I'm just here💚

"Awww! See I know you love me."

He engulfs you with his rain soaked arms and nuzzles his chin on top your head. This would've been sweet if not for a fact that his skin is sticky from the grime of outside. You scream (a very normal reaction if you ask him) and he has no choice but to muffle you with his chest. You start daggers at him.

"I told you! No outside clothes in my bedroom. Dang it, you have your own house! You have a fucking pent house with a hot tub! Why must you always terrorize the poor? " You practically rap, as you push him away.

"But your place is nearer." He says as he makes himself at home, shaking off his boots and taking his bath towel hanging from the back of your bedroom door. It's been to many times and you know better.

"You. Are. A. Bad. Dog." You whisper as you pick up the discarded shoe with your foot and place it nearly beside the door.

The audible gasp from him almost makes you jump out of your skin.

"Dispatched Protocore defense unit from the Fleet is gone. Failure all but confirmed. No return transmissions. No survival signals. A full decimation caused by a single Elysian Knave—"

The once clear, blue sky is littered with ear-splitting explosions of orange and red, wrapped in a cacophony of choking black smoke. A fucked up parody of a firework with pieces of the airships and mangled limbs joining the fall.

"—Estimated that Linkon City will be a calamity zone in less than 20 minutes. It's pandemonium, unlike anything we've seen before—

Mass hysteria swept the streets when the bunkers had no choice but to turn away the desperate. Not out of cruelty, but out of lack of sheer space. Riots broke out. The opportunists broke into shops, stealing everything they could and leaving nothing but shattered glass.

"Remaining Fleet forces are engaged against a never-ending wave of Wanderers that until now, we still have no idea where they are coming from. But Skyhaven's last line of defense is losing cohesion. Wanderers are no longer isolated. They are coordinating. They are adapting mid-engagement—"

The death toll refuses to stop rising as soldiers and civilians are caught in the massacre of blades and bullets. Nowhere and no one is safe from monsters that are on a killing spree with almost blatant prejudice.

"—this is not behavioral randomness, I repeat, this is structured movement, they are learning counter-tactics faster than we can deploy them—"

A group of scientists and mechanics, frantically trying to repair the gravitational field, is making their last stand as a Heatshredder closes in.

"Global defense coalitions are fully deployed. Deepspace Hunters are on-site across all active zones, and yet Skyhaven's descent rate is increasing—"

"There! I see a clear landing spot. Get us over there!"

"I can't, Captain Jena! We receive reports that anoter new wave of Wanderers are coming for that area! We'll be overwhelmed as soon as we land!"

"Damn it all! Find another spot, quick!"

And then suddenly... the entire planet takes a deep breath.

"—I can see the sky shifting! I can actually see it moving—"

"Can you repeat that last transmission!?"

"I said the sky—Wait. Skyhaven... Skyhaven just stops. I-It's not falling, it's... stalling? Attention, every mobilising personnel! Skyhaven is now stalled in mid-fall—"

"We detect semi-unknown energy signatures where the Gravity Protocre was. One of them is not Fleet-issued? What could—Zoom in, zoom in NOW—"

"We have visual sightings of the Farspace Feet Colonel currently using his Evol to stall Skyhaven itself, and with him is... no, are we seeing this right? Is that the leader of Onychinus helping him!? What the fuck is going on!?"

The screaming stops, and those below in Linkon City tremble as they tilt their heads. At that moment, humanity also takes a deep breath, wondering the same thing: What happens now?

"Caleb! Sylus!" MC ran like the hellhounds themselves were nipping at her heels in order to get to the two, dodging falling debris and a hail of projectiles from men and monsters alike as soon as Captain Jena ordered them to disembark. It was nothing but a stroke of luck that she and a small team were sent to assess whatever was left of Skyhaven's Protocre, while the rest either joined the fight or provided cover for the medical and relief stations.

Help from every corner of the planet arrives in droves as soon as Skyhaven stops falling long enough for them to land. Evacuation became the top priority when Wanderers wouldn't stop appearing out of thin air.

The scene that MC found herself in, however, was something she, or anyone else, for that matter, couldn't ever imagine: With his Evol fully unleashed, phantom energy intertwining in black and red like a coil of muscle, wrapped around the very foundation of the island. Given the sheer massive size of Skyhaven? It struck the other Hunters in awe with a tinge of uneasiness at the blatant display of power, but what made MC quickly take a picture in case they all survive today is the number of grim yet still-determined Fleet officers surrounding Sylus, protecting him from incoming Wanderers instead of arresting him.

Nearby, Caleb was receiving similar treatment, with Luke and Kieran guarding him while he helped keep the island afloat. That's when MC looks closely and notices a hint of blue sparkles coating the black-and-red tendrils... and blood trickles from the side of his head.

"Wait. You're... you're Skye!" Tara gasped, and MC winced as she pivoted between them. Sylus, for his part, simply tosses a condescending smirk, though sweat lines his forehead. He's getting exhausted. "What the—"

"I'll explain later," MC insists. Thankfully, Tara and the rest of the unit didn't press further when she drew out her guns, signaling them to be ready for combat. "How can we help? Where's the Knave?"

"It flew off." Caleb replies, gritting his teeth as he channels every ounce of control and concentration into his Evol. He orders Adjutant Liam to take their officers and bring the Hunters to the nearby explosion. Sure enough, a group of new Wanderers is coming straight for them. Tara gives a perplexed look at MC when she chooses to stay behind, but bites her lip and follows after everyone else.

Now it's just her, Caleb, Sylus, and the twins.

"Tigress summoned them," Sylus says as apropos of nothing, his breathing laboured now. Luke hurried to his side, but Sylus shook his head, since there's nothing he could do. "Seems the good Coloned burned the last thread of her mercy."

"Before the Protocore was destroyed, we noticed the Fleet's HQ was missing. It's pretty obvious that this entire mess started there." Kieran chips in, blithely ignoring Caleb's glare.

