Chapter 51: Shopping Day
I wake up warm.
Too warm.
And something is moving beneath me, rising and falling in a steady rhythm that isn’t my own breathing.
It takes a second to register.
I’m lying on Bael’s chest.
My face is pressed against his shirt, one arm draped across his torso like I belong there, and his heartbeat is steady under my ear.
When did this happen?
I must have rolled over in my sleep, gravitated toward him without thinking, and now I’m sprawled across him like...
He stirs, and I jolt upright so fast my head spins, scrambling back to my side of the bed, face heating.
Bael’s eyes open slowly, unfocused for a moment before they land on me.
"...Morning," I say, trying to sound normal.
"Mm."
He sits up, running a hand through his hair, completely unbothered by the fact that I was just using him as a pillow.
Meanwhile my face is still burning.
***
Breakfast is quick.
Bael eats with his usual efficiency, already dressed for work in a sharp suit that probably costs more than most people’s monthly salary.
I’m halfway through my meal when he speaks.
"Go get yourself a car today."
I look up. "A car?"
"There are several in the garage you can use," he says, not looking up from his phone. "But it’s better if you get a new one for the gala. You’re representing the Wuchen family now. Don’t embarrass us."
Oh.
Because heaven forbid I show up in last year’s model or something.
"Okay," I say.
He nods once, stands, and leaves without another word.
Grandmother watches him go, then turns to me with that assessing look she always has.
"Choose something elegant," she says. "But not ostentatious. You want to look successful, not desperate."
I nod.
Sure.
No pressure.
***
Liang Feng and Qiao Jun are already waiting when I come downstairs.
"Where to, Young Master?" Liang Feng asks.
"Somewhere I can buy a car, I guess."
He doesn’t even blink. "I know just the place."
***
The dealership is exactly what I expected.
Sleek, modern, full of cars that look like they belong in museums rather than on roads.
A salesman approaches the moment we walk in, his smile professionally warm, eyes already calculating how much commission he’s about to make.
"Welcome! How can I assist you today?"
"I need a car," I say.
"Of course! What kind of vehicle are you looking for? Sedan, SUV, sports—"
"Something elegant," I interrupt, remembering Grandmother’s words. "But not trying too hard."
He pauses, then nods slowly. "I have just the thing."
He leads me through rows of vehicles, each one more expensive than the last, until we stop in front of a red car that makes me stop walking.
It’s beautiful.
Sleek lines, low profile, the kind of red that catches light and holds it, deep and rich without being gaudy.
"This is our limited edition series," the salesman says. "Hand-crafted interior, custom paint, only twenty made worldwide."
I walk around it slowly, taking in every detail.
The curves, the way the body flows from front to back, the subtle chrome accents that don’t overwhelm.
It’s perfect.
Not too flashy, not too subdued, just... right.
"How much?" I ask.
"It’s one hundred and seventy three million yuan."
I try not to flinch, i just pull out the black card and hand it over.
"I’ll take it."
His smile gets even wider.
***
The car handles like a dream.
I drive it out of the dealership myself, Liang Feng and Qiao Jun following in the original car, and the difference is immediate.
Smooth, responsive, powerful without being aggressive.
It fits.
Like it was made for me specifically.
I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and allow myself a small smile.
Yeah.
This feels nice.
***
Next stop is clothing.
If I’m getting a car for this gala, I need an outfit to match.
The boutique Liang Feng takes me to is understated from the outside, just a simple storefront with elegant lettering.
Inside is a different story.
Racks of clothes that probably cost more per piece than my family used to make in a month, fabrics that feel like water under my fingers, colors arranged with the precision of an art gallery.
A staff member approaches immediately, sizing me up with practiced eyes.
"Looking for something specific?"
"Formal," I say. "For a gala."
"Ah." Her expression shifts into something more focused. "Right this way."
She pulls pieces as we go, draping them over her arm with casual expertise, and within minutes I’m in a fitting room trying on combinations I never would have considered on my own.
The first outfit is too much, all embellishment and detail that feels like it’s wearing me instead of the other way around.
