My name is Shen Xing. I’m twenty-seven, a lead software developer, and I have a quiet life. Or at least, I had a quiet life. The kind of life where I could go two days without speaking to anyone except my cat and food delivery guys. Bliss.
Then, she happened.
Her name is Lin Yao. Age twenty-five. Occupation: Chaos Incarnate.
And as of three hours and twenty-two minutes ago, she’s legally my wife.
“Shen Xing, how does it feel to be shackled for life?” my best friend Qi Yan asked as he clinked his champagne glass against mine.
“Like a hostage in a silk prison,” I muttered, tugging at the collar of my wedding suit.
The reception hall was blindingly bright, with golden drapes, a towering cake, and a full orchestra playing a ridiculously dramatic version of the wedding march. It felt more like a royal gala than a wedding. But then again, what did I expect? This entire thing had been Lin Yao’s idea. Correction—her demand.
—
It started a month ago.
I was summoned to my parents’ house like a soldier being called to war. My mother, with her infamous glare, sat me down and said, “You’re getting married.”
“To who?”
“To Lin Yao. Her parents and we agreed when you were kids. Don’t act shocked.”
And just like that, I was engaged to a woman I hadn’t seen since elementary school. She used to throw chalk at me, steal my erasers, and once got me suspended by framing me for breaking the classroom printer.
I remembered her as a devil in pigtails.
But now, she was the devil in red heels who walked into the engagement dinner, flipped her hair, and said, “Nice to see you again, Shen Xing. Still boring?”
My first words to her were, “Are you still a menace to society?”
She grinned like I’d just proposed.
And now, here we are.
—
The banquet was ending. Lin Yao, in her wedding dress with a slit too high for her own good, waltzed over and leaned close to my ear.
“Let’s go home, hubby,” she purred. “I want to see what you look like without that smug poker face.”
“…Are you always this direct?”
She winked. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
God help me.
—
Our apartment was paid for by both our families—some sick reward for agreeing to this arrangement. The place was modern, minimalist, and smelled suspiciously like lavender and chaos. She’d moved in a week before me.
Her clothes were everywhere. A pink bra dangled from the lamp. Her makeup was scattered across the coffee table. Her high heels were arranged like traps on the floor.
I stepped in, and within two minutes, I tripped over a curling iron and nearly cracked my skull.
Lin Yao strolled in behind me, carrying the wedding bouquet like a baseball bat. “Oops. Forgot to tidy up. I wasn’t expecting you to move in today.”
“…It’s our wedding day.”
“Exactly. Who moves in on their wedding day? So clingy.” She gave me a grin that could make devils blush.
“Lin Yao,” I said calmly, “this is going to be a nightmare.”
She stretched her arms, yawned, and said, “Then let’s make it an entertaining one, husband.”
—
Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
She insisted on sleeping in the same room. Worse, the same bed. A queen-sized one. Her reason? “I don’t trust you alone. You look like the type to start brooding and write breakup letters before we’ve even fought.”
I sighed.
Just as I was about to drift off, her voice whispered beside me, soft but with a wicked curl to it.
“…Hey.”
“What?”
“Don’t fall in love with me too fast. I hate clingy guys.”
I turned my back to her. “Don’t worry. I’ve never loved a disaster.”
She laughed so hard she shook the bed. “Challenge accepted.”
God. What did I get myself into?