"Did you kidnapped her again? Caleb!"

"Whoa, I didn't! You know I won't, Pips! She came to my office while I was on the clock. I was just as surprise as you!"

MC stills. You... you went to see him? Willingly? But you never did that for any of them. Unless... "Is it because of whatever ploy you cooked up with Sylus?" She asks, remembering how the two had informed her of their plans regarding you; the barest of bones they may be: To strongly pull or gently push you to fall into their waiting arms.

With her at the centre of course.

But then Caleb glared at Sylus and grunted out, "Who knew the head of Onychinus can't keep his mouth shut, though? Your so-called charisma did jack shit on Nugget."

Sylus scoffs while MC can't help but coo at his nickname for you, momentarily distracted at the thought of nibbling you like an actual nugget. "You try facing an enraged woman that defy the known laws of our universe and then ask her to stand down long enough so she would listen. See if your world would still hold up. Oh wait."

Caleb glares at him, having to reluctantly acknowledge that he's got a point.

"I had no choice! None of us has been producing the results we wanted with her, and time isn't exactly on our side."

"What exactly did you said?"

"I showed her the Toring Chip. She instantly knew what it was, but then she reacted like she'd just discovered it for the first time. I'm still trying to figure out how that makes any sense."

MC stalks towards Caleb so fast, invading his personal bubble, that Sylus immediately shut his mouth before he could reply. Angrily, she grabbed at his uniform lapel. "You should have eased her into it instead of scaring her! We all knew she's been under a lot of stressed and you springing that Chip at her without warning was the last thing we needed!" While Caleb looked downward in shame, her heart twisted and broke just thinking of how frightened you must've been. Alone for so long... it's not right! She'll make it right by you, and then you'll be happy again. Together with them, as you should from the very beginning.

"What's the plan now, Kitten?" Sylus intervene after some time. Luke and Kieran politely ignore how the Colonel looked like a kicked puppy.

"Finding her is top priority but the Protocore..." MC bit her lip, thinking hard. "Is there an alternative power source? Or is it possible for the two of you to land the island elsewhere?"

"Skyhaven's backup Protocore has only been tested-approved in simulations. Given that it's artificial too—" Caleb grits out and the ground trembles to which Sylus increase his out of energy to stabilise the island further. "The power to sustain the island would only last a day at most." At Sylus and MC's mutual look of incredulous, Caleb defended, "Anything that can take down the Fleet and Skyhaven is considered a Planet-Level threat. The backup Protocore is to make sure we have enough time to evacuate every soul when all hope is lost."

That sums you up neatly with a pretty bow on top.

Mn... wrapped in a bow... with soft skin peeking in between the—

Sylus suddenly coughs, amused despite roleplaying as Atlas. "As much as it pains me to interrupt that delightful train of thought, Kitten, I propose we get that backup Protocore running then we'll hunt for our wayward Tigress."

MC felt her blood rush in embarrassment as she fights to keep her blush down. Focus, damn it! "R-Right! The twins and I can go. Where's the location and how can we activate it?"

When Caleb list down the coordinates, Luke efficiently work together with Mephisto to gain a wider, aerial view and when he carefully explain the step-by-step details, Kieran recorded it for good measure. Just before they left however, both Caleb and Sylus gave some pieces of advice.

"Don't bother engaging the Wanderers. They're hers," Sylus warned. It was probably unnecessary, but he continued anyway. "Some of them are evolving in more than just intelligence. And whatever they're becoming… I don't think we've seen the worst of it yet."

Next is Caleb.

"I… I don't know where she went after she shot me. Gravity spared me the bullet, but I wasn't quick enough to stop her from summoning her endless horde. She vanished while we were distracted." His expression is a strange combination of regretful and omnious. "Be careful, Pips."

With a resolute nod, MC left with Luke and Kieran. Some Hunters and leftover Fleet officers catch up to them and when MC shared their plan regarding the backup Protocore, they cleared a path for the trio. Against a shared enemy, operations across the crumbling island go without a hitch that by the time Skyhaven is holding itself up on its own, most civilians were safely shipped off and the injured along with them.

The threat of the growing Wanderers, however, refuses to stop. Everywhere, killzones continue to spread wider by the second, leaving the trio no choice but to fight when another fresh wave of Wanderers ambushes.

"Oh, c'mon! This is literally new!" Luke complains, staring at his gun in frustration, when the bullets simply ricochet off a Luminivore, and he swears that the Wanderer chuckled at his attempts to hurt it. "Bad news Lady Boss, we're surrounded."

"If even Onychinus' latest firearms can't put a dent on these things..." Kieran trails off. MC doesn't need to look behind the mask that he's grimacing. They can't keep going on like this.

A rush of sea-scented flames manages to push back the Wanderers encroaching on them. They hurtle through the rubble and even several offices.

Rafayel enters the scene without his usual swagger. Like Caleb and Sylus, he's just as exhausted. His shoulders heave with every breath, but his grin is as dazzling as ever.

"Finally managed to catch up to you, Cutie! And before you ask, the good Doctor called for me and that Crow of yours when news broke out about Skyhaven," He glances at the twins before continuing, "It didn't take a genius to figure out that the Colonel messed up again."

MC dives in for a quick hug, to which Rafayel happily accepts, squeezing her for good measure.

"Caleb startled her."

The Sea God, masquerading as an artist, nods seriously. "Yes, because when I'm startled, I turn into a genocidal maniac too."

"This isn't about you!" MC narrowed her eyes at how blithely he's taking this. "She's somewhere here, lost and upset, because Caleb didn't warned her about the Toring Chip."

"So that's the plan. I've heard about that Chip. They're in constant demand within the black market for a good reason. If your Colonel wanted to put it in her brain..." Rafayel whistles lowly, unsure whether he should be impressed or shake his head at the attempt. "'Startled' would be an understatement, Cutie."

