.
“Now, I’m afraid he might have been right.”
His voice was soft. Wounded.
“Is that what this is then?” I asked. “You’re afraid I’ll destroy you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself from letting you in, even if it kills me.”
The breath caught in my throat.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered.
“Then don’t run from me.”
I looked down at my hands, fingers knotted together.
“Yunmei won’t stop, will she?”
“No.”
“Your mother—”
“She’s not the one I’m choosing,” he cut in. “This life, this arrangement—maybe it started as protection. But now, it’s something else. And I need you to trust me.”
“Even if everyone else is against us?”
He reached over, took my hand in his.
“Especially then.”
Back at the penthouse, the calm didn’t last.
That night, a formal invitation arrived. Thick paper. Gold-embossed. The kind of thing that screamed old money and quiet power.
It was an invitation to the Lin Group charity gala—hosted by none other than Lin Yunmei.
I held it in my hands, unease curling in my stomach.
“She wants to make a show of it,” I muttered. “Parade us in front of her family. Humiliate me in public.”
Zihan took the envelope from me, scanning it.
“Then we won’t give her the satisfaction.”
“You want to go?”
He nodded. “We’ll show up. Together.”
“She’ll be waiting for a reason to tear me down.”
“Then don’t give her one.”
His confidence was contagious, but beneath it, I saw the same calculation I’d seen at the office. The CEO mind at work. Always anticipating moves ahead.
“She’s planning something,” I said. “I can feel it.”
“So am I.”
The night of the gala arrived with a storm.
Not literal—but the tension was just as thick.
Zihan wore a tailored black tux, looking like a force of nature. I wore a sleek silk gown in a deep crimson—one his stylist had picked out earlier that day, paired with earrings that probably cost more than a year’s rent.
When he saw me step into the room, his expression changed.
Not to hunger. Not even to awe.
But to something gentler. Something reverent.
“You look… incredible,” he said.
“You clean up well yourself,” I replied, brushing invisible dust from his lapel just to give my fingers an excuse to touch him.
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
The Lin Group charity gala was held at one of Shanghai’s most opulent hotels. Crystal chandeliers. Live orchestra. Rows of guests dressed in wealth and ambition.
All eyes turned when we walked in.
I knew what they saw—Wu Zihan, the powerful CEO, and me, the mysterious fiancée no one had quite figured out yet.
It felt like walking into an arena.
We hadn’t been there five minutes before Lin Yunmei appeared—draped in silver, her smile as polished and venomous as ever.
“Zihan,” she said, kissing both his cheeks like we weren’t even there for war. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
“You sent an invitation,” he replied coolly. “We were being polite.”
“And Li Xue,” she added, turning her eyes on me. “You look… better than I expected.”
“Careful,” I said softly. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
She laughed, too sweet. “Let’s keep things civil tonight, shall we? After all, we’re among friends.”
She walked away without waiting for a response, but I knew this was just the opening volley.
The real game hadn’t started yet.
It came halfway through the evening.
A group of photographers appeared suddenly. Invited by Yunmei, no doubt. And as if on cue, a server “accidentally” spilled champagne on the hem of my gown—right before we were to take photos.
“I’m so sorry!” he cried.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, trying to keep my composure.
But I saw the flash of Yunmei’s smile across the ballroom.
It was all calculated.
I bent down to check the damage, but Zihan was already there, hand on my back.
“Come with me,” he said, guiding me away before anyone else could react.
He led me to the side hallway, away from the cameras and chaos.
“I told you she’d try something,” I whispered, throat tight.
“And I told you I wouldn’t let her break you.”
He looked at me then—really looked at me—and whatever distance that had existed between us these past few days vanished in a breath.
“I don’t care about the gala. Or the gossip. Or the photographs,” he said. “I care about you.”
My breath hitched.
“And if that makes me reckless,” he added, voice low, “then let the world burn.”
And just like that, the line between real and pretend blurred so completely that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Maybe we never had been pretending at all.
- Writer
