Song Yanyan's POV
The insistent buzzing of my phone jolted me awake way too early on Monday morning. Groaning, I cracked open one bleary eye to see the ungodly hour glaring back at me. Of course Gramps and Mr. Grumpy Pants Wu Haoyu would already be waiting downstairs, ready to whisk me off to the civil affairs bureau.
As I stood under the steaming spray of the shower, my mind started to sharpen despite the early wake-up call. I found myself dwelling yet again on Wu Haoyu's striking visage and perpetual aura of disdain. Those brooding aristocratic features were practically designed to torment the poor hetero female population into hormonal hysterics. Not that I deluded myself into thinking callous good looks were any sort of virtue. My Chicago upbringing had disabused me of that fairytale notion early on.
