"Stand still."
Ren flinched as the tailor tugged at the cuff of his sleeve for the fifth time. He looked down at the mirror in front of him, barely recognizing the person staring back. He was in a custom-made black suit, pressed perfectly against his frame, with a silk shirt that probably cost more than his rent for six months. He tugged at the collar, uncomfortable. "Why am I wearing something this ridiculous? I'm just pretending to be someone's husband, not accepting an award."
"Because you're representing me," came Li Zeyan's cold reply from behind.
Ren turned slightly. Zeyan stood by the door, arms crossed, dressed already in his own elegant suit. Not a single crease. Not a hair out of place. He looked like a man born to own the room — and crush it.
Ren rolled his eyes. "You know, a hoodie and jeans would've been fine. I'm pretty charming in casual wear."
"You're attending the Midnight Gala, not buying groceries."
"Let me live, CEO of Ice."
Zeyan ignored him.
The tailor stepped away at last. "It's perfect," the man said before leaving, bowing slightly to the CEO on his way out.
Ren ran a hand through his hair. "So what's this event again? Fancy dinner with rich people?"
Zeyan checked his watch. "Charity gala. Business networking. Cameras. We go, we smile, we leave. You don't speak unless spoken to. Don't drink. Don't wander off."
"So I'm your glorified accessory."
Zeyan didn't argue. That stung more than it should have.
The limousine purred down the main boulevard, city lights flashing across the tinted windows. Ren stared out, nervous energy curling in his chest. He'd never been to something this grand before. He'd never even owned a suit until now.
"You'll hold my arm," Zeyan said without looking up from his phone. "And you will smile."
Ren forced a dry laugh. "Wow. You're a romantic."
"I'm practical."
Ren sighed. "And I'm regretting my life choices."
When they arrived, it was chaos. Paparazzi swarmed the red carpet, flashes erupting like fireworks. As they stepped out of the car, Zeyan held out his arm.
Ren hesitated—then took it.
They walked together through the golden lights, cameras aimed directly at them. People shouted Zeyan's name. Ren caught a few photographers zooming in on him — his face, his hand linked with Zeyan's. It felt unreal.
Inside, the ballroom was enormous, all gold-trimmed marble and floating candles in crystal chandeliers. A string quartet played softly. Waiters glided through the crowd offering champagne. Everyone was dressed in designer wear and carried themselves like royalty.
Ren's heartbeat quickened. He didn't belong here. But he straightened his back and stayed close to Zeyan, pretending like he did.
"Mr. Li," someone called. A group of investors greeted them. Zeyan gave a curt nod and exchanged polite business pleasantries. Ren smiled on cue and kept quiet, as instructed.
But the stares were constant.
"Is this your... partner?" one woman asked, lips painted crimson. "Such a lovely surprise."
"Yes," Zeyan said simply.
Ren smiled awkwardly. "Hi."
The woman tilted her head. "He's quite... fresh-faced."
Ren didn't miss the undertone. He said nothing.
As they moved on, more people approached. Some polite. Some fake. Some staring at Ren like he was an exhibit.
By the third champagne tray Ren had to turn down, his head was pounding.
He excused himself and wandered toward the quieter edge of the room, near the bar. That's when he heard it—
"Ren?"
He turned sharply.
A man stood there, dressed in a pale silver suit, eyes wide in disbelief. His brown hair was tousled, and he looked a little older, but Ren knew that face.
"Jun?" Ren's voice cracked.
Jun stepped forward. "It's really you. I almost didn't believe it."
Ren tried to smile. "Yeah. It's me."
Jun looked him up and down. "I haven't seen you since university. What are you doing here? Are you... with Li Zeyan?"
Ren opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Jun's eyes flicked to Ren's ring. Then his voice lowered. "Is this... for real?"
Before Ren could respond, Zeyan was suddenly there beside him, his presence heavy as ever. "He's with me," he said coolly.
Jun blinked. "I was asking him."
Zeyan's arm slid around Ren's waist. "And I'm answering. He's my husband."
The words were smooth, practiced, and sharp as glass.
Jun's gaze went from Zeyan's face to Ren's. "Is that true?"
Ren's lips parted. For a moment, he was caught between two truths—the contract and the ache in his chest.
"Yes," he said finally.
Jun looked like someone had slapped him. "I see. People change, huh?"
Ren wanted to say something. Anything. But Jun had already walked away.
Zeyan's hand was still at his waist. Ren pulled back.
"You didn't have to do that," he snapped.
"He was out of line."
"You were out of line!" Ren glared at him. "You used me like I was part of your business pitch."
"I told you not to speak to anyone alone."
"I wasn't a prisoner last I checked."
They stared at each other, tension sharp between them.
"This is what you signed up for," Zeyan said quietly.
"And you know what?" Ren stepped back. "I think I regret it."