"Yeah, well, there's no use pointing fingers now. We have to find her. That's the only way to stop this." MC replies impatiently. Could you summon Wanderers from a distance? She doesn't even know if you're still on the island! But if you are—

'And then what?' MC suddenly thought. 'She wontcant listen.' She looks around, the devastation of Skyhaven slowly sinking in. Rafayel is about to grab her attention again when Sylus and Caleb join them. Absentmindedly, she hears Sylus ordering the twins to evacuate as well but all she could focus on how they've pushed you to the brink. 'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't understand but I do now. I do, I promise.'

All this time, she had treated your distance as disdain, your silence as hatred. She had given you space so you could lick your wounds in peace, yet she hovers close so you'd know that you can always turn to her.

But what if you didn't know? And instead of letting you be, she should've push harder?

You're not some great, terrible Goddess wreaking havoc and deaths because you were spurned. You're simply so used to yearning for home, so blinded by loneliness, that it made you completely blind. It makes sense why you can't conceive any other form of love but the one that's lost to you. So, of course, you lash out at the softest touch when everything has been taken away from you!

MC can't let you be, not after knowing what she does now. How could she, in good conscious, ever leave you like this?

"—last sighting was at central market fighting Xavier. Still, fighting him, by the way. They've been at it for a while now." Caleb reported as they're discussing on how to stop you.

It's not going to be easy because you can't understand. You're hurt and isolated; how could you even begin to understand?

They offered trust, and all you saw was a mask.

They offered a covenant, and all you saw were chains.

She offered you love, and all you saw was submission.

MC now understands what she needs to do.

"Get the Chip ready. We'll be supporting Xavier." MC abruptly interrupt her lovers.

Rafayel raises an eyebrow while Sylus mirrors her silent determination. "So what's the plan? Talk her down long enough and kindly asks her to go take a fat nap so Doctor Li can put it in her brain?"

"There's no point in talking anymore. We have to save her before she'll kill herself."

"She'll never accept it," Caleb grimly reminds them all. "She won't see it as salvation. She's just so... so angry. I don't think she knows how to be happy again after this."

"Then I'll rape it into her."

-

In an underground bunker, a gym security guard and owner of a popular fried chicken joint became friends under the most horrifying circumstances when they saw you, the eye of a furious Wanderer-filled storm, jab an arm forward, and the Knave stab a Hunter through the stomach.

(The codes that held the Game together are quickly breaking apart. What prevented you from appearing on any digital platform in order to contain your existence is falling fast.)

"Fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF!" You curse amidst gunshots, crackling flames and trembling rocks. The Elysian Knave that pierced its blade through Xavier is immediately decapitated by Rafayel and Caleb. Gravity compressed Lemurian flames coating the Sea God's dagger, turning the blade sharper than diamond, holier than it allowed to be.

That was your strongest Wanderer too, juiced up by your outburst from Caleb's office and its last act was parrying Xavier's sword aimed right at you before injuring him. A flicker of shock and hurt passes through (you should've known better, right?) before you focuses on the sheer fucking audacity.

But something's not right.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Miss Orca! Give up already!" Rafayel calls out through the chaos. He's so fast, like slipstream behind Sylus after he punches away a couple of Petro Golems and Malachites that formed a wall between you and them. You instinctively curl away, arm up to protect your side from his spin-kick. In a flash, a Tezcatlipoca appears to block him. Rafayel stares at it and you, in disbelief, before you immediately grab his leg and fling him away for a Sentrywing. Furiously attacking him with its claws. Also, what the fuck? Was he trying to say that you're fat like an Orca?

But it's mutually beneficial; the link between you and your Wanderers was what you found out. Their endurance and strength were shared with you, and somehow, you, being a level 80 player, made what used to be regular mooks into super bosses.

It's the kind of edge that you, a puny civilian with no fighting skills whatsoever, didn't know you needed, but when MC and the rest of the Love Interests join in the fight—

"You stopped holding back. Good. A Tigress should always sharpen her claws against her enemies. Although..." Sylus appears so suddenly behind your back in a mist of red and black. His Evol binds you, and fear claws you at your throat. "I would've preferred being your scratching post instead." With a gentle hand, he caresses your cheek, and his expression softens. You flinched, but it does nothing. "There are some merits to his words, you know. Stop fighting. I beg you; give us one final chance to love you as you should."

"You're trying to kill me, you son of a slipper!"

Amused, Sylus counters back. "And you're not?"

You sneer because, yeah, running away isn't an option anymore when you just remembered the Toring Chip existed! Fuck the Game, fuck the Server Maintenance. Caleb has to die, or you're gonna end up as a brain-dead zombie and then be erased from existence. Double the whammy!

A whip lashes out and wraps around you, and two things happen simultaneously: An Elysian Lupus body slams into Sylus, breaking his Evol on you, and a Gelidus Dentis immediately yanks you away to its side. It snarls hatefully at him while the other Wanderer refuses to give any breathing room for the 5th Love Interest, brutally sinking its jaws on Sylus' shoulder to hold him in place for another wave of monsters swarming him. He winces in pain before Xavier re-enters the fight and slices the monster in half.

Both of your gazes meet. That hesitation in his eyes when he first intercepts you is long gone. Now, though... now they're hardened after a quick exchange between him and MC, while you had to focus on Rafayel and Sylus. You can't help but notice how his grip tightened on the pommel of his sword.

You know that look. You've seen it in one of his Cards, which confirms Infold's title for this Love Interest: A Gentle Killer. A side reserved for those standing in his way or threatening his precious Starlight, and right now, you're both with the way he's looking at you like you're no different than the Wanderers you summoned. And so does the rest of them. Ain't it funny how a heart can break as long as you let it?

Zayne's mouth pressed into a thin line, barely sparing a glance before he checked on Sylus. He came from one of the emergency medical tents to support Xavier, which you remembered seeing. There were Fleet officers, but mostly they were civilians. Crying... looking so lost that you don’t even need to read their minds.

