Han Ruihan

I’ve seen her before. Too many times to pretend otherwise.

I told myself it was nothing. Just youth. Beauty. Curiosity. I lied.

Every time she appeared, something in me shifted—something I didn’t like acknowledging.

That was when I knew.

But she was destined for my son—or so everyone said. The families matched. The ages matched. It made sense. So I let it be. If she wanted him, I’d let her have him. I could live with that. Maybe.

Then she walked into that room.

The selection meeting was supposed to be routine. Dozens of candidates, formalities, papers and pedigrees. But when she entered the entire air changed. I didn’t even need to see her face to know it was her. My body recognized her before my mind did.

Her voice was soft but unshaken when she said it: “Chairman, I’d like to make another proposal.”

The room went still.

“If your purpose is to strengthen the Han family, then instead of your son…” She looked directly at me. “…why not marry me yourself?”

For a moment, I didn’t hear anything else. The whispers, the confusion, even my son’s outrage—it all blurred into silence.

She had just handed me the one thing I’d forbidden myself to want.

My first instinct should’ve been to reject her, to remind her of her place, her age, her boldness. But what came instead was heat—dark, consuming, and long denied. My heart was loud enough that I almost wondered if she could hear it.

I’d wanted her near the family. I’d imagined her there before, quietly, shamefully—at dinners, at my table, her laughter somewhere in the house. But never as mine. Never like this.

And yet, now that she’d said it… the thought rooted itself too deeply to pull out.

I leaned back slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “You’re half my age,” I said, though my voice didn’t sound like my own—it was lower, rougher.