Contract Marriage: The President's Stand-in Lover - Chapter 17:

The Birthday Gift

The awkwardness from that clumsy attempt lingered like a thin sheet of invisible ice between

Vivian and Gu Chen. She folded away the bright dresses that had never truly belonged to her,

wiped off the carefully painted mask of makeup, and returned to her quiet,

understated style. All her energy poured into her work at the foundation and

the Qingyuan Village project. Busyness became her wall,

keeping her safely apart from the painful truth she didn’t want to face.

Gu Chen seemed to notice her retreat. He didn’t question the strange tension of that night,

nor did he try to break the fragile ice that separated them.

They returned to the same polite coldness as before, only this time,

even the faint warmth of her cautious glances and fragile hope had disappeared.

One afternoon, while organizing past foundation files,

Vivian’s eyes drifted to the calendar on her computer.

A small reminder glowed there Gu Chen’s birthday, less than a week away.

Her heart stirred. According to their agreement, she was supposed to acknowledge

such occasions as his “wife,” maintaining the illusion of a loving marriage.

In previous years, she might have arranged an extravagant dinner or

chosen a gift expensive enough to impress outsiders yet utterly devoid of warmth.

But this year, she hesitated.

Was there even a point? she thought. To him, I’m just a poor imitation

a shadow trying to look like the light.

And yet, another voice whispered softly inside her. A promise is a promise.

And maybe… this could be your chance. Not to please him, but to be yourself again.

To thank him, sincerely.

Memories surfaced one by one the light in his study late at night when he thought she was asleep,

the quiet ways he had helped her when she was most helpless,

the umbrella he held for her in the rain at Qingyuan Village,

the rare gentleness in his eyes when he spoke of his late mother.

Their marriage had begun as a transaction, yes. And maybe his heart was still tied to someone else.

But those small, unspoken moments between them were real.

A thought bloomed gently inside her. She didn’t want to buy him something cold and luxurious.

She wanted to give him something that came from her own hands something

that carried her mark, her warmth.

She opened the drawer and took out the professional sketching tools he had once given her,

the ones she had almost forgotten.

For several nights, after the house fell silent, she locked her door,

turned on the lamp, and spread clean sheets of paper across her desk.

She didn’t draw grand scenes or vivid colors. Instead,

she worked in soft pencil and charcoal, her strokes quiet, patient, and full of meaning.

She drew the moment they first met across the negotiation table,

his cold profile touched faintly by exhaustion. She drew the wedding,

when he placed a ring on her finger, his face calm but his fingertips trembling with heat.

She drew Venice, sunlight glimmering on his shoulders as he stood on a bridge above the water.

She drew the hospital night, when he sat awake on the couch,

frowning slightly, refusing to leave her side.

And she drew the moment in the rain at Qingyuan Village,

when he tilted the umbrella just enough to keep her dry.

Fragment by fragment, she pieced together the small,

wordless memories the contract could never capture.

Each stroke carried something of her resentment and gratitude,

confusion and longing, and that fragile, forbidden tenderness she could no longer deny.

It wasn’t a gift meant to please. It was an unspoken confession,

a way to face her own heart honestly, no matter how he reacted.

On the day of his birthday, life went on as usual. No party, no celebration,

not even a visit from the family estate just a brief phone call from his relatives.

He spent the evening in meetings and business dinners.

Vivian didn’t call, didn’t text. She simply waited.

It was past ten when the sound of the front door finally broke the silence.

Gu Chen entered, the faint scent of alcohol and tobacco clinging to him,

fatigue etched across his features. Vivian took a deep breath,

held the slender sketch tube she’d wrapped in simple brown paper,

and walked downstairs.

He looked up, loosening his tie, surprise flickering across his face.

Still awake?

She nodded, stepping closer and holding out the tube.

Her voice was calm, though her fingers trembled slightly.

Happy birthday.

His gaze shifted to the sketch tube, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.

He hadn’t expected a gift from her, much less one wrapped so plainly.

He took it from her hands. It was light, the texture unmistakably paper beneath his fingers.

What is this? he asked softly.

Just… something small. It’s nothing valuable. You can look at it later if you’d like.

Her voice was quiet, almost shy. As soon as the words left her lips, she turned,

ready to flee before she could witness disappointment or confusion in his eyes.

But his voice stopped her. Wait.

He untied the string and unrolled the paper right there in front of her.

The moment his eyes fell on the drawings, the fatigue on his face froze.

He said nothing. He looked at one sketch, then another,

his expression shifting from surprise to focus, from curiosity to something deeper,

quieter, more shaken.

There was no color, yet the images seemed to breathe.

Each line carried warmth, memory, and emotion.

He saw pieces of himself that he had never noticed before the weariness behind his composure,

the gentleness he tried to hide, the moments he had dismissed as insignificant.

In her art, he saw himself through her eyes and it moved him in a way he couldn’t explain.

The last drawing was of his study: the crystal paperweight glimmering under the lamplight,

beside a steaming cup of tea. In one corner, written in delicate, graceful handwriting,

were the words: May the years be gentle, and your brow forever untroubled.

No signature, but everything about it spoke of her. Her hand, her heart, her quiet devotion.

Gu Chen stared at the final piece for a long time. His throat tightened as he looked up at her

she stood a few feet away, head bowed, her breath barely steady.

The room was silent except for the ticking of the wall clock.

After a long moment, his voice broke the stillness low, rough, and

unlike she had ever heard before, as though something had caught in his chest.

All of these… you drew them?

Vivian nodded gently, still unable to meet his gaze.

He looked back at the drawings, fingertips brushing over the faint texture

of the pencil lines, almost as if he could feel her heartbeat in every stroke.

I never knew, he murmured, that you could draw like this.

When his eyes lifted again, they met hers, steady and intent.

Within them swirled a mix of emotions she couldn’t decipher

astonishment, admiration, something fragile and aching that looked a lot like guilt.

Thank you, Vivian, he said at last. His tone was solemn, warm, almost tender.

This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.

Her breath caught. She looked up, meeting his gaze no longer cold,

but deep, luminous, alive with something that felt like starlight.

Emotion surged through her chest, fierce and bright,

a mixture of relief and disbelief that blurred her vision.

He liked it. He really liked it.

And he said it was the best.

Gu Chen noticed the tears glimmering in her eyes,

the way they made her face shine with fragile beauty.

Something inside him cracked the wall he had built around his heart splitting open,

just enough for warmth to seep through.

He took a small step forward, hand lifting as if to touch her,

then stopped. Instead, he carefully rolled the sketches back up,

holding them like something precious and irreplaceable.

Get some rest, he said quietly, his voice rough but softened by an unfamiliar gentleness.

You too, she whispered, cheeks warm, pulse quickened.

She turned and walked upstairs, light on her feet, her heart fluttering as though it might take flight.

In her room, she closed the door and leaned against it, pressing a hand over her chest,

smiling through the tears that filled her eyes.

That simple roll of paper had done more than deliver a gift.

It had unlocked something a door, perhaps, that neither of them

had realized was waiting to be opened.

That night, the light in Gu Chen’s study burned late.

He didn’t work. He simply sat there, the drawings spread before him,

staring at them for a very long time.