'Why is this happening?', 'Where's mum and dad?', 'My home... it's gone.'

You swallowed thickly, could've sworn you could've taste the bile bubbling. They're all nameless NPCs; Infold sure did a good job with their Script, huh? You've never seen them react so realistically in the Game before. Their reactions and dialogues were always so mild, fake.

"I'll be fine, Doctor," Sylus grunts when his flesh knitted itself back. Good as new, but the pain lingers with the way his eyebrows tightened. Once he's back on his feet, though, he pats his thanks on Zayne's shoulder.

Only now did Zayne deign to give you his attention. "1200." When you said nothing, he closed his eyes and exhaled, deep and heavy. "That's the current death toll on Skyhaven. 1200. Civilians and military personnel."

No. Nonononononoonesandzeroesonesandzeroes—

"They'll come back after the Server Maintenance. Good as new. Probably won't even remember a thing—"

"A daughter was uncovered underneath the rubble behind you, inches away from where her elderly parents were. Even in death, her hand reached out for them." Zayne cuts you, merciless and cold. "A woman tried to protect her siblings with her own body when the ceiling collapse on them. I had to remove the rebar that punchered the deceased's lungs."

You're going to throw up.

"They had a family. They screamed." He continues in the same tone a surgeon would deliver bad news. Ice blooms underneath his loafers, making you tense, but instead of rushing towards you in rows of spikes, they spread like vines to form barriers protecting the medical tents.

Around your neck is guilt, strangling you like a noose. Sensing your distress, the Arbiterwings hover away from the tents to circle back where you are. Only for them to be one-shot killed by Caleb.

Fear clawed at you, but you did what you do best: ignore it, desperately clinging on to your Wanderers as MC and the rest swarmed at you with a single unspoken mission: To finally kill you.

"I should've never given you a chance!" You didn't even see him at first, but when a Mist Knave brings you into its embrace and steel clashes against steel, you scream in Xavier's face. "I trusted you! I thought you of all people..." Why did you even bother?

You chalk it up to wishful thinking when regret momentarily flashes over his face. He pressed his sword against the Knave harder. "I've hurt you, I won't deny that, but the innocents shouldn't have to bear your ire. You've gone too far, Starling."

Are you hearing this right? "Me? Me!? I'm just returning the favour since none of you were ever going to help me go home! All you've been doing is lie to me!"

"I tried reaching out to you, Starling. All of us did but you kept turning away from us! MC was right—"

With an outraged shriek, the Mist Knave uses every ounce of its strength to shove Xavier, did a kick spin, and sent him flying through a high-rise apartment.

"Fake! All of you!"

Your heart is beating fast now. Even more so when the Knave suddenly drops you. You scramble away just in time for Rafayel to behead it cleanly with a swipe of his dagger.

"What gives you the right to call any of us fakes?" He says sardonically and twirls his weapon in that casual, nonchalant idle animation you've seen over and over again before every battle. "We're living and breathing like you. Real, just like you. The only difference is that this just so happened to be our world. It's high time you accept that before the high tide drowns you."

You wanted to spit in his face, but this is different; you could feel it. Salt in the air and divinity crashing and pulling like tides within him. The ancient Lemurian Sea God manifesting just beyond the surface. A flash of anxiety takes hold of you; Is... is he changing into his second Myth?

In the corner of your eyes, black ice pierces through more and more of your Wanderers. Are all of them changing?

Rafayel doesn't allow you to think about it for too long before he dives in for another swipe. This time, it's your neck he's after. A timely Scout bursting out from the ground between the two of you prevented your death. Its massive drill head swings rapidly at Rafayel. He curses and creates some distance away from you. "I killed for my people! All you did was killed yours!"

The numbers ring like a solemn bell in your head. 1200. Over and over again.

Wanderers around you fell. Xavier, back again, with Zayne on the right against an Aeonwyrm. Rafayel and Sylus on the left with a group of Fusionforms. Caleb, front and centre, tackling a Despairra. It's pure adrenaline that made you summon one more blade-type Wanderer, and with the recklessness of someone who had nothing more to lose, you throw yourself into the fray instead of wandering at the edge. Darting here and there, between claws and Evols, between humans and monsters, between their looks of flabbergaster and admiration, and commanded your shadowed Magma Knave to attack where it hurts them the most.

Xavier's sword clattered when his arm was cut off, Zayne fell onto his knees when his tendons turned into ribbons, Rafayel's heart was pierced through, Sylus' Aether Core eye was blinded, and the side of Caleb's head where a bullet grazed through was cleaved in. They may be strong, superhuman even, due to their Lores, but even they aren't immune to pain.

But where's MC!?

"Now!" Caleb roars, hand pressing against his bloodied head. "Do it now!"

Your dominant hand is on the right. That's where you usually hold pens and pencils to write, phones held to call, or, in this case, summon the Wanderers via the Love and Deepspace app.

And that's the direction where MC appeared. Her own hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, preventing you from backpaddling.

The world inhales—

—And the game finally breaks.

Communion. That's it. That's the catalyst that finally made the world fold in on itself when the all-too familiar sound of a crack materialised above Skyhaven and tipped the island.

For the second time and with the cloying perversion of love flooding inside you, seeping through sinews and bones, comes revelation at last as you and MC Fall through white and wrongness. Numbers, animation triggers, and texture files bleed together.

MC grips your wrist harder; her beautiful face is lost and desperate, but all you want to do is fucking die because it feels less like touching another person and more like two unfinished save files trying to overwrite each other.

