I’m an actress.

Ever since my breakout role as an enchanting temptress in my debut film, a steamy bathing scene of mine had gone viral across the internet. The comment section was practically ablaze:

Smelling money, my agency immediately dumped a stack of similar scripts on my desk. I got famous, sure, but the “vixen” stereotype stuck to me like superglue.

“Tomorrow, you’re shooting a commercial with Lam Shuofan. Make sure there’s plenty of physical contact. I’ll have paparazzi stationed on-site,” my manager, Zhang Lan, instructed in her sharp, uncompromising voice. “We need this on-screen couple to trend. Do you hear me?”

Lam Shuofan was the latest “fresh meat” hearthrob the agency was pushing. In our last drama, he played a chivalrous, noble young master, while I played his alluring, scandalous stepmother. To put it bluntly, the company wanted us to take our script off-screen to manufacture a sensational scandal.

The problem? On set, Lam Shuofan had looked at me like I was a literal home-wrecker, his eyes dripping with disdain. I had zero interest in crawling over to get humiliated.

Besides…

“Lan-jie, I’m actually married. I really can’t do romantic scandals.”

Zhang Lan’s face darkened instantly. “Bai Ranran, are you pulling this stunt on me again? How many times have you used that excuse over the last three years? Where is this husband of yours, huh? Where’s the marriage certificate? Show it to me!”

I pressed my lips together. The marriage certificate was resting safely inside a heavy vault at the Jiang estate. And that safe… wasn’t something you could just open on a whim.

“I’ll do anything else, but I genuinely can’t do this.”

Zhang Lan let out a cold laugh. “This is company orders. You do it, or you pay the breach-of-contract fee and get the hell out.”

She turned on her heel and walked off. Hina, my assistant—and the only person who knew my secret—fumed in frustration.

“Ranran, what if we ask Mrs. Jiang for help? If the Jiang family steps in, terminating your contract would be a piece of cake!”

I cut her off gently. “How many days until the fifteenth?”

“Uh… tomorrow.”

I let out a soft sigh. Time to go back and fulfill my monthly “duties” with my husband in name only.

Three years ago, right after I inherited the title of “Human Siren,” I was cornered by a troupe of suit-clad bodyguards. At the time, I assumed I was about to be propositioned by some wealthy benefactor wanting a sugar baby.

Instead, I was brought face-to-face with an elegant, aristocratic woman. She scrutinized me before nodding slightly.

“You do have a pretty face. My surname is Jiang.”

“May I ask why you wanted to meet me, Mrs. Jiang?”

“I want you to marry my son.”

I nearly choked on my own tongue. “Marry him? But I haven’t even met him!”

“You’ll get used to each other after the wedding,” she replied smoothly. “I heard your mother has kidney disease. Aside from dialysis, are you confident you can secure a kidney transplant on your own?”

She hit me right where it hurt. I wavered hard.

Soon after, I was escorted to a sprawling Jiang family courtyard mansion. But what brought me back to my senses was the fact that behind the residence lay an actual Buddhist shrine. Mrs. Jiang led me to the entrance.

“He’s inside. You may enter on your own.”

I stared into the dimly lit, solemn sanctuary, thinking to myself: Who on earth holds a blind date in a Buddhist temple?!

Inside the main hall knelt a man. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a face so impossibly gorgeous it made you question the fairness of divine creation. What stood out most was the string of jet-black prayer beads resting against his cool, pale wrist.

I couldn’t help muttering under my breath, “Wait… has he actually taken monastic vows or not?”

The man’s long eyelashes fluttered, and his eyes opened. His gaze was so piercingly cold that I instantly shrank back, becoming as meek as a drenched cat. Only one thought echoed in my head: Marrying this guy… would definitely save on the air conditioning bill.

Afterward, Mrs. Jiang asked me outright, “Will you marry him?”

I bit my lip and nodded. With those visuals and that fortune, I certainly wasn’t losing out.

Once the marriage was finalized, she laid down only two conditions:

It sounded reasonable enough. One day a month, with a full five years to prepare.

The tiny problem? Three years had passed, and I hadn’t even managed to touch that “saintly Buddha’s” hand. Only two years were left on the clock.

How was I supposed to give him a baby? Through immaculate conception?

Now, I was genuinely starting to panic.