Chapter 1

Why did everyone think my marriage to the cold-faced professor was fake?

It turned out that after we got married, he was clingier than an actual puppy.

*****

I married Adrian Sterling on a whim.

The moment the news broke, the entire academic world went into shock.

Well, that was Adrian Sterling after all.

He was the youngest PhD advisor in Westbridge University's history. At twenty-eight, he'd already swept through the international mathematics scene, winning more awards than most people could name. They called him the future star of mathematics.

He was the kind of genius everyone wanted a piece of—respected in academia, courted by investors.

He was elegant, reserved, and impeccably self-disciplined—the kind of man who always seemed just out of reach.

And me?

I was just an ordinary physics grad student who had barely gotten into Westbridge.

To everyone else, we were two people who lived in entirely different worlds.

So of course, the rumors started.

"It has to be a marriage of convenience."

"Probably just a fake marriage—maybe arranged, maybe to deal with some special situation."

"They don't even look like people who'd date, let alone get married."

Honestly, I was just as confused as everyone else.

Because this marriage really did happen out of nowhere.

From our blind date to signing the papers, we'd only met three times.

The first time was in a little coffee shop. I sat nervously across from him, thinking that I was doomed. That guy looked impossible to talk to.

He wore a perfectly tailored shirt, the cuffs buttoned all the way, his tone even and emotionless.

He was like some kind of high-precision machine—calm, efficient, and completely unreadable.

I finally gathered my courage. "Mr. Sterling, may I ask why you agreed to go on a blind date?"

I mean, for someone like him, finding a partner should've been the least of his problems.

He looked up, his voice cool and measured. "My family's been pressuring me to get married."

Oh. So he was also a victim of family nagging.

I let out a silent sigh of relief, feeling just a bit more at ease.

"Then..." I asked carefully, "what are you expecting from marriage?"

He tapped his fingers lightly on the table, thought for a moment, then said, "Stability. A contractual arrangement. We don't interfere in each other's lives."

The moment I heard that, I almost cheered inside.

Perfect. That was exactly what I wanted too.

So our first meeting ended in quiet mutual satisfaction.

The second time we met was over dinner with our parents.

His parents were kind and polite—not the overbearing, high-society type I'd expected.

My parents, on the other hand, were over the moon. They kept whispering, "He seems so steady and reliable."

When dinner was over, Adrian turned to me, his tone still perfectly calm. "Would you like to think it over?"

He wasn't pushy. He didn't even sound like he was proposing. It was more like he was solving a mathematical equation and wanted a confirmation.

"Huh?" I blinked at him.

He added matter-of-factly, "If you have no objections, we can go get a marriage license."

What?

That straightforward?

I was stunned, but after considering how compatible we seemed—same values, similar family backgrounds, no emotional baggage—I somehow found myself nodding.

Our third meeting took place at City Hall.

When the marriage license was finally in my hands, I was still in disbelief.

And yet, it didn't take long for me to realize—this marriage was going to be anything but simple.

I realized something was off the moment we got married.

According to our so-called "contract", this marriage was supposed to be built on one rule—mutual noninterference.

So naturally, I assumed that once we got our marriage license, he'd go back to his academic world, and I'd return to my overworked grad student life. We would live separate lives, with no overlap and no drama.

But instead of keeping his usual distant, aloof routine, Adrian offered to drive me home.

Right outside city hall, I was still debating whether to call a cab when he pressed his car key and said flatly, "Let's go."

I blinked. "You're giving me a ride?"

He glanced sideways, his expression unreadable. "We're married now."

I nodded. "Right." He had a point.

So somehow, I ended up sitting in his sleek, understatedly expensive car, wondering how the hell I got here.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel, silent the whole way. The air inside the car was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

He wasn't talking, and I didn't dare start a conversation either. I just stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by streetlights.

But after a few minutes, I noticed something strange—he kept sneaking glances at me.

At red lights, instead of zoning out like a normal person, he'd look at me out of the corner of his eye, like he was studying me.

Halfway through the drive, he suddenly asked, "Are you nervous?"

I froze. "Huh?"

His tone was casual, almost lazy. His fingers tapped the steering wheel lightly. "You've been twisting your fingers since we left."

I stared down at my hands.

Wait. He actually noticed something I didn't even realize I was doing myself?

When we finally pulled up in front of my apartment, I turned to say goodbye—only for him to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out too.

I shot him a questioning look.

Completely calm, he said, "Let's go in."

It took me three whole seconds to process that. "Wait, you're staying here?"

"Yes."

"But don't you live in the villa district downtown? Isn't your place, like, ten times bigger than mine?"

He looked unbothered. "This is closer to Westbridge University."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

It did make sense, technically.

But he could've easily had his driver pick him up every day. Why did he move in with me?

Something about this felt very wrong, but I couldn't quite figure out what.

So, against my better judgment, I just nodded and let it happen.