"You're finally seeing me." Your avatarstalkermonstertormentordonttouchmedonttouchmedonttouchme breathes in wonder, tears glistening in her eyes, and fear chokes you. She embraces you, chests press together, and your heartbeat with hers syncs up, no matter how hard you struggle. "I waited for this moment for so, so long. All I wanted was for you to see me, and now that you do... I-I'm so happy. We'll be happy together, I promise! I've been waiting to give you everything; Food, pleasure, children, a family—we can be a proper family because they'll love you as much as I do. Just how we were always mean to! I love you, I love you, I love you!"

You Fall through the source code and wireframes.

You Fall through pixels and polygons.

Falling through nothing and madness.

You didn't know how you did, especially with how MC nuzzles into your neck, making you want to peel your own skin off, but you eventually did. It took everything you had left to inhale—

And from an endless expansion of white comes a shade of blue mixing like watercolour. Lines and numbers gradually fade away for columns and text boxes. Your brain hurts from processing words and pictures that appear faster than you can think.

"What, what is this?" The primal wildness in MC's eyes is replaced with something she couldn't comprehend.

But you can. You can because this world—website—is familiar to you. You realise that you're no longer endless Falling. Rather, you're Falling as long as youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou are scrolling.

"I can sense them. Their eyes." MC's voice fractures through an ask-post about getting cats as pets to pissed Rafayel off. Through you, she can feel them/you; she can feel their/your emotions. "They're reading us."

Pure, impossible hope snaps you at that very moment, and you reach out to the many yous reading this now.

"Please! I know you can see this, please, please! Pull me out! I can't go back!"

MC cries out and hugs you tighter, digging her nails into your flesh." No, no, no! They can't have you!" She squeezes you so hard that your body wails in pain. "You're mine! Go away, go away, go away!"

You wrench your half-merged hand free just enough to reach downwards towards

The fluorescent lights of the EonCore Tech were usually muted by this hour, but the impending launch of the new tech line meant the entire building was buzzing with overtime energy. As Valko’s executive secretary, your desk was the final barrier between the rest of the company and the Chairman.

What the rest of the company didn't know was that you were also the final barrier between Valko and his more primitive, feral impulses. Beneath the bespoke Italian suits and the cold, calculated demeanour of a billionaire tech mogul laid a much more predatory nature that not many people got to see.

Your job description officially required you to keep the corporate efficiency seamless, managing multi-billion dollar schedules and gatekeeping high-profile stakeholders. But unofficially, your task was infinitely more complicated by another reality: you were secretly dating the Chairman himself.

Keeping things professional during the day was an unspoken rule. It meant no lingering glances during board meetings, no accidental brushes when handing over financial reports, and absolutely no acknowledging the way his amber-gold eyes darkened with a possessiveness whenever you stepped into his office to hand him his morning coffee.

Until today.

You let out a quiet, exhausted sigh, manually organizing a stack of encrypted project briefs, when a shadow fell over your desk. It wasn't Valko. Instead, it was Marcus—a senior lead from the engineering development team who had recently become entirely too comfortable lingering around your desk under the guise of ‘project updates.’

"Still working, beautiful?" Marcus leaned his weight against the polished mahogany edge of your desk, invading your personal space with a smug smirk that made your stomach turn. "A dedicated executive assistant is hard to find, but a gorgeous one? The Chairman is absolutely running you ragged. You know, if you requested a transfer over to my department, I'd treat you a lot better than he does."

Behind the heavy, floor-to-ceiling tinted glass doors of the main office, a pair of amber eyes locked onto the scene.

Valko had been reviewing the final Q3 financial statements, but the second he saw Marcus approach your desk, he stilled. The fountain pen that had been in his grip snapped clean in half from the force of the sudden tightening of his grip. His Evol flared instinctively—the liquid ink and fractured metal of the expensive writing instrument warping and fusing into a jagged, sharp spike before he consciously suppressed it.

To the rest of the world, Valko was a ruthless tech tycoon. But beneath the tailored suit, his primal instincts were roaring. A threat was near his mate.

"Marcus, I'm just doing my job," you said, your voice a masterclass in cool, professional detachment as you subtly shifted your chair back to re-establish your boundaries. "And the Chairman treats me perfectly well. My compensation and hours are exactly as agreed upon."

"I’m just saying," Marcus purred, shifting closer and resting a hand flat on the surface of your desk, his figure completely blocking you from looking at   your monitor. "A brilliant mind like yours shouldn't be cooped up here all night playing gatekeeper. Why don't I take you out to that exclusive new lounge downtown? We can discuss your... long-term career advancement over a few drinks."

"Thank you for the offer, Marcus, but I have dozens of encrypted files to log and categorize before the morning quarterly review," you replied, your voice tight with strained patience as you pointedly clicked your mouse, as you leaned around him to look at your screen.

"Oh, come on. The guy’s a corporate machine. He doesn't notice anything outside of quarterly projections and market dominance," Marcus chuckled, lowering his voice into a sultry, confidential tone that made your skin crawl. He reached out, his fingers brazenly brushing against your wrist to stop you from typing. ”The Chairman doesn't need to know, and honestly, he's so detached he wouldn't even notice if you slipped out an hour early. Let me take care of you tonight."

Click.

The moment Marcus's fingers made contact with your skin, the heavy glass door to the executive office swung open.

The air in the room instantly shifted, tension that could be cut with a knife filling the room and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You knew that feeling anywhere—it was the unmistakable aura of a predator approaching to mark his territory.

Valko stepped out. At 6’2 with a broad and powerful build, his tailored charcoal suit did little to hide the raw strength beneath the fine fabric. His short burgundy hair caught the harsh fluorescent lighting, but it was his eyes that instantly locked Marcus in place. They weren't their usual warm amber; they looked as if they had darkened.

"Marcus," Valko’s voice cut through the silence—a low, gravelly baritone that carried a warning edge that reminded you of a wolf baring its teeth.

Marcus froze, his smug smile instantly faltering as he hastily pulled his hand away and straightened up, his face paling. "Chairman! I-I was just finishing up the Q3 development projections with your secretary."

