A minute later, Chen Luoru got in the car.
The driver closed the door for her, then walked around to the other side, bowed slightly, and opened the door for Meng Jianchen.
Meng Jianchen didn’t ask anything, and Chen Luoru wasn’t foolish enough to volunteer an explanation. This kind of situation only gets messier the more you try to explain it.
Besides, she didn’t want to explain anything anyway. He could think whatever he wanted.
Meng Jianchen put away his umbrella and slotted it into the built-in umbrella holder inside the door.
The holder had an automatic drying feature, and the inside of the door had drainage channels—a perfect solution for dealing with wet umbrellas.
The umbrellas in a Rolls-Royce were custom-made by Knirps, a German brand known as the “Rolls-Royce of umbrellas.” With a six-figure price tag, they fully matched the status of the car’s owner.
Chen Luoru had her right leg crossed over her left, the tip of her high heel lightly tapping the velvet floor mat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she snuck a glance at Meng Jianchen—only to catch his eyes directly meeting hers, dark and deep as a pool.
She realized he was staring at the exposed portion of her thigh at the edge of her skirt.
She immediately put her leg down, tugged the hem of her skirt lower, and wished she could cover up her long legs—once her pride—completely.
Meng Jianchen turned his gaze away and sat upright, looking straight ahead at the in-car display screen.
In Cantonese, Chen Luoru muttered, “Pervert.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but the car was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Unsurprisingly, the words reached Meng Jianchen’s ears.
“What did you say?” Meng Jianchen asked in a low, steady voice.
His Mandarin was flawlessly standard, with just the right amount of a Beijing accent—not too greasy, not too forced. You could immediately tell he came from a well-educated, prestigious Beijing family.
Chen Luoru couldn’t be bothered to explain. She leaned against one side of the car seat, gazing out the window at the falling rain, lightly humming a cheerful tune.
There was something satisfying about cursing someone under your breath without consequences.
“What did she say?” Meng Jianchen asked again—but this time, not directed at her.
The driver answered, “President Meng, Madam said… ‘pervert.’”
The light humming stopped abruptly. Chen Luoru’s eyes flew open wide, and she spun around to protest:
“I did not!”
It wasn’t surprising that the driver—someone qualified to chauffeur Meng Jianchen—was fluent in both English and Mandarin. But he even understood Cantonese.
And not just understood—he was a total snitch.
“Pervert[1]” in Cantonese meant a lecher or pervert, and the driver had repeated the word verbatim right in front of her—helpfully translating it into Mandarin, too.
This showed that she had zero status in front of Meng Jianchen. Even his driver didn’t bother to give her any face—not even afraid of offending Mrs. Meng.
Even if Meng Jianchen didn’t understand much Cantonese, he had clearly seen enough Hong Kong films.
A representative word like “pervert”? Of course he knew what it meant.
Meng Jianchen gave a soft snort of laughter through his nose—barely audible, but enough to make Chen Luoru’s hair stand on end.
He said slowly,
“If you’re going to wear it, why be afraid of people looking?”
Chen Luoru was so choked up she couldn’t respond. She turned away again in a huff.
The frustration inside her chest didn’t subside with the fading rain. She realized she had forgotten to ask where Meng Jianchen was taking her, but now it felt awkward to bring it up.
No way she was going to be the one to start talking. What could he possibly do—sell her?
The car cruised unimpeded through the streets of London and eventually pulled up steadily in front of a five-star hotel in the city center.
The driver respectfully opened the door for her. The rain had come and gone so fast that now even the drizzle had vanished.
Just as Chen Luoru was about to step out, the driver quickly opened the umbrella and held it out.
“It’s stopped raining,” Chen Luoru said, unwilling to give this bootlicking driver the chance to show off.
But instead of holding it above her head, the driver used the umbrella to shield her skirt, and gently reminded:
“Madam, President Meng thought you were dressed a bit too lightly.”
Chen Luoru: “…”
So he was worried she might flash someone. He really was a worm in Meng Jianchen’s stomach[2].
Chen Luoru gave a disdainful snort, pushed the umbrella away, and stomped off in her high heels with the swagger of someone who had disowned all her relatives.
Inside the hotel lobby, a young man in business attire with neatly parted hair and glasses greeted her, holding a shopping bag.
Chen Luoru instantly recognized him—it was Gao Qian, Meng Jianchen’s personal assistant.
In these four years of marriage, Gao Qian had interacted with her more than Meng Jianchen ever did, handling all kinds of matters for her.
For example, he paid off her credit card bill on time every month. She had a supplementary card under Meng Jianchen’s account—globally accepted, unlimited spending.
It was true that Meng Jianchen had never given her a single cent—but he did pay her credit card bill[3].
“Madam, President Meng asked me to buy these clothes for you. Please change quickly—Chairman Meng is upstairs waiting to have a late meal with you,” Gao Qian said.
The “Chairman Meng” he referred to was Meng Jianchen’s father, Meng Xiangdong, current chairman of Jinghong Holdings.
Chen Luoru: “…”
No one thought to tell her about something this big in advance? So this father and son had both secretly come to the UK?
Seeing her confusion, Gao Qian explained:
“I sent you a message yesterday, but you didn’t respond.”
Which was why Meng Jianchen had to come to the bar in person tonight.
In truth, Chen Luoru had long ago muted Gao Qian’s messages, only occasionally checking them when she felt like it.
That way he wouldn’t constantly show up pretending to care on Meng Jianchen’s behalf—like a wolf wishing a chicken a happy new year. As if she cared.
If Meng Jianchen hadn’t promised her father he’d marry her, Chen Luoru would be living her best life right now.
