Contract of Love, Ties That Bind

At the city hall, Joanna tied the knot.

She signed her name, pausing to glance at the man beside her as she filled in the spouse section.

He was jaw-droppingly handsome—so much so that even the clerk couldn’t resist sneaking peeks. Lucky woman, they probably thought, marrying a guy like that.

“What’s your name again? Zack something? Sorry, it slipped my mind,” Joanna asked, breaking the moment with brutal nonchalance.

Zachary’s gorgeous face darkened. Was she for real, or was she just playing dumb?

Who in K City didn’t know Zachary? A face that could launch a thousand sighs, a physique carved to perfection, every woman’s fantasy—top-tier bachelor, head of R&S Group, with fingers in finance, e-commerce, real estate, and entertainment.

He snatched the form from her, scrawling his name in bold, commanding strokes.

Stamp, seal, done—marriage certificate in hand.

Joanna briskly gathered her things.

Zachary opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “When’s the divorce?”

“Doctors say Grandma might not make it past this month,” he replied, voice clipped.

Her question soured his mood. Divorce timelines should be his concern—why was she so eager?

Joanna frowned. Three months ago, she’d stumbled across an old lady by the roadside, struggling with a collapsed lung. Without hesitation, she’d performed an emergency needle decompression at the second rib, midclavicular line. The ambulance arrived just in time to save her life.

Turned out, the woman was in the final stages of lung cancer—and dead-set on seeing her grandson marry Joanna before she passed.

“Why not just fake a certificate?” Joanna asked, still puzzled. Seemed easier.

Zachary shot her a look. “Grandma would have it verified. No fooling her.”

“I’ve got one condition,” Joanna said.

“Hm?” Zachary raised a brow, curious what she’d pull.

“I hope Grandma lives a long, happy life, but this fake marriage has an expiration date. When it’s over, I want you to use your pull to erase any trace of us ever being hitched,” she said, dead serious.

“…”

He, the heir to a corporate empire, the ultimate catch—shouldn’t he be the one worried about wiping the slate clean?

This woman was practically screaming in her desperation to cut ties. It pissed him off.

“Done,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Cool.” Joanna shrugged breezily. “See ya. Don’t forget the 500 grand—here’s my card number.”

She slid him a slip of paper with her name and bank details in neat, elegant handwriting.

Zachary smirked coldly. So she’d finally brought up the money.

Grandma had raised him, their bond unbreakable. With her suffering in her final days, he just wanted her to go out with no regrets.

But this woman had played her. When he’d pitched the fake marriage to appease Grandma, Joanna had demanded 500K upfront.

“So, you saved Grandma on purpose?” he called after her retreating back, his voice icy.

Joanna turned, lips curving into a faint, stunning smile. “If you think so, sure.”

That backward glance was breathtaking.

Then she sauntered off, not a hint of attachment.

Please—she didn’t even know him, let alone his grandma.

This guy had to be delusional, stuck in some feudal lord fantasy. If she’d planned it, she’d have asked for five million, not a measly 500K—pocket change next to the custom suit he was rocking.

Zachary stood there, dazed, snapping out of it a beat too late.

Damn it, that smile had hooked him for a second.

He glanced down at the marriage certificate, rubbing it with a mix of amusement and disdain.

In their photo, she stood miles apart from him, radiating distance and unfamiliarity.

No denying it—she was striking: tall, sharp features, obsidian eyes, arched brows, sultry lips. Seductive yet fierce, crisp yet soft, a blend of vibes that made her impossible to pin down.

His lips quirked. This gold-digging schemer would slip up eventually, and he’d see her true colours.

Leaving city hall, he cursed under his breath. Damn it—he’d forgotten to get her number.

And that woman hadn’t even bothered to ask for his.

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The night was pitch black, the wind biting, a grim chill hanging in the air.

Zachary knew he’d walked into a trap. He’d gotten too comfortable, let his guard slip, and now danger had caught up with him.

Three armed figures closed in from behind.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots rang out. After a fierce struggle, Zachary held his own—he was skilled, but one against three was brutal. A bullet grazed his leg, and his strength started to fade.

Shaking off his pursuers, he made a desperate leap into the Han River—his last shot at survival.

Meanwhile, Joanna was walking nearby. She had business tonight—Lily, the orphanage director, had asked her to swing by.

A sudden burst of noise snapped her to attention.

Gunfire. AK-47s. The kind of weapon you’d expect in a war zone, not here. Her instincts kicked in—peaceful times, a safe city, this was wrong.

Following the sound, she spotted a scuffle in the distance. One guy, injured, jumped into the river as three others gave chase, ready to finish him off.

Swish, swish, swish! Without hesitation, Joanna flicked her wrist, launching a flurry of boomerang darts. They sliced through the air, nicking the necks of the three thugs with surgical precision.

Swish, swish, swish! The silver arcs looped back, landing neatly in her hand.

Carrying homemade boomerang darts was a habit she’d kept for years.

“Argh!” The thugs yelped, clutching their bleeding necks as they bolted. Her strikes were lethal if untreated—not deep enough to sever an artery, but close.

Joanna, a senior at K City’s Conrad University, was a star in the manufacturing design program—brilliant and beautiful. Few knew her past: a national junior champion in the 10-meter air pistol, poised to dominate the world championships. She’d crushed the prelims but vanished from the finals for reasons no one could pin down.

A sharpshooter with 0.01-millimeter precision, 10.9-ring shots were her norm. Throwing darts? Child’s play.

After scattering the attackers, she raced to the riverbank. The guy who’d jumped was hurt—maybe dying.

No time to think. She vaulted the railing and dove in.

Just as she’d feared, he was heavy—dead weight. It took everything she had to haul him ashore.

The night was suffocatingly dark, with thick clouds blotting out the moon and no streetlights in sight. She couldn’t make out his face.

The gunshot victim was out cold, choking on water, motionless on the ground.

Joanna had trained as a first-aid volunteer—she knew the drill. She pressed hard on his chest, over and over, but the river water stayed trapped in his lungs.

Was she really going to have to do this?

Lives mattered.

Screw it. She scrunched her face, shut her eyes, pressed her lips to his, and blew.

Weird—he’d been in the freezing water, but his lips weren’t cold. They were scorching, trembling faintly, and it set hers quivering too.

She gave him a few more rounds of CPR. Finally, he coughed up water, hacking violently.

Zachary’s mind was a fog, his body screaming in pain.

Soft lips brushed him, and he knew he’d been drugged—self-control shredded, that sweet kiss the final push over the edge.

When those lips met him again, he lunged, hooking an arm around her and kissing her hard.

“No—mmph!” Joanna registered the danger too late.

His grip tightened.

She could tell something was off—he’d been dosed with something.

She fought back, but it was useless.

This was it. She knew what was coming…

“I’ll take responsibility,” he rasped, the last thread of sanity snapping.

The next moment, his kisses became more aggressive, claiming her lips with a desperate hunger that left her speechless.

Joanna struggled with all her strength, but he was too powerful, his grip unrelenting. Regret surged through her— she should have never intervened. She dreadfully realized that she was about to lose her innocence to a stranger. She had saved a wolf and set herself on fire. No matter how she fought back, it was futile.

She didn't know how long it lasted, but it eventually ended.

As if clinging to the last shred of consciousness, he gently kissed away the tears at the corner of her eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry... I'll marry you." He buried his head into her neck as if trying to memorize her scent.

"Get off me!" Joanna finally found the strength to push him away.

He was too weak from his injuries to resist and collapsed beside her, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

Trembling, Joanna crawled up. Her fingers shook as she fumbled wi