Valko didn’t look at the paperwork. He didn't even look at Marcus’s face. His gaze traveled slowly, deliberately down to your wrist—where Marcus’s fingers had just been resting—and then flicked up to read the slight discomfort written across your features.

A dangerous growl rumbled deep in Valko’s chest—a sound so low that Marcus likely thought it was the building’s ventilation system, but it made your heart skip a beat.

"The report belongs in the submission tray," Valko said, taking a slow, measured step forward. His movements screamed predatory, closing the distance between them until he completely towered over Marcus. "And your hands belong on your own desk. On an entirely different floor."

"I-I apologize, sir. I was just being friendly," Marcus stammered, his bravado entirely shattered as he took a frantic step back, breaking into a sweat under Valko’s glare.

"EonCore Tech pays you to engineer, not to be friendly," Valko continued in a cold tone that sent a shiver down your spine. "If I see you loitering around this desk or invading my secretary's space again, I will personally ensure your access badge is deactivated before you even reach the elevators. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir. Perfectly clear." Marcus didn't even dare to look in your direction as he grabbed his folder with trembling hands, practically tripping over his own feet to scramble toward the lobby doors.

As soon as the elevator doors chimed and closed, the oppressive tension in the air dissipated.

You let out a long, ragged breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping as you looked up at the towering figure before you. "Valko... you can't just threaten the senior engineering staff like that," you whispered, casting a cautious glance around despite the area being empty. "People are going to talk. If HR or the board catches wind of you breathing down a lead developer's neck over a casual conversation, they're going to start asking questions we can't answer."

Valko didn't answer right away. He turned to look at you, his amber eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly singular focus. In a split second, the polished corporate CEO vanished. He crossed the short distance to your desk, his large hands gripping the leather edge of your armrests. With sudden jerk, he yanked you closer.

Before you could even formulate a word of protest, he leaned down, effectively trapping you between his broad, muscular frame and the high back of the chair.

"Let them talk," he growled softly, the wilder edge of his true nature bleeding right through the fine threads of his expensive tailored suit. He buried his face directly into the warm crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His chest heaved as he aggressively nuzzled your neck, drinking in your scent, as he consciously worked to replace traces of Marcus's lingering cologne with his own woodsy scent. "He was invading your space. Touching you. He was looking at you like you were his.”

"Valko, we're in the middle of the main office floor," you breathed, a hot flush rapidly rising to your cheeks. Despite your verbal caution, your hands automatically found their way up to his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the knotted tension of his muscles. "The cleaning crew is still downstairs, and the launch metrics are still pulling in live data. Anyone could come up through those elevators.”

"I don't care," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill straight to your core. His sharp teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin of your pulse point, eliciting a soft, breathless gasp from you. "My inner beast has been tearing its cage to pieces from the exact moment he walked up to you. Secret or not, you are mine. If I have to use my Evol to create a cage and lock that man away just to keep him from breathing your air, I will."

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of fierce possessiveness and an endearing pout. The contrast of the powerful EonCore Chairman looking at you with those puppy dog eyes was enough to make your heart melt.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded quietly, his thumb pressing against your chin before tracing the soft line of your lower lip. "Say it. I need to hear it."

You smiled softly, the last of your professional reservations evaporating under the sheer earnestness of his gaze. Leaning up, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips. "I'm yours, my wolf. Only yours. Nobody elses.”

The tension finally began to bleed out of his massive shoulders, and a low, satisfied hum vibrated deep within his chest. He didn't let you pull away. Instead, he leaned into you, kissing you again—deeper, hungrier this time, intent on staking his claim thoroughly, corporate rules and consequences be damned. You were his mate, and it was about damn time he claimed you publicly.

The sheer intensity of his kiss left you entirely breathless, your fingers knotting into his burgundy hair as he pulled you impossibly closer, anchoring your body against his broad chest.

And honestly? You were tired of hiding it, too. You were tired of hiding, the professional distance, and the insufferable arrogance of men like Marcus who thought you were fair game.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving as his amber eyes burned down into your own. His breathing was as ragged as yours.

"Tomorrow," Valko growled softly, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone tenderly. "No more hiding. It's time everyone knew who you belonged to."

Imagine you find your husband but he is no longer the man you remember. There's a coldness in his eyes that you've never seen before and he greets you like an employee. You think this must be some terrible prank but when you try to snuggle up to him and ask him for reassurance, he pushes you back.

Imagine it's then that a sick kind of despair starts to creep into your heart. He no longer has the tattoo on his ring finger that matches yours. In a panic, you glance down and realize yours is gone as well. You begin to spiral.

Imagine he advises you to adjust his schedule because he has a new meeting that needs to be added in as soon as possible. You are no longer his spouse but his Personal Assistant.

Imagine you leave the room and run. You don't know where you are going but you know you can't stay there. You need space to breathe and time to think. You turn your phone off and get on a train, not caring for the final destination. You keep moving all night to get as far away from him as you can from him. You finally fall asleep in a hotel room in an unknown city, hoping that all of this is just a giant nightmare. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Imagine you open your eyes and you are sitting at a desk and MC is in front of you. She's here for her meeting. You want to throw up.

It still makes you feel kind of anxious. Did they stop caring about you? Did you do something wrong? They are your only friends in Linkon City after all. It makes you feel even worse when everyone has their own excuse why they can't meet after you build up the courage to ask.

You have too much time to overthink about everything. And when things get overwhelming, you flee. A week in a forest cabin alone will surely calm your nervous system down.

You don't think Mc or the boys would even notice your absence, being so busy with their own lives.

Wrong.

As soon as you're happily settled down in the cabin, everyone back in Linkon gets worried. Why did you disappear? You're not answering your phone. (You're too busy sitting in a hot tub while your phone is god knows where.) Fortunately you share your location with Mc.

