MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!

The words hung in the air, suffocating.

A line so casual, so effortless, yet it tore through the banquet like an arrow.

Jiang Lei’s entire body stiffened.

Hua Ling’s nails dug into her palms, her entire face twisting in rage.

Zhao Yan, however—

He never looked at anyone else.

His gaze was locked onto Hua Jing, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes deep with something only she could understand.

The crowd erupted.

Gasps. Whispers. Shocked murmurs.

Someone choked on their wine.

And then—

Laughter.

Someone actually laughed.

It started quiet, a suppressed chuckle—then spread like wildfire.

The weight of the situation hit them all at once.

Hua Jing had just annihilated Jiang Lei.

Jiang Lei—the so-called "perfect scholar," the ideal son-in-law.

And here he was, standing next to a fuming Hua Ling, while his ex-lover stood next to a literal prince.

The difference between the two men was night and day. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Zhao Yan—ethereal, otherworldly, a man carved by the gods themselves.

Jiang Lei—handsome, sure, but next to Zhao Yan?

Like comparing a candle to the sun.

And Hua Jing had said it out loud.

In front of everyone.

Hua Ling gritted her teeth so hard they might crack.

Jiang Lei looked like he had been personally betrayed by fate itself.

His hands clenched at his sides.

It took everything in him not to storm over and shake Hua Jing, to demand—why was she saying these things?!

Didn’t she once love him?!

Didn’t she once follow him like a shadow, eyes filled with admiration?!

He had once thought she was obedient, meek, utterly devoted to him.

But this woman standing before him—this confident, smirking, ruthless woman—

She wasn’t the same Hua Jing.

The Hua Jing he knew would have cried.

She would have been heartbroken, begging.

But this Hua Jing—

She was mocking him.

Hua Ling couldn’t take it.

"You think this is funny?" she hissed.

Her voice shook with fury.

"You— You dare say something like that in front of so many people?! On my wedding day?! Just how bitter are you, Hua Jing?!"

Hua Jing turned her gaze to her.

Slow. Measured. Amused.

"Me? Bitter?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

Then her lips curled into a devastatingly sweet smile.

"Oh, dear sister, I wouldn’t call it bitterness."

She reached up, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"I would call it... pity."

Hua Ling’s breath hitched.

"P-Pity?!"

"For you," Hua Jing added.

"After all..."

Her eyes glinted with wicked amusement.

"You truly believe I care about Jiang Lei?"

She let out a small laugh.

"It’s honestly adorable."

Jiang Lei flinched.

The crowd erupted again.

The murmurs were louder now.

"She doesn’t care about him?"

"Then why was she looking at him like that earlier?"

"Wait, does that mean she never wanted to steal him back?"

"What is happening?!"

The nobleman from before, the one who had started this entire mess, stepped forward again.

His expression skeptical, almost smug.

"You’re only saying all this," he said, voice sharp, "because we have never seen the real prince’s face."

The banquet stilled.

"You parade this man around as your husband," the nobleman continued.

"But how do we know he is truly the Crown Prince?"

His gaze swept across the guests, seeking agreement.

"We’ve only heard rumors about the prince’s disfigured face."

He turned back to Hua Jing, eyes narrowing.

"You could be standing here, shamelessly lying to all of us, while parading around with a flower boy!"

Hua Jing’s smirk widened.

Ah.

So we’re back to this?

The man who wouldn’t shut up about gigolos?

She folded her arms, shifting her weight onto one foot.

Her tone dripped with amusement.

"Is that so?"

The nobleman nodded, confidence growing.

"Indeed! If this man were truly the prince, why has no one ever seen his face before?"

He pointed at Zhao Yan.

"You could have picked up any charming man from the streets and dressed him in fine robes! How can you expect us to believe he is actually the Seventh Prince?!"

Silence.

All eyes fell on Hua Jing.

Would she panic?

Would she stumble?

Would she scramble for an excuse?

Hua Jing did none of those things.

Instead—

She laughed.

It was soft at first, then louder, sweeter, more entertained.

She lifted her hand, covering her lips as if she had just heard the funniest joke of the night.

Zhao Yan tilted his head slightly, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Finally, Hua Jing lowered her hand.

Her eyes—sharp, playful, completely unfazed.

"Is there any need," she said lightly, "for me to convince you?"

The nobleman stepped forward, voice dripping with self-righteousness.

"You should tell us the truth!" he barked.

"Or else—" his eyes gleamed with malicious delight, "we will drag you out of this place and parade you for being an adulterous woman!"

Hua Jing blinked.

She tilted her head, lips parting slightly, as if trying to comprehend exactly what kind of stupidity she had just heard.

Her eyes slowly swept over the gathered crowd, taking in their expectant expressions—as if they truly believed they were about to witness a grand scandal unfold.

She let out a soft, amused breath.

Ah.

So this was how they wanted to play it?

She almost wanted to clap for them.

Her fingers lightly tapped against her wrist, and she mused, voice dry,

"Is it just me, or do you people have a talent for picking the most ridiculous vocabulary?"

The nobleman’s face flushed in anger.

Before he could retort, a piercing sensation tickled the back of Hua Jing’s neck.

A gaze.

Dark. Intense. Unwavering.

Her body tensed before she even turned to confirm it.

But she did.

And sure enough—

Zhao Yan was staring at her.

Not at the nobleman.

Not at the crowd.

Not at anything else.

Just her.

The second their eyes met, her breath hitched.

Because he wasn’t just looking at her.

He was watching.

Deep, unreadable eyes, taking in everything.

As if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

And worse—he hadn’t looked away.

Not even once.

Hua Jing felt a flicker of unease crawl up her spine.

Her lips twitched.

Why was he looking at her like that?

She momentarily forgot about the nobleman.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes at Zhao Yan himself.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Zhao Yan didn’t blink.

His gaze didn’t shift.

And then, smooth as silk, deep as the night—

He said, one word.

"Your husband?"