They say marriage is a grave—but getting tossed into it at the moment she came of age? Few could relate to that.
Whenever she remembered that she, someone who had studied Shakespeare, hadn’t even experienced a real romance, she couldn’t help but feel her life was a full-blown Shakespearean tragedy.
Chen Luoru entered the elevator. Meng Jianchen followed.
One stood on the left, the other on the right. Neither stood close to the other.
When they arrived at the room, Meng Jianchen stopped at the door and said:
“I’ll wait here for you.”
Chen Luoru turned the doorknob and walked in, slamming the door shut in his face. Not a word spoken—the only reply was a heavy “bang.”
Standing alone in the quiet hallway, a rare flicker of amusement crossed Meng Jianchen’s otherwise stoic face.
It had been a while since he’d seen her.
His little wife’s temper, it seemed—had only gotten sharper.
Chen Luoru changed into the outfit—a Chanel spring/summer piece, with fabric and tailoring that, of course, were impeccable.
It was exactly this style—Chen Luoru looked at herself in the mirror with distaste. The buttons went all the way up to her chin, the sleeves were overly long, and the hem of the dress reached a full twenty centimeters below her knees. Not an inch of skin was showing.
What kind of straight-man aesthetic is this? she thought bitterly.
Chen Luoru couldn’t help but question—was Meng Jianchen really a top Stanford graduate? More like some antique teleported here from the Qing dynasty.
Still, complaints aside, she had to look respectable when meeting elders.
After changing, she opened her bag and touched up her makeup in front of the mirror, then finally headed out.
When she arrived at the executive lounge, Meng Jianchen extended an arm toward her.
She looked up at him, confused.
He said, “Aren’t you going to take my arm?”
Reluctantly, Chen Luoru linked her arm through his. Both of them silently agreed to play the role of a loving couple in front of his father.
A waiter led them to Meng Xiangdong.
Facing this dignified father-in-law, Chen Luoru didn’t dare to show any attitude and obediently greeted him, “Good evening, Dad.”
Meng Xiangdong nodded, and only then did they sit down.
The waiter began serving the meal—it was authentic French cuisine, light in portions, just right for a late supper.
Meng Xiangdong asked about her recent situation. As she carefully cut into her foie gras, Chen Luoru replied, “I’ve already graduated.”
“Mhm,” Meng Xiangdong seemed very pleased. He said,
“Now that you’ve graduated, it’s time to return to the country. A married couple living apart can’t continue forever, can it?”
Chen Luoru paused mid-cut, her hand stiffening on the knife and fork.
Meng Xiangdong went on,
“You were young before, and education came first. Both families understood that. But now that you’ve graduated, it’s time you share some of Ah Chen’s burdens.”
The business world is a battlefield—for men, and for women alike.
As Meng Jianchen’s wife, if nothing else, she had to uphold his image among the elite social circles in Beijing.
Accompanying this madam to an art show today, attending a fashion event with that young lady tomorrow—someone had to represent him socially.
Meng Jianchen’s mother had passed away early, and for personal reasons, Meng Xiangdong had never remarried.
For years, the eldest branch of the Meng family had no female head of the household. Now that Chen Luoru had completed her studies, she was the perfect candidate.
Chen Luoru suspected that both families had planned this a long time ago. Otherwise, how could it be such a coincidence? She’d just argued with her parents at noon, and by evening, her father-in-law and husband were in London together, planning to “escort” her back to China.
“Ah Chen and I have some business to handle here in the UK for the next couple of days. Pack up—you’re coming back with us the day after tomorrow,” Meng Xiangdong said.
“Coincidentally, next month is Ah Chen’s grandfather’s 80th birthday. He keeps talking about how he wants you there.”
With such hopeful anticipation from the elders, Chen Luoru couldn’t bring herself to say “no.” She nodded obediently.
She had little appetite, and after a few bites, she couldn’t eat anymore.
Meng Jianchen said,
“You can head back to rest first. My dad and I still have some business matters to discuss.”
Chen Luoru stood up, bid farewell to Meng Xiangdong, and once outside the lounge, stomped the floor in frustration.
“Why did I fall into their trap?” she thought.
Now she really was being dragged back home.
Back in the room, she threw the long-sleeved dress onto the sofa and headed into the bathroom.
While showering, she cursed Meng Jianchen in her mind—so cunning, even bringing his father along.
They had agreed to get divorced, and now she hadn’t even made a move before getting ambushed. A campaign lost before the first battle.
After venting her frustration, reason began to return. She sat in the spacious bathtub, letting the bubbles coat her smooth skin as she tried to think of a way to end this hollow marriage.
She thought for a long time but came up with no clever way to gain the upper hand. All she got was a dizzy head from the steam.
After drying off, she realized she hadn’t brought any clean underwear. The ones she’d worn earlier felt gross, so she decided to ask hotel staff to buy her a fresh set and deliver it tomorrow morning.
Wrapped in just a towel, she stepped out of the bathroom—only to be startled.
Meng Jianchen was reclining on the bed, leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. His long legs were crossed, his posture relaxed.
“What are you doing here?” Chen Luoru quickly clutched the towel to her chest, afraid he might see something he shouldn’t.
“This is my room,” he replied calmly.
Chen Luoru stared.
“Is the Meng family bankrupt?”
Meng Jianchen: “?”
Chen Luoru:
“You can’t even afford a second room?”
[1] She said “鹹濕佬 – haahm sāp lóu, which translates to dirty old man/lecher
[2] a Chinese idiom meaning he knows his master too well
[3] Refer to her rant in Chapter 1 where she said she never recieved money from him