The atmosphere is heavy with guilt while sitting in Mc's apartment. It's not like they can just barge in your little cabin when they've been too busy to talk with you for days. It's understandable why you would be little upset.

Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel and Caleb have tight schedules so they can't just take a week off so suddenly. Instead everyone agrees to send Mc and Sylus. Obviously the idea of leaving you alone in the middle of nowhere is atrocious. What if something happens to you? In their eyes you are basically defenseless.

It's only the second day of your little trip when someone knocks on the door. You're little nervous as you peek out. What if it's a murderer?

"God finally!"

You should've known they won't leave you alone. (Although deep inside you knew you wanted this.) Mc hugs you tightly, holding your waist in a possessive grip as Sylus steps in and hugs you from behind.

The scolding comes only after you've gotten two tight hugs and moved to the living room.

"So, care to explain why you came here without telling us?" You don't think you have seen the duo as serious ever before.

You stare the floor and squirm slightly. Mc's arm is till on your shoulder as Sylus touches your knee.

"I was bored and I wanted some... peace of mind," you mumble as you play with your fingers.

Sylus squeezes your thigh.

"Is it because we haven't seen or talked in a while sweetheart? Is that what this is about? You know. It's dangerous to come alone in places like this."

You frown. "I don't think forest cabin can be that big of a threat."

Mc flicks your forehead. "How could you know that silly? You're not from Linkon. There could be so many dangerous wanderers lurking around."

When you don't answer she gently lifts your chin. "You wanted our attention, didn't you baby? You should've just asked again."

You open your mouth helplessly. "No! I mean yes but I just didn't want to bother anyo-"

Mc silences you with a press of her lips against yours. Your breath hitches when she kisses you softly and holds your face with both of her hands. You're frozen for a moment as your brain registers what is even happening. Before you can fully melt against Mc, she pulls away.

"Sylus' turn."

His large hand cradles your face and you're met with a different pair of lips. Sylus kisses as softly as Mc did while he squeezes your thigh again. Then you're kissing Mc again. And then Sylus. They pass you around like a ball but you can't be even offended because this is a dream come true.

A while after the kissing and teasing stops, you lay between their warm bodies quietly and let them do the talking. What would you even say? Do friends kiss on the mouth? You feel sleepy as Mc rubs your back and Sylus plays with the strands of your hair.

"The others are going to kill us when they find out what has happened," you hear while blinking heavily.

"What do you mean -"

"Shh." Mc shushes you and Sylus presses his finger against your mouth. "Don't you worry about anything. Just rest baby."

You hated confrontation.

You had never been the kind of woman to scream or throw accusations, and the memory of your own voice shouting about lack of intimacy and hidden glances made your stomach churn.

Maybe he was right, you thought desperately, grasping at any straw. Maybe I was being irrational. He is a doctor. He has commitments and responsibilities that I cannot even begin to understand.

You resolved right then to fix it. You would swallow your pride, call him, and tell him it was all a misunderstanding. You would apologize for confronting him and bringing up MC.

But as you reached for the kettle, your eyes caught a sleek, silver object sitting on the far end of the kitchen counter. It was Zayne’s laptop. The one that was his personal use rather than work. For a man who never forgot anything, leaving his computer behind was a testament to just how rattled he had actually been when he fled the apartment this morning.

You stared at it. A voice in your head told you to walk away, to respect his privacy, to be the mature, trusting wife you always tried to be. But the heavy dread and suspicion pulled you forward like a moth to a flame.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the lid. The screen immediately lit up. He hadn't even locked it.

An open messaging app was split across the left side of the screen. Your eyes automatically searched for your own name.

When you found it, the chat log was painfully short and simple in nature: “I’ll be late tonight.” “Yes.” “Don't wait up.” “Understood.” “Can you buy milk?” A couple of messages a day. The digital footprint of two acquaintances sharing a house rather than two people in love.

Right above your name was MC’s chat profile.

You clicked it, your heart hammering against your ribs. There was nothing scandalous. No hidden confessions of love, no inappropriate photos, nothing worrying or explicit. It was perfectly, agonizingly innocent.

But what shattered you was the sheer volume of messages. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Zayne would text her about his day. He sent her medical articles he found amusing. He asked if she had eaten, warned her about the cold weather, and replied to her silly jokes with dry, witty comments. He gave her the conversational intimacy and the attention that you had been starving for.

The more your read, the more it was becoming apparent that Zayne was never too drained to talk to her.

Blinking back tears, your hand accidentally brushed the trackpad, minimizing the window.

The messaging app disappeared, revealing the desktop background.

The room seemed to tilt on its axis.

Set as his background was a photograph. It was a candid shot of MC, her hair catching the golden glow of a setting sun as she looked out over the city skyline. It was an incredibly intimate, breathtakingly beautiful photo. The kind taken by someone who was completely, helplessly transfixed by the subject.

Beside it, there was folder labelled simply 'MC'. Inside were photographs tracking their entire lives. MC as a little girl with a scraped knee. MC laughing at her graduation ceremony. MC and Zayne standing side-by-side in winter coats and holding up flutes of champagne, his face wearing that rare, genuine warmth you had only ever seen a handful of times.

You stepped back from the counter, your hand flying to your mouth to suppress a sob, overwhelmed by the weight of the digital evidence staring back at you.

He had called you irrational. He had told you that you were projecting your insecurities. He had said that his coldness was nothing more than the exhausting toll of his career.

You were completely shaken to your core, the fragile foundation of your hope entirely pulverized by this discovery. He hadn't married you to build a life. He had married you to pretend that he moved on from the woman he could never have.

It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Stunned and breathless, you snapped the laptop closed to hide the screen. Minutes later, you were dressed. Unable to bear being in the house another second, you grabbed your bag and ran out of the house.

An hour later you walked into a hotel bar. You drove past the place many times before, but never really cared to go in. The bar was practically empty in the middle of the afternoon. The air smelled of polished wood, citrus peels, and expensive liquor. The low light was perfect for hiding your humiliation from the rest of the world.

