My Stoic Husband Is Wild and Charming

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The words “facing bankruptcy” echoed in Jiang Zhi’s mind. Though furious at Cheng Shuwen’s invasion of her privacy, she couldn’t ignore her uncle’s crisis. On the way to the Qin residence, she skimmed the news: the Qin Group, specializing in furniture design, faced allegations of substandard materials and excessive formaldehyde in its latest line. Crucially, parents claimed their child developed leukemia after using Qin furniture. Opportunistic media fueled the fire, sparking mass demands for refunds—both new and old purchases—dealing a crippling blow to the company.

Amidst the Qin Group’s dominating headlines, Jiang Zhi’s agent instincts noted another absence: Jiang Nian and Wen Nian were conspicuously absent from the hot search. Paying off paparazzi instead of announcing the relationship? Unusual. But she shelved the thought. Her uncle’s crisis came first.

The car halted before the Qin villa. Before Jiang Zhi could enter, Cheng Shuwen’s pitiful sobs drifted out.
“…Three years as Jiang Nian’s agent! Three years of constant online abuse, worse after he became famous! If you won’t protect her, I will! Being some agent’s punching bag is worse than becoming the lady of the Shang family! Old Master Shang has always wanted Zhizhi! Would he mistreat her? Isn’t a life of luxury better than scraping by under strangers’ scorn?”
Jiang Zhi scoffed. Master of masks, this one. Deserves an Oscar.

Qin Ming remained unmoved. “The company’s fate is mine to bear. Zhizhi has the right to choose her path. I will never force her into a marriage!” He pointed at papers scattered on the floor. “Put those back where you found them!”
Cheng Shuwen scooped them up, voice dripping with false grief. “And Yu Chuan? Should he drop out of school to shoulder your debts?” If only she’d had a daughter, this Shang golden ticket wouldn’t be wasted on Jiang Zhi!
Qin Ming paled, words dying on his lips.

Jiang Zhi stepped inside. Her uncle looked haggard—dark circles bruised his eyes, stubble shadowed his jaw. Her heart clenched. “Uncle, how bad is it?”
Qin Ming started, his frown deepening. “Zhizhi, I can handle this. Stay out of it.” Cheng Shuwen’s eyes lit up at her arrival, though she masked it quickly.
Jiang Zhi knew he shielded her, bearing the brunt even at the brink. She stepped closer. “Uncle, am I still part of this family?”
“Of course!”
“Then I deserve to know the truth, don’t I?”
Trapped by her logic, Qin Ming sighed heavily, laying bare the company’s dire straits: customer service lines overwhelmed, refunds bleeding them dry, capital evaporating.

After a tense silence, Jiang Zhi turned to Cheng Shuwen, hand outstretched. “Give me the contract.”

The next day. Shang Group Headquarters.
The elevator ascended silently to the penthouse. Jiang Zhi had planned to leave the marriage contract with the receptionist, hoping for an audience. To her surprise, Shang Chi’s assistant, Zhou Xu, overheard and—after a brief consultation—personally escorted her up.
Elite staff on the top floor gaped as Zhou Xu led Jiang Zhi toward Shang Chi’s office. A woman? In the CEO’s private sanctum? The man famously avoided female company; even major clients met in the conference room. This was unprecedented.

The door clicked shut behind her. The office was a vast expanse of minimalist grey and black, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling window framing the city skyline. A tall, imposing figure stood silhouetted against the light, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers at his side. As she entered, he lifted it to his lips, inhaling deeply. Smoke curled from his mouth, shrouding features already half-lost in shadow, rendering him utterly unreadable.

Jiang Zhi met his gaze across the room. Her pulse stuttered. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses gleam like a wolf’s in the gloom—patient, predatory, waiting for prey to stumble into his domain before the final, devastating pounce?

The silence stretched, thick and electric. Finally, his voice cut through, low and cool: “You had business to discuss, Miss Jiang?”
The timbre struck her—familiar. She dismissed the wild thought: Impossible. That voice belonged to a dream.

Steeling herself, Jiang Zhi approached his desk, spreading the aged document open. “President Shang, this is the marriage contract drafted by my grandfather and yours.”
Long legs carried him around the desk. He plucked the paper up with his cigarette-holding hand, scanning it briefly. A brow arched. “Expecting me to marry you?”
Facing the light now, his features were fully visible—more striking than any video could capture. A face of aristocratic elegance layered over raw, dangerous potency, surpassing any star she’d known. Irrelevant, she reminded her cement-sealed heart.

Jiang Zhi shook her head. “No. I know my place. I’m here to return your freedom. To break the engagement.”