If anyone had told me three months ago that I’d end up married to Song Ci, I would have shoved their head in a toilet to sober them up.

To my father, he was the picture-perfect prodigy, a man of pristine virtue and effortless brilliance. To me, he was just a stuffy, rigid law professor whose strictness bordered on heartless. Yet here I was, staring across the table at the man calmly slicing his steak, swallowing down my own tears.

Song Ci lived a life as disciplined as classical poetry: a word too many ruined the meter, a word too few broke the rhythm. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses lay eyes as still as an autumn lake. Whether dealing with a student weeping over a failed exam or his brand-new wife, me, he maintained a chillingly composed demeanor.

The sharp sound of silverware hitting porcelain shattered the heavy, stifling silence. “Niannian, eat your bell peppers.”

I gripped my chopsticks tighter, staring at the green slices in my bowl as if they were my mortal enemies. “Professor Song, picky eating is a natural human instinct. And this stuff? I consider it a crime against humanity.”

He didn’t say a word, merely lifting his gaze to look at me. I knew that look all too well. It was the same look he gave me over a decade ago when he made me stand in the corner for two hours for doodling on his lesson plans. Song Ci was the kind of man who never needed to raise his voice; he could sit perfectly still and radiate enough authority to make anyone surrender.

I… chickened out. Closing my eyes, I forced down the bell pepper like it was poison.

“Good girl.” The corners of his lips curved slightly into a smile, as if he were taming a stray cat. “After dinner, take a half-hour walk. Bedtime is at ten.”

I slammed my bowl onto the table. “I’m your wife, not your graduate student! It’s only eight o’clock—you expect me to sleep at ten? What century are you living in?”

“Staying up late damages your liver. Takeout is too greasy, so it’s banned. As for bars…” He paused, his dark eyes dimming slightly. “That’s no place for Mrs. Song.”

The title “Mrs. Song” landed like a heavy padlock snapping firmly shut around my neck.

My chance came on Friday night. Song Ci had an academic seminar and wouldn’t be back until very late.

Before leaving, he thoughtfully placed a glass of warm milk on my nightstand and patted my head. “Drink it while it’s hot and go to sleep early. I’ll be back at midnight.” His voice was deep and undeniably handsome, but to my ears, it sounded like the purr of a demon.

The moment the front door closed, I threw off the covers and bolted up. “Freedom!”

I sprinted into my closet and yanked out a skimpy black slip dress that Song Ci had strictly forbidden me from wearing. I put on heavy makeup, bold red lipstick, styled my hair into voluminous waves, and stepped into sharp, four-inch heels. The woman staring back at me in the mirror wasn’t the obedient “Mrs. Song”, she was a certified siren.

A message from my best friend, Jiang Jiang, popped up on my phone:

I snatched my keys and sped off like a convict pulling off a successful prison break.

Muse Bar was electric, pulsing with laser lights and heavy bass that vibrated through the floor. The second I stepped through the doors, I felt every pore in my body open up after three months of being suppressed.

“Niannian! Over here!”

Jiang Jiang was waving at me from the middle of a crowd of young guys. I strolled over and downed an ice-cold shot. The burning sensation sliding down my throat made me instantly giddy.

“Damn, girl! Did Professor Song finally let you off your leash?” Jiang Jiang teased with a sly smile.

“Don’t mention that old geezer,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Tonight, I’m single!”

Right on cue, a cute guy with a sweet dimpled smile stepped closer and poured me a drink. He deliberately leaned in, his bare arm brushing lightly against my shoulder.

I didn’t pull away. Thinking of Song Ci’s cold face back home, my rebellious streak burned hotter than ever.

He didn’t want me drinking? I’d drink. He didn’t want me staying up late? I’d stay up all night. He didn’t want me near other men? Then I’d find the youngest, freshest guy in the room!

“You have amazing skin,” the young guy purred, bringing the glass right to my lips, his eyes unabashedly full of admiration. “What kind of skincare do you use?”

“I was born with it,” I murmured, taking a slow, careless sip. “How old are you… little brother?”

“Twenty-one,” he grinned sweetly. “If you like, I can stay by your side all night… forever.”

Twenty-one. The number thirty-two immediately flashed in my mind, Song Ci’s age. The eleven-year gap in youth felt intoxicatingly satisfying. I reached out and gently pinched his cheek; the plump collagen felt downright addictive.

“Smooth talker.” I pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Consider it a tip.”

The alcohol was starting to hit. My logic began retreating from the battleground bit by bit. I swayed to the beat of the music, feeling like a fish finally released back into the vast ocean. I felt so free… I could fly.

“Niannian! Wanna hit the dance floor?” Jiang Jiang shouted over the music.

“Let’s go!” I stood up, but because I’d downed the shots too fast, my feet wobbled.

The young guy beside me quickly reached out and caught my waist. “Careful.” His warm palm pressed through my dress against my waist, sending a strange jolt through me. I was about to use his support to steady myself when suddenly…

The world fell dead silent.

It was as if someone had slammed a master mute button. The booming music felt instantly pushed miles away. A cold chill ran straight down my spine, and my survival instincts screamed out in terror.

I lifted my head. Through the multicolored crowd and flickering lights, I saw him.

Ten feet away, Song Ci stood as straight and unyielding as a pine tree. He was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, his crisp white shirt buttoned straight to the collar, his gold-rimmed glasses catching the cold glint of the neon lights. He looked completely out of place in this den of raw desire, like a holy monk wandering into a lair of temptresses, yet his aura was far more terrifying than the King of Hell himself.

His eyes locked directly onto mine. Precise. Cold. And suffocatingly intense.

The glass in Jiang Jiang’s hand slipped and crashed onto the table. She scrambled to her feet, trembling. “P-Professor… Song…”

Song Ci gave her a single glance, offering a polite, distant, and utterly flawless nod. Then, he started walking toward me. Each step he took felt like he was stepping directly on my heart.

The young guy next to me clearly hadn’t caught on. Seeing Song Ci approach, he puffed out his chest to block the way. “Hey, old man, who are you? Don’t bother her.”

The second the words “old man” left his mouth, I felt my heart drop straight through the floor.

Song Ci stopped. He didn’t get angry, nor did he frown. He simply appraised the guy from head to toe with chilling indifference before saying softly, “Let go.”

Just two words, but the boy acted as if he’d been hit with a taser. He instantly snatched his hand back, his face draining to a pale white. In the face of an absolute apex predator, instinct always chooses submission.

Losing my support, my legs turned to jelly. Before I could fall, a powerful arm wrapped securely around my waist. The familiar scent of cedarwood wrapped around me, completely overpowering the heavy stench of alcohol. He held me so tightly I genuinely worried my bones might break.

“Had enough fun?” he whispered in my ear. His warm breath brushed against my skin, but I froze from head to toe.

I opened my mouth to talk back, to snap what’s it to you, but the look in his eyes right now was terrifying. It was like a calm ocean hiding a violent, churning undercurrent, a volcano right on the brink of eruption. He was holding back, exercising every ounce of restraint not to strangle me on the spot.

“I…” My throat locked up.

Song Ci gave me no further chance to speak. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and wrapped it directly around me, completely concealing the “crime scene.”

“We’re going home.”

Short and final. Half-dragging, half-carrying me, he turned to leave. As he passed Jiang Jiang, he paused for a brief second. His tone remained polite, yet laced with absolute authority:

“Put tonight’s bill under my name. But if you bring Niannian to places like this again… I will have to discuss your study abroad plans with your father.”

Jiang Jiang’s face went completely ghostly pale. “I… I won’t ever do it again!”

And just like that, I was marched out of the bar by Song Ci.