Critical Heart Hit
A few days later, no matter how unwilling Jiang Zhuoye was, he still appeared at the shoot with Bo Yun.
The wedding between the young master of the Jiang family and the head of the Bo family was eye-catching enough just as news.
Same-sex marriage was legal now, but still relatively rare—especially among wealthy families. On top of that, the two were exceptionally good-looking and looked striking together. Even with sunglasses on, a sour expression on his face, slouched against a single sofa, Jiang Zhuoye still rivaled runway male models.
The shoot was for Gleam, widely recognized as a leading global fashion magazine and an industry benchmark with enormous influence worldwide. Gleam had previously invited several elite couples, but they were all male–female pairings, such as the French jewelry magnate and his second wife of royal descent.
A male–male pairing like Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun was a first.
Before styling officially began, Jiang Zhuoye had already sent the assistants away. In the dressing room, only he and Bo Yun remained.
He took off his sunglasses, revealing sharp, clear eyes, the corners slightly upturned, and looked at Bo Yun through the mirror.
The moment there was no one else around, he went straight on the offensive. “What’s wrong with you, dragging me here to shoot engagement photos? Are we that close?”
Bo Yun put down his phone and met his gaze in the mirror. “I thought your brother already explained it. It’s because you posted that Weibo first, which caused all kinds of speculation online. To keep public opinion from spiraling, Jiang Xu and I decided to announce the engagement early. The news was going to be made public anyway—this is just a bit earlier.”
“Tch.”
Jiang Zhuoye didn’t believe a single word. He was convinced Bo Yun was retaliating, deliberately poking at exactly what he hated most.
He looked straight at Bo Yun. “Stop fooling me. You could’ve just released an official announcement. Instead, what is this? Dragging me onto a magazine cover, doing feature interviews, even shooting some so-called daily-life vlog for promotion. Isn’t that fake? We’re not real lovers. Why go through all this hollow sentiment? It’s outright deceiving the audience. Aren’t you afraid people will see at a glance that we’re not close?”
“That’s not something you need to worry about. You just need to cooperate with the photographer. Editing will take care of the rest,” Bo Yun said calmly. “As for why I’m doing so much—it’s because a stable, happy marriage is also good for projecting a positive corporate image. A good personal image adds points to the group as well. You handed me such a huge wave of traffic for free. Wouldn’t it be a waste not to use it?”
He curved his lips slightly, rather mockingly, imitating Jiang Zhuoye’s tone. “Thanks to you, we might even save on advertising costs this year.”
Bullshit.
Jiang Zhuoye was so angry his molars were grinding.
He suspected Bo Yun didn’t like the “jealous, petty partner” image slapped onto him and was taking the chance to clear his own name.
He narrowed his eyes at Bo Yun, as if calculating where to hit him without leaving marks.
Bo Yun acted as if he felt nothing at all, leisurely picking up a magazine from the table and flipping through it.
“You’d better cooperate,” he said. “If you do well, we might finish today and you’ll be rid of me. But if you don’t cooperate, no matter how many times we have to redo it, we’ll keep shooting until we get results that satisfy everyone.”
He glanced at Jiang Zhuoye. “I mean what I say.”
…..
Ten minutes later, an assistant knocked on the door and cautiously reminded them that the stylists had arrived. The atmosphere inside was dark with tension.
Jiang Zhuoye closed his eyes to rest. Even though the lighting was soft, he put his sunglasses back on, clearly unwilling to look at Bo Yun.
Bo Yun was flipping through a magazine, though his expression looked less like he was appreciating the layout and more like he was considering whether to buy the magazine outright.
Neither of them intended to make things difficult for the staff. Bo Yun nodded, and Jiang Zhuoye lifted his sunglasses slightly. “Come in.”
Both of them were blessed with extraordinary looks, fully comparable to celebrities.
Jiang Zhuoye hadn’t rested properly the night before—he’d stayed up late gaming—but in the morning his skin was still excessively fair and hydrated. His lips were a vivid red, slightly full, distinctly sensual. His eye sockets were deep; when he looked at people, he was arrogant yet alluring.
Bo Yun, on the other hand, was a completely different style—noble, restrained, almost ascetic. His shirt was buttoned up tightly, only a small sliver of skin showing at the wrist.
Yet his eyes were far too affectionate. With a light blink of those phoenix eyes, it was like an unknown, rain-soaked dream.
Even the stylists didn’t quite know where to begin. The pressure was higher than usual, afraid of ruining the two men’s natural aura.
