The living room of the executive suite was much bigger than Ban Ban had imagined, with a floor-to-ceiling window spanning an entire wall.
Standing in the middle of the room, her toes sinking into the thick carpet, Ban Ban looked down at the wine-red cocktail dress she was wearing, then glanced up at Wen Ting’an, who was standing by the window unfastening his cufflinks.
“Where am I sleeping?”
Wen Ting’an paused, his hand still on his cufflink.
He turned his head to look at her, his gaze lingering on her face for two seconds before the corners of his lips curved into an ambiguous, half-there smile. “What do you think?”
Ban Ban blinked.
She gave it some serious thought.
When she first walked into the suite, she had scanned the layout: one bedroom door, one study door, and a living room sofa that wasn’t quite long enough to sleep on.
She looked at the partially ajar bedroom door, then back at Wen Ting’an, turning the thought over several times in her mind. Ultimately, she figured they were legally married now—a couple in the eyes of everyone else—so there was no need to be overly prudish.
“Oh,” she nodded. “I get it.”
Watching her walk straight toward the bedroom, Wen Ting’an paused for a second, glanced back over his shoulder at her, and then pushed the door open to step inside.
The door wasn’t pulled shut, leaving a narrow crack. Through it, Wen Ting’an saw her kick off her high heels and collapse backward onto the bed, sinking straight into the quilt without even changing out of her dress.
He let out a quiet laugh, shook his head, and turned toward the study.
His laptop was already open, with over a dozen unread emails sitting in his inbox.
Wen Ting’an sat down, rolled his shirt sleeves up to his mid-forearms, and started working through them one by one. The group was currently negotiating an acquisition, and the legal team had flagged some contentious contract clauses. He read through them line by line, marking up the sections that needed revision in red ink.
Time slipped away quickly. By the time he replied to the last email, the sky outside had shifted from gray-blue to a deep, inky black. Jiang City nights didn’t have stars—only the steady twinkle of thousands of household lights blinking on and off.
Wen Ting’an rubbed the back of his neck, stood up to stretch his shoulders and back, and pushed open the study door to head into the living room.
The lights in the living room were still on. His gaze involuntarily drifted toward the bedroom door—it was still cracked open just like before, dark and unlit inside.
He walked over and pushed the door open gently.
The blackout curtains in the bedroom were drawn halfway, letting the city lights from outside cast a hazy band of illumination across the floor.
That flash of wine-red on the bed stood out sharply in the dim light. Ban Ban was lying on her side, curled up into a tiny ball right at the very edge of the mattress—she was half a roll away from tumbling off.
Her hair was scattered across the pillow, the soft waves fanned out like a deep chestnut-colored fan. Half of her skirt hung over the edge of the bed, exposing a length of milk-white calf.
Her face was buried in the pillow, leaving only half her profile visible. Her eyelashes rested obediently against her skin, and her lips still bore traces of the true-red lipstick from earlier in the day, the color slightly smudged at the edges.
Standing by the bedside and looking down at her, Wen Ting’an suddenly felt an undefinable sensation wash over him.
She looked like a doll.
Not the delicate, slender kind of foreign doll, but the plump, auspicious New Year’s poster babies—round face, fair skin, sleeping without a single care in the world.
He remembered how she had looked standing in the sunlight earlier that day in that red dress: bright eyes, white teeth, lips as full as a freshly picked cherry. Even with the mature, professionally styled makeup, the moment she fell asleep she shed all of it, reverting right back to just being a twenty-one-year-old girl.
Wen Ting’an stood by the bed for a long time.
It finally hit him that, starting today, he was going to share his life with this person.
Living under the same roof, eating from the same pot, sleeping—his gaze dropped to her curled-up little frame, and a sudden headache began to form.
When the time came to consummate the marriage, would he feel a sense of guilt?
He was twelve years older than her. When he graduated from college, she was still in elementary school. When he started his first company, she was just entering middle school. As for the women he had dated over the years—Wen Ting’an frowned and mentally swept those messy thoughts away.
She was this tiny. Pulling her into his arms would be no different from holding a child.
He gave a dry internal chuckle.
He used to think living alone was freeing—drinking whenever he wanted, coming home whenever he pleased. Now? He had somehow acquired a tail. Looking down at the fast-asleep red bundle on the bed, he thought to himself: this tail sure could sleep.
“Ban Ban.”
He called her name softly.
The person on the bed didn’t move.
“Ban Ban.” He raised his voice a notch.
The red bundle finally shifted. Ban Ban sleepily rolled over, cracked her eyes open a fraction, and struggled to focus for two seconds before registering the silhouette of Wen Ting’an standing against the backlight by the bed.
She snapped a bit more awake, propping herself up on her elbows with her hair sticking out in every direction. “W-What’s wrong?”
Wen Ting’an took a half-step back, widening the distance between them. “I’m heading out for a drink.”
Ban Ban blinked, her brain still lagging behind. “Oh…”
“I ordered dinner for you. Remember to open the door,” he motioned toward the living room. “Front desk will bring it up shortly.”
Ban Ban stared at him, slowly processing the information. He was going out for a drink. He had ordered dinner for her. He was leaving right now.
“You’re going out for a drink right now?” she pressed.
