Chapter 3 — The Second Proposal

He paused for a moment, his tone turning even colder.

"I have only just regained consciousness; I have no desire to deal with this messy family drama. We shall discuss this at a later time."

I turned slowly to face his deep, piercing eyes. He was not helping me. He was merely protecting the reputation of the Luc family, and perhaps his own peace of mind after waking from his coma. Wang Le-Ping’s plan had failed, and her expression was unsightly. She glared at me with a gaze as venomous as a viper's. She rose, walked over to stand directly in front of me, and lowered her voice so that only the two of us could hear.

"Do not get ahead of yourself. Even if you stay, I have a hundred ways to make you crawl out of this house."

Immediately after, she resumed her mask of a refined noble lady and began to publicly dictate the rules of my existence.

"Since you are staying, you must learn to act like a daughter-in-law. You are to rise at six every morning to prepare breakfast for the entire household. In the evening, you are not permitted to sleep until A-Trach has fallen asleep. You must learn to manage the household affairs; do not idle about like a useless person all day. Furthermore, shed that pathetic, poverty-stricken air of yours. Do not bring shame upon the Luc family!"

Her words grew increasingly vitriolic, the contempt for me almost tangible. I listened without expression, though internally, I was laughing coldly. The mother of a grown man who had yet to truly mature—her desire for control was truly etched into her very bones. This performance ended with me temporarily staying, yet my position was no different from that of a servant. While my father-in-law’s protection provided a flicker of warmth, the indifference of Luc Trach made me see the reality of my situation with crystal clarity. This high-society marriage had been a mistake from its very inception. I was nothing more than a passerby, a mere tool.

03

Luc Trach and I were forced into the life of living under the same roof. Our bedroom at the end of the second-floor hallway was dauntingly large, complete with a private dressing room and bathroom. Yet, that vast space felt stiflingly cramped and awkward with the addition of another person. Luc Trach’s body recovered rapidly, but his tongue remained even more venomous than before his coma.

"The water is too hot."

"Why would you put mushrooms in the porridge?"

"Could you please walk without making any noise?"

He acted like a fastidious supervisor, finding fault with every minor detail of my existence. I silently endured it all, viewing him as a "giant infant"—thirty years old physically, but barely three in maturity. Taking care of him was part of the debt I had to repay. I repeated this to myself like a mantra. That evening, I brought him a glass of warm water. Instead of taking it, he handed me a document.

"What is this?" I asked, confused.

"A marriage agreement."

He replied succinctly, his gaze devoid of any warmth. "Sign it."

I took the document and opened it. The clauses were listed clearly, as cold and clinical as a commercial contract. First, the marital relationship was purely nominal; neither party would interfere in the other's private life, including romantic affairs, social life, or career. Second, the female party would be responsible for the daily care of the male party until his health was fully restored. Third, during the marriage, the female party would not use the title of "Mrs. Luc" to seek any personal gain outside of the home. Fourth, upon the termination of the marriage, the female party would voluntarily relinquish any claim to the male party’s assets. The clauses only grew more stringent as I read on. Every word served to draw a firm boundary, as if I were a plague that needed to be restrained by legal iron. By the time I reached the final clause, I was nearly laughing in irritation. Just how afraid was he that I was coveting his family's money?

"Well?" Seeing that I had remained silent for too long, Luc Trach arched an eyebrow. "If you have objections, speak them now."

"I have no objections."

I closed the folder, took a pen, and decisively signed my name at the bottom: Chu Tuyet. I even went a step further and added a clause of my own: upon the conclusion of this marriage, I would voluntarily leave with nothing, and I would forever keep every detail of our life during this period a secret. Once finished, I slid the agreement back toward him. "It is done."

My decisiveness clearly exceeded his expectations. Luc Trach picked up the document. As he read the line I had just added, his expression became complex. Perhaps he had anticipated that I would weep, bargain, or reveal a greedy face. He could not have expected me to be even more eager than he was to sever all ties. He remained silent for a long time before placing the agreement in his nightstand drawer and locking it. The motion was as if he were sealing away something dangerous.

From that day on, the atmosphere between us shifted in a subtle way. He no longer picked at me for every little thing. Although he remained a man of few words, he was at least no longer as sharp as before. As for me, I felt a strange sense of comfort. That agreement served as a talisman, allowing me to settle into the role of a "high-end caretaker" with peace of mind. I followed Wang Le-Ping’s requirements to the letter, rising early and sleeping late, ensuring every household matter was handled with precision. She wanted to see me struggle, panic, and fail, but I refused to grant her that satisfaction. I had been independent since childhood; housework was merely a basic skill. Furthermore, my late mentor, Luc Kien-Quoc, had been a gourmet. By watching him, I had cultivated quite a refined palate and cooking ability.

Luc Trach’s stomach had been spoiled into being incredibly picky. After he woke, they had already cycled through several chefs, none of whom could please him. Once I took over the kitchen, I tailored every dish to his current health needs, incorporating the medicinal recipes my mentor had once taught me. At first, he would simply eat in silence. Then, occasionally, he would offer a comment.

"Today’s soup is acceptable."

Then one day, during a meal, Wang Le-Ping began criticizing the food again, claiming the chef was getting worse by the day. Luc Trach set down his chopsticks and said calmly, "Chu Tuyet prepared the meal today."