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It was supposed to be a fairytale wedding.
But she was already crying before she walked down the aisle.
Zhi'er sat alone in the bridal suite, bouquet clutched tightly in her shaking hands. The blush-colored flowers felt too heavy, almost like a burden. She'd kept her tears quiet, but they refused to stop—slipping down her soft cheeks and ruining the delicate makeup she'd worn for him.
Her wedding day.
Her contract marriage.
Her nightmare.
The door creaked open.
> "Madam Lu," the wedding planner peeked in nervously. "You're due in five minutes."
Zhi'er nodded, though her voice was trapped somewhere deep inside her chest. Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat echoing louder than the last.
She wasn't ready. Not to walk. Not to vow. Not to marry Ares Lu.
The man was a legend—feared by investors, admired by socialites, and completely unreachable.
He didn't believe in love. He believed in control. Power. Appearances.
And now, she was his bride.
Tears welled up again. She quickly dabbed them away, but it was too late.
> "Why are you crying?"
His voice was low, cold, and sharp as a blade.
Zhi'er froze. Ares Lu stood in the doorway like a shadow—tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in a black suit tailored to perfection. He looked more like a predator than a groom.
"I—I didn't mean to..." she stammered, standing too fast. Her knees almost gave way.
He stared at her—eyes dark, unreadable.
> "I don't care why," he said flatly. "But if you ruin the wedding photos with that face, I'll deduct it from your payment."
Her heart twisted. Of course. Payment. That's all she was to him.
She bit her lip, forcing herself to breathe through the ache in her chest. Another tear slipped down her cheek.
He moved closer, stopped just in front of her, then reached out—unexpectedly—and wiped it away with his thumb.
> "Wipe your face," he muttered. Then, softer, barely a whisper:
"You don't look good when you cry in front of others."
Before she could reply, he turned and left.
---
The ceremony hall was filled with glittering lights and murmuring voices.
"Isn't that her?"
"She's so plain… how did she land him?"
"Look at her eyes. Is she crying?"
"She won't last a week. The last woman who tried to tie Ares down? Hospitalized."
Zhi'er heard them all. Every whisper was a dagger in her spine. But she walked.
Head down. Shoulders trembling. A fragile bride stepping into a lion's den.
Ares stood at the altar like a king—emotionless, unmoving.
She took his arm. His grip was tight, unyielding.
> "Smile," he said through his teeth. "Everyone's watching."
Zhi'er forced one.
In that moment, she wasn't his bride.
She was just a doll in a dress.
And he was the one holding the strings.
---
In the crowd, someone gasped. She heard it, faint but clear:
> "She's crying again."
"She's going to embarrass him."
"How pathetic."
Zhi'er kept walking.
But deep inside, something broke.
---
Across the altar, Ares Lu's eyes narrowed.
He saw her trembling lip.
The way she clenched the bouquet until her knuckles went white.
She was breaking.
He didn't know why it bothered him.
He didn't care about emotions. He didn't believe in weakness.
But something inside him—twisted.
And for the first time, the cold CEO made a silent vow:
> If anyone else makes her cry again… I'll destroy them.
Even if that someone was him