“Mhm.” Wen Ting’an picked up the jacket draped over the back of the chair. “Got a problem with that?”
Ban Ban subconsciously shook her head. “No problem.”
She covered her mouth and stifled a yawn. “Didn’t you say at noon that you couldn’t drink because you had to pack?”
Wen Ting’an’s hand paused as he slipped his arm into his jacket. Looking at Ban Ban, who was staring at him with complete sincerity—her post-sleep eyes wet and hazy with lingering drowsiness—he didn’t miss a beat.
“While you were sleeping, I already packed.”
Ban Ban nodded blankly. “Oh.”
Wen Ting’an didn’t say anything else and turned toward the door.
As he reached the living room, he glanced back—Ban Ban was still sitting on the bed, her hair looking like a bird’s nest, her red dress wrinkled, staring blankly in the direction he had left.
He turned back around, pulled the door open, and stepped out.
Once the door clicked shut, Ban Ban collapsed back onto the bed. But this time she couldn’t fall back asleep. Fishing out her phone, she saw a WeChat message from her sister sitting right at the top.
Ban Ban, are you exhausted? Rest early if you are, and call me anytime if you need anything.
Ban Ban curved the corners of her lips and typed a reply: Done resting, just woke up, followed by a yawning emoji.
She held her phone up and scrolled for a while. The light from the screen flickered across her face as her mind drifted.
A few days ago, she was just the carefree youngest daughter of the Ban family. A few days later, she had a husband. Her husband was devastatingly handsome, albeit a bit quiet and notoriously a playboy.
Ban Ban tossed her phone face-down beside her pillow and stared blankly up at the ceiling.
The bar was located on the ground floor of the hotel—a quiet, subdued lounge with low lighting and soft jazz drifting through the air.
Wen Ting’an sat at the very end of the bar, ordering a whiskey as the ice cubes slowly melted against the crystal glass.
He drank alone, his slender fingers playing with the rim of the glass, his fingertips tracing back and forth along the condensation.
His phone buzzed a few times. Opening WeChat, he found his friends’ group chat going wild.
“Young Master Wen, wedding night tonight, huh? Online this early? It’s over already?”
“What does the young madam look like? Drop a photo for us to see.”
“I heard she’s only twenty-one? Robbing the cradle there, Ting’an.”
“Beast.”
Watching the messages pop up one after another, the corner of Wen Ting’an’s mouth twitched.
He tilted his head back, swallowing half his drink as the amber liquid slid down his throat with a slight burn.
After a moment of thought, he typed out four words and hit send.
“Use your imagination.”
The chat went quiet for two seconds before exploding even harder—
“What’s that supposed to mean? Pics or it didn’t happen!”
“Can’t imagine it! Describe her!”
“Must be drop-dead gorgeous, right? Otherwise why would you agree to marry?”
Wen Ting’an slapped his phone face-down on the bar counter and stopped looking. He ordered another drink, finished it quietly, paid the bill, and stood up.
When he returned to the suite, the living room lights were still on. A food cover sat on the coffee table, hiding the dinner sent up by the hotel completely untouched.
Wen Ting’an glanced toward the bedroom—the door was still at the exact same angle he had left it, quiet inside. She must have fallen back asleep.
Deciding not to disturb her, he walked over to the balcony and slid the door open. The damp, humid night air of Jiang City rushed over him. He leaned against the railing, flicked a cigarette out of his pack, and lit it.
As the flame flared, he tilted his head back against the backrest and exhaled a long stream of smoke that slowly dissolved into the pitch-black night.
Then, he reached into his suit jacket, thumbed through his contacts, and stopped on a certain name.
It was a woman’s name, saved with just a single character. He stared at it for two seconds before swiping his thumb across the screen and hitting delete.
When the cigarette burned down to the filter, he stubbed it out in the ash tray, stood up, and headed into the bathroom.
As the hot water poured down over him, he stood there with his eyes closed for a long time.
Steam filled the room, fogging up the mirror in a thick white haze. Emerging with dry hair, he changed into his pajamas and walked into the bedroom.
The bedside nightlight was on. Ban Ban had already changed; her wine-red dress was neatly folded and placed on the chair nearby.
She was wearing a light pink cotton nightgown with a ruffled collar and a cartoon bear printed across the chest.
The bright, stunning beauty from earlier in the day—decked out in true-red lipstick and a French red dress—was curled up under the covers, looking once again like an innocent child.
The baby fat on her cheeks was squished against the pillow, her breathing steady as she slept soundly.
Wen Ting’an stood by the bed for two seconds, pulled back the duvet, and slid in.
The bed was massive, so he deliberately stuck to the very edge, leaving the space of a whole pillow between them. He reached out and clicked off the nightlight, plunging the bedroom into darkness.
Right as he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep, something brushed against his chest.
It was light, with practically no force behind it, like an unconscious movement in a dream. The hand was small, with pale fingers and neatly rounded nails tinted a healthy pinkish hue.
Wen Ting’an opened his eyes.
He couldn’t see her face in the dark, but that hand rested right over his heart, its warmth radiating straight through the thin fabric of his pajamas.
He didn’t move.
Nor did he brush the hand away.
He simply lay there with a small hand belonging to his wife resting right over his chest, and quietly closed his eyes.