The second is too plain, elegant but forgettable.
The third...
I stare at myself in the mirror.
Deep navy fabric with a subtle shimmer that catches light when I move, tailored perfectly to my frame, structured enough to look formal but cut in a way that feels modern, almost daring.
It’s exactly what Grandmother meant.
Successful without being desperate.
Elegant without trying too hard.
"This one," I say.
"Excellent choice," the staff member says, already pulling accessories. "I have shoes and a jacket that will complement this perfectly."
By the time I’m done, I’ve spent another small fortune, but looking at everything laid out together, I can’t bring myself to care.
This is my life now.
Galas and designer clothes and cars that cost more than houses.
Might as well look the part.
***
I’m in the middle of trying on one of the jackets when my phone buzzes.
I pull it out, expecting maybe Mrs. Zhou with details about the gala, or Grandmother checking on my progress.
Instead, it’s a message from Bael.
Bael:I’m with Bael right now. Can you guess what we’re doing?
I stare at the screen.
What?
I read it again.
I’m with Bael right now.
That’s not Bael.
Bael doesn’t talk about himself in third person, and he definitely wouldn’t send me a message like this.
Xue Lian.
He has Bael’s phone.
But why?
They’re at lunch, obviously, that’s what Xue Lian said yesterday when he called, but why does he have Bael’s phone? Did Bael just hand it to him? Did he leave it on the table and Xue Lian grabbed it?
And what the hell does can you guess what we’re doing even mean?
My grip tightens on the phone.
Is he trying to make me jealous? To make me think they’re doing something more than just eating?
Another message comes through.
This time from an unknown number.
Unknown:I’ll update you on how it goes from now on.
I stare at it.
That’s Xue Lian’s actual number.
So he can keep messaging me even after he gives Bael’s phone back, keep sending me updates about whatever the hell they’re doing.
My jaw clenches.
What is his problem?
What’s the point of this?
Does he think I’m going to run down there and interrupt their lunch? Throw a scene in public so i can get labelled as some jealous spouse?
I lock my screen and shove the phone back in my pocket.
Not happening.
Bael can have lunch with whoever he wants.
It’s not like we’re actually married for real anyway, not like this is built on anything beyond convenience and contractual obligation.
This is a business arrangement.
I knew that from the start.
So why does my chest feel tight?
Why does seeing that message make something uncomfortable settle in my stomach?
I turn back to the mirror and adjust the jacket, trying to focus on how it fits across my shoulders instead of the phone burning a hole in my pocket.
It looks good.
Very good.
That’s enough.
Not whatever game Xue Lian is playing, not whatever he thinks he’s accomplishing by sending me cryptic messages.
Just this, the gala, the outfit, looking like I belong in this world.
Everything else can go die.
***
I spend the rest of the day shopping because I don’t know what else to do with myself.
More clothes, accessories I don’t strictly need but buy anyway because the act of spending money is easier than thinking about that message.
Lunch at a restaurant Qiao Jun recommends, the dumplings are supposed to be incredible.
I barely taste them.
My phone buzzes a few more times throughout the afternoon, I don’t check it, I don’t want to see what else Xue Lian is saying, what other updates he thinks I need about his lunch with my husband.
By the time evening rolls around and we head back to the estate, I have enough shopping bags to fill the entire trunk of my new car. Liang Feng and Qiao Jun help carry everything inside without comment, probably used to this kind of excess from working with the Wuchen family.
I head upstairs to sort through everything, laying out the gala outfit to make sure all the pieces work together.
They do.
It’s going to look perfect.
I’m going to look perfect.
My phone sits on the nightstand where I dropped it, screen dark.
I still haven’t checked those other messages.
Part of me wants to see what Xue Lian said, what he thinks is so important that he needed to keep me updated.
The other part knows it doesn’t matter, whatever happened at that lunch, whatever Xue Lian is trying to accomplish, it’s between him and Bael.
Not my problem.
Not my concern.
This is a business arrangement.
I repeat it to myself as I organize my purchases, hanging clothes, arranging accessories.
A business arrangement.
Nothing more.