The outfits were specially delivered works from top designers around the world.
Given Bo Yun and Jiang Zhuoye’s identities, the clothes were beautiful but conservative, with nothing overly bold.
Jiang Zhuoye’s suit was a smoky gray, gleaming with a satin-like sheen. The tailoring was close-fitting, every detail exuding formality—yet Jiang Zhuoye wore it casually, leaving it open. The white shirt cuffs were deliberately folded outward, instantly giving off a relaxed air. He also wore brown-framed glasses. When he noticed someone looking at him, he lifted his lips in a smile, looking exactly like a carefree, rakish young noble who’d just escaped from some academy.
He came out as soon as he changed. Bo Yun wasn’t there yet, and his mood immediately improved.
An assistant helped adjust his collar, and he politely said thank you.
He sat on the long sofa, posture relaxed. Behind him was a window, sunlight streaming through the glass and falling right across his beautiful brows and eyes, those eyes clear as gemstones.
Even the videographer in charge of recording the vlog couldn’t help fixing the camera on him.
Propping his chin with one hand, he asked the assistant, “Is Bo Yun not ready yet?”
The assistant grew nervous under his gaze. “Mr. Bo hasn’t come out yet. His outfit might be a bit more complicated.”
Jiang Zhuoye snorted when he heard that. “A turtle that’s gained sentience.”
Anyone present who wasn’t blind could tell from the atmosphere between the two that this soon-to-be-married elite couple was nothing like what the media described as “deeply in love.”
But everyone was tactful enough not to say anything.
Only two of the younger staff members secretly raised their eyebrows at each other, trading gossip with their eyes.
A few more minutes passed. Jiang Zhuoye had already gotten chatting with the assistant—he’d even found out she’d gone to university in Sydney—when Bo Yun finally came out.
Hearing the movement, Jiang Zhuoye turned his head, ready to mock Bo Yun for being slow because of his age. But the instant he saw him, he fell silent for a moment.
To match Jiang Zhuoye, Bo Yun was dressed in a deep gray formal suit—three-piece, the kind of gentlemanly look that never went wrong. Over it, however, he wore a long black coat. On most people, it would’ve looked bulky, but Bo Yun was simply too tall, a natural clothes rack. He carried it effortlessly, the coat accentuating his cool, indifferent face and giving him an air of innate pride and arrogance.
He was also wearing a pair of black leather gloves, snug around his long, well-defined fingers, revealing only his cold, pale wrists and the backs of his hands.
Jiang Zhuoye even heard the assistant beside him fail to hold it in, quietly sucking in a breath.
He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her, thinking, Girl, you’ve still got a long way to go. This kind of scumbag is not something you should touch.
He selectively forgot that he himself had been momentarily distracted just seconds ago.
Bo Yun walked straight over, his gaze sweeping over Jiang Zhuoye from top to bottom as if checking for mistakes. His eyelashes flickered slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“Not bad,” he commented.
Then he extended his hand toward Jiang Zhuoye. “Alright. Let’s go shoot.”
Jiang Zhuoye looked at the gloved hand held out in front of him, palm slightly open—a textbook invitation.
He lifted his head to look at Bo Yun. He knew Bo Yun had switched into work mode, deliberately putting on a show of closeness so the vlog cameraman would have something to work with.
Yet, for no clear reason, the scene felt strangely familiar.
Years ago, back in high school, Bo Yun had also reached out to him once like this.
The same posture—looking down at him, yet bending slightly, as if accommodating him.
But Jiang Zhuoye refused to let Bo Yun have his way.
He curled his lips into a faint smile, then—smack—casually knocked Bo Yun’s hand aside and rose to his feet on his own.
He was tall himself. Standing there in the blazing sunlight, he suddenly matched Bo Yun evenly, the air between them sharp with parity.
“Thanks. I can walk by myself.”
He flashed Bo Yun a provocative smile.
Yet no matter how you looked at them—their height, appearance, bearing, even the scenery outside the window—they were perfectly matched.
A composition that felt almost too natural.
The photographer, who technically wasn’t supposed to be working yet, couldn’t help himself.
Click.
The sound startled both of them. Jiang Zhuoye and Bo Yun turned toward the camera at the same time.
Two outstanding, breathtaking faces, exposed together in the lens.
Bo Yun remained calm. Jiang Zhuoye tilted his head slightly, his brows lifting as if mildly confused.
The heart took a second critical hit.
Click.
The photographer pressed the shutter again.