My Billionaire Husband Claimed Me His Precious

The contract marriage was supposed to last ninety days.

On the last afternoon, under the white office lights and the quiet hum of the city outside, Qin Miaomiao slides a divorce agreement across Lu Qing’s sleek black desk. No drama, no tears—just the faint tremor in her fingers giving her away. She thinks she’s finally buying back her freedom from the man whose name has shielded and suffocated her in equal measure.

Lu Qing doesn’t argue. He doesn’t even raise his voice. He simply opens a drawer, takes out a different stack of papers, and nudges them toward her. The same heavy cream paper. The same sharp black letters. Only one thing has changed.

The end date is gone.

To the world, Lu Qing is the untouchable billionaire whose gaze can silence a boardroom. To her, he’s the insomniac who keeps the lights on at 3 a.m., the man who always remembers she hates cilantro, the husband who never once called her by the wrong name—because he never calls her by her name at all.

She was meant to be temporary. A convenient bride with an exit plan and a price tag. Somewhere between staged kisses for the cameras and awkward breakfasts in a too‑quiet penthouse, “temporary” blurred.

Now he’s offering a marriage with no expiration, spoken in that calm, infuriating tone that makes everything sound like a done deal.

Qin Miaomiao can keep pretending it’s just another contract.

Or she can sign away the last thing she truly owns: the right to walk away from the man who has already decided she is his most precious, unreturnable possession.