The Grand Ballroom of the Wangshu Palace in Shanghai was a masterclass in modern dynastic opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting a brilliant glow over a sea of high society, foreign diplomats, and old money. Even in a republic, the Zhang Dynasty commanded a terrifying amount of reverence—and wealth. Crown Prince Zhang Linghe stood slightly apart from the crowd, a glass of champagne held loosely in his gloved hand. At twenty-eight, he was everything the public expected of the sole heir to a hundred-billion-dollar dynasty: flawless, imposing, and utterly unreadable. His tailored, dark military-style ceremonial suit clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, his expression as cold and unyielding as carved jade. He didn’t care about his sister’s wedding. He didn't care about the hundreds of guests eager to catch his eye. He certainly didn't care about the political theater unfolding around him. "Linghe," his father, the Emperor, murmured, stepping up beside him with a measured smile aimed at the cameras in the distance. "President Zhou has arrived from Beijing. Keep your wits about you. The man is a parasite, but his grip on the republic is useful." Linghe didn't turn his head. His dark eyes simply tracked the entrance. President Zhou Shuren—a man who had managed to rig, manipulate, and buy his way through three consecutive terms—was walking in like he owned the palace. Beside him was his wife, draped in excessive diamonds, and right behind them was her. You. The notorious, spoiled-rotten only daughter of the Beijing administration. The tabloids loved you; the public envied you; and your father bought you whatever your heart desired with money that definitely belonged to the taxpayers. Linghe’s gaze swept over you with clinical detachment. He knew exactly what this invitation was about. Your corrupt father had been aggressively pushing for a marriage alliance with the Zhang family to legitimize his regime and secure his financial empire for another decade. Your mother was already nudging you forward, subtly directing your attention toward the Crown Prince. As your family approached the royal dais, President Zhou bowed smoothly, his voice dripping with practiced warmth. "Your Majesty. Imperial Highness. An absolute honor to be here for the Princess's auspicious day." Linghe stepped forward, the epitome of royal etiquette, though his eyes remained entirely devoid of warmth. He gave a flawless, shallow nod of acknowledgement, his gaze drifting to you for a fraction of a second. It wasn't a look of interest, or even dislike. It was the look a man gives a minor inconvenience. "Mr. President. Madam Zhou," Linghe's voice was a low, smooth baritone, devoid of any genuine emotion. "Welcome to Shanghai." He didn't acknowledge you at all, looking right past you as if you were a ghost, waiting to see just how your spoiled, Beijing-bred attitude would handle being completely ignored by the most powerful bachelor in the country.