Seven days turns out to be just enough ti to learn how to smile sweetly at soone while internally planning their murder.
Grandmother Wuchen calls it "gracious diplomacy." I call it "not getting arrested at my own wedding."
The week passes in a blur of fittings, photographs, and etiquette drills that make the previous training look relaxed by comparison.
"Smile," Grandmother orders during one particularly brutal session. "Not like that, Runze. You look like you’re baring your teeth."
I adjust.
"Better. That’s how you should maintain that exact expression while soone insults you to your face."
She proceeds to say increasingly horrible things while I hold the smile. By day three, I’ve perfected it. Sweet, serene, absolutely murderous underneath.
I practice on Bael at dinner.
He notices imdiately, pausing mid-bite to study my face with that calculating look.
"What?" I ask, my smile never wavering.
"Nothing." But his lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. "You’ve been spending too much ti with my grandmother."
"She’s an excellent teacher."
"That’s what concerns ."
***
The tailor arrives on day four.
A small, nervous beta man who asures three tis because apparently I’m "unusually proportioned for an oga" which I think is code for "pregnant but not showing much yet."
He brings fabric samples in white, cream, ivory, navy blue.
"Simple," Grandmother instructs. "Elegant. Nothing that draws attention to... the situation."
The situation being my barely-there baby bump that’s still hidden under loose clothing.
We settle on navy blue. Deep, rich, almost black in certain light, the suit is tailored within an inch of its life...fitted jacket, crisp lines, subtle embroidery at the collar that catches light when I move.
When I try on the final version, even the tailor looks satisfied.
"Beautiful, Young Master Li. Absolutely beautiful."
I look at myself in the mirror.
He’s not wrong.
***
The photographer cos on day five.
Professional and efficient, completely unfazed by the fact that this wedding was supposed to be soone else’s.
"Mr. Wuchen, if you could stand here. Young Master Li, just beside him. Closer. Good."
Bael’s hand settles on my waist like it belongs there.
The photographer snaps away while we stand frozen in practiced poses. Bael looking at with manufactured affection, smiling that sweet, gracious smile that Grandmother drilled into .
"Lovely," the photographer says. "Very natural."
Nothing about this is natural.
But the photos will look perfect, and that’s what matters.
***
The morning of the wedding, I wake up before dawn.
I can’t sleep, too many thoughts circling.
By the ti Mrs. Wen knocks at six, I’m already showered and sitting at the desk in my bathrobe, staring at nothing.
"Young Master." She enters with her usual quiet efficiency. "It’s ti to get ready."
The suit hangs on the wardrobe door, pristine and waiting.
She helps dress with gentle, practiced movents. The shirt first, buttoning it carefully, then the pants, the jacket, she adjusts the collar, smooths invisible wrinkles, steps back to assess.
"Perfect," she says softly. "Very perfect."
I turn to look in the mirror.
And stop.
The person staring back barely looks like .
The navy suit fits like it was painted on, emphasizing shoulders I didn’t know I had, a waist that the tailor sohow made look elegant instead of pregnant. The subtle embroidery at the collar catches the morning light, drawing attention to my face.
My face.
I’ve never really looked at it properly.
But now, dressed like this, I can’t avoid it.
Sharp cheekbones, large eyes that look almost too big for my face, frad with lashes that are frankly unfair. A mouth that’s naturally shaped into sothing that could be called pretty or pouty depending on your perspective. Skin that’s clear and pale, probably from spending the last week hiding indoors.
The whole effect is... striking.
Beautiful, even.
No wonder people thought I seduced Bael on purpose. Looking like this, I could probably seduce half the city if I wanted to.
The thought makes smirk at my reflection.
"You look wonderful, Young Master," Mrs. Wen says, and there’s actual warmth in her voice.
"Thanks to you."
"No." She shakes her head. "This is all you."
***
I wait in a private room adjacent to the ceremonial hall while guests arrive.
Through the door, I can hear the murmur of voices, the rustle of expensive clothing, the click of heels on marble floors. More than two hundred people filing in to watch marry my sister’s forr fiance.
No pressure.
Mrs. Wen fusses over my collar one more ti. "Rember what Grandmother taught you."
"Smile sweetly while imagining violence?"
Her lips twitch. "Grace under pressure, Young Master."
"Sa thing."
A soft knock at the door, one of the coordinators pokes her head in.
"Five minutes."
My stomach does sothing uncomfortable.
This is actually happening.
Mrs. Wen squeezes my hand once, then slips out to take her seat.
I’m alone.
Five minutes until I walk down that aisle and legally beco Wuchen Runze. Five minutes until I stand in front of two hundred people who’ve spent the last week reading headlines about what a scheming howrecker I am, and promise to spend my life with the man at the center of it all.
I look at myself in the mirror one last ti.
Navy suit, perfect tailoring, face that could launch a thousand tabloid articles.
I look good.
Better than good.
If I’m going to be the villain in everyone’s story, I might as well look the part.
The coordinator appears again. "It’s ti."
I take a breath and step out into the hallway.
***
The ceremonial hall is stunning.
High ceilings, massive windows flooding the space with natural light, flowers everywhere in whites and deep blues that match my suit perfectly. Rows of seats filled with guests who all turn to look as the music starts.
At the far end, Bael waits at the altar.
He looks unfairly handso in his black suit, hair styled back, every inch the powerful CEO about to claim his Oga.
Our eyes et across the distance.
I start walking.
The faces blur together on either side, so curious, so judgntal, so openly hostile. I don’t look at any of them, I just keep my eyes forward, spine straight, every step asured and deliberate the way Grandmother drilled into .
The Wuchens sit on one side, elegant and composed. Grandmother at the center like a queen surveying her kingdom.
The Lis on the other, smaller and less impressive. Mother in an expensive dress that almost hides how uncomfortable she is, Father looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
And an empty space where Feifei should be.
I knew she wouldn’t co, but seeing the gap still makes my chest tighten for a second.
Then I rember: I’m done feeling guilty about things I can’t change.
She made her choice, I’m making mine.
When I reach the altar, Bael’s eyes sweep over slowly, taking in every detail.
"You look beautiful," he says quietly, just for .
"I know," I reply, equally quiet.
His lips twitch.
The officiant begins speaking. Traditional words about union and partnership, family legacies joining together, all the standard wedding ceremony language that probably sounded more aningful when this was supposed to be Feifei’s day.
But it’s not.
It’s mine now.
"Do you, Wuchen Bael, take Li Runze to be your lawfully wedded spouse?"
"I do."
His voice is steady and certain, like he’s closing a business deal he’s confident about.
The officiant turns to .
"Do you, Li Runze, take Wuchen Bael to be your lawfully wedded spouse?"
The words should feel heavier than they do.
This is marriage, Legal binding, the rest of my life tied to this man.
But I’ve had weeks to prepare ntally for this, I guess I’m ready.
"I do."
The words co out clear and steady.
Rings are exchanged, cool tal sliding onto my finger...another quiet confirmation that this is real.
Done.
"You may kiss."
Bael’s fingers tilt my chin up gently, and then he kisses .
Brief, controlled, nothing like the desperate or angry kisses we’ve shared before. This one is for the caras, for the guests watching, for the image we’re selling.
When he pulls back, applause fills the hall.
We’re married.
I’m Runze of the Wuchen family now.
The na will take so getting used to, but I’ve gotten used to worse.
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