Hailey wanted to refuse—but couldn’t.

Objectively, this man was every woman’s fantasy: wealthy, devastatingly handsome. Had her heart not already belonged to Darian, perhaps she’d have been tempted.

The thought of Darian sent a sharp pang through her chest. She shoved it aside.

“No. This deal is absurd.”

A knock interrupted them.

“Young Master, breakfast is ready.”

“Enter.” Aldrich stood. “No need to decide now.” He left before she could retort.

A maid wheeled in a three-tiered cart—Chinese congee, Western pastries.

“Elder Yan wasn’t sure of your preference,” the maid explained.

“Western, then.”

The first bite of sandwich made Hailey's widen.

As she finished, her phone rang.

Emery.

Her appetite vanished.

“What now?” she snapped.

Emery’s saccharine voice dripped through the speaker: “Darian and I are donating to a charity auction. I thought… oh, what was that necklace called? ‘Ocean of Stars’?”

Hailey's grip turned bone-white.

“You dare.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s mine.”

“You stole it!” The last keepsake from her late mother—now this viper’s trophy.

Emery laughed. “Some people can’t even guard their treasures. First the necklace, then…”

Darian.

Hailey's voice turned glacial. “I’ll take it back. And you’ll pay.”

She hung up.

When Aldrich returned hours later, he found her curled on the bed, hugging a pillow. At his entrance, she lifted a pale face— blazing with resolve.

An odd pang struck his chest.

“Waiting for me?” he teased.

“Your offer…” She swallowed. “Was it real?”

He sat beside her, noting how she fched—then stilled when he made no move to touch her.

“Always.”

“I’ll do it.” She rushed on before his smirk could deepen. “But I want something. Not money. A necklace—‘Ocean of Stars.’ It’s at an auction…”

Her voice faltered. Hypocrite. First refuse his money, then demand millions?

Amusement gted in his . It’d been since anyone entertained him so thoroughly.

Panicked he’d misunderstand, she pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s not about wealth! It’s my mother’s—”

Her palm burned through his shirt. Memories of last night’s softness flooded back.

“Done.” His voice roughened.

Relieved, she yanked her hand away—too late to miss the accelerated heartbeat beneath.

“I swear, after six months, I’ll disappear.”

His mood iced over instantly.

Why did her eagerness to leave irritate him so?

“ID?” he demanded.

“Just my ID card. Household register’s at home.”

“We’ll fetch it.”

“Today?!”

His brow arched. “Should we book wedding photographers too?”

Right. A sham marriage needed no festivities.

She gritted her teeth. “Fine.”