You sat down on a leather stool at the far corner of the counter. When the bartender approached, offering a polite, non-judgmental nod, you didn't order wine like you usually would.

You pointed to a dark bottle on the top shelf, something strong and unfamiliar. "That one," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "And make it a double."

The bartender gave a subtle, professional nod, too polite to question why a woman in her mid-thirties was ordering a double shot of hard liquor in the middle of the day. He poured the liquid over a large, clear sphere of ice, the amber fluid swirling against the crystal glass.

You reached out and wrapped your fingers around it. The condensation felt pleasantly cold against your skin, a sharp contrast to the burning humiliation that had been coursing through you all morning. You lifted it to your lips and took a long, heavy sip. The alcohol hit the back of your throat with a fierce, punishing burn, making your eyes water, but you welcomed it. You wanted the burn. You wanted something to overpower the agonizing ache in your chest.

As you stared at the polished mahogany counter, watching the ice slowly melt, you realized you weren't trying to be sensible or accommodating anymore. You were just a woman sitting alone in the dark, waiting for the alcohol to numb the hurt.

You got your phone out, scrolled through your contacts and clicked on his name. With a scowl, you changed it to ‘Dr. Li’. Because as far as you were concerned, that’s all that he was.

You finished the glass, the ice clinking heavily against the crystal, and ordered another. And then one more. The sharp edges of the morning were finally beginning to blur, the alcohol wrapping your raw nerves in a dull, heavy fog. You were not much of a drinker but thinking about nothing sure trumped thinking about what to do with this mess.

After your third drink, you decided to take a little break. Needing to clear your head, you slid off the leather stool and left your purse and phone on the counter, heading down the dim hallway toward the restroom to splash cold water on your face.

Back at the counter, your phone began to vibrate violently. The screen illuminated the polished wood, displaying the name 'Dr. Li' in bold letters. It buzzed until it went to voicemail, only to instantly light up again. And again. And again.

The bartender, who had been wiping down glasses down the line, watched the screen illuminate the dark corner of the bar for the fourth consecutive time. Sensing the urgency, he walked over and picked up the device, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

"Hello?" the bartender said, his voice smooth and professional.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Zayne’s deep voice cut through the speaker, it was uncharacteristically tight, stripped of its usual calm. "Who is this? Where is the owner of this phone?"

"I’m just the bartender," the man replied easily, looking toward the restroom hallway. "The lady left her phone at the counter for a moment. Look, Dr. Li, I know that perhaps she’s your patient, but I think she’s having a pretty rough day. If you're calling about an appointment or something, she's really not in the right headspace to—"

"I am not her doctor," Zayne interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerously dark, commanding register that made the bartender instantly freeze. "I am her husband. Why is my wife at a bar in the middle of a Sunday afternoon?"

The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, a sudden flush of awkwardness hitting him. "Oh. My apologies, man. The caller ID just said 'Dr. Li,' so I assumed... look, I'm sorry for the mix-up. She's fine. This is a pretty expensive place, but she’s had a few drinks."

"Where are you?" Zayne demanded.

"The bar of the Grand Hotel downtown," the bartender said.

"Keep an eye on her," Zayne snapped. "I am on my way."

The line went dead. The bartender slowly set the phone back down on the mahogany counter, looking toward the hallway just as you walked out, entirely unaware Zayne was about thirty minutes away from here.

Half an hour later the heavy glass door of the lounge swung open, admitting a brief flash of the bright Sunday afternoon sun before it clicked shut, plunging the room back into its dim, amber shadows.

You didn't even have to look up to know it was him. It felt like the entire atmosphere of the quiet bar shifted, growing heavy and pressurized under the weight of his presence. Zayne walked in, his long coat slightly parted, his sharp eyes scanning the room before locking onto you.

He didn't say a single word.

He didn't yell. He didn't demand answers. He simply walked over to your stool, picked up your purse and your phone, and paid for your drinks without even looking at the bartender. Then, he reached out, his large, solid hand wrapping firmly but gently around your upper arm, helping you as you slid down from the leather seat. His touch was not ungentle, but his grip was unyielding.

The walk out of the bar and the ride home were wrapped in an absolute silence. Zayne kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

You didn't care enough to look at him.

You just leaned your head against the cool window, watching the Sunday traffic blur past, the heavy fog of the double drinks numbing the sharpest edges of your broken heart.

When the car finally pulled into the garage, the silence followed you like a physical entity. The electronic lock beeped, and you stepped back into the immaculate house. The air was exactly as cold as you had left it. The silver laptop sat on the kitchen counter, looking perfectly innocent to anyone who didn't know the devastation locked inside it.

Zayne closed the front door behind you with a quiet, deliberate click. He set your purse and your phone on the table, his eyes tracking your movements as you kicked off your shoes. He was waiting for something. You could feel the intense, analytical weight of his gaze burning into your back. Maybe he was waiting for the tears. Or waiting for the screaming match from last night to resume.

But you didn't say anything to him. You were done.

You didn't look at the kitchen counter. You didn't ask him why he was home early on a Sunday. With quiet dignity that you didn't even know you possessed, you walked right past him, your feet silent against the hardwood floor.

You walked straight into the master bedroom, closed the door gently behind you, and turned the lock, leaving your husband standing completely alone in the echoing silence of the home that you decided wasn’t yours anymore.

You walked over to the bed, completely exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the weekend, and sat down on the edge. You stared at your hands. You felt slightly numb from the alcohol but not feeling as drunk as you’d hope you would be and waited for the fog in your brain to settle.

You expected him to leave you alone. To retreat to his study, to bury himself in medical journals, or to simply to let you alone as he always did.

Instead, less than an hour minutes later, the doorknob rattled. When it didn't budge, there was a heavy, tense pause on the other side. Then, a shark knock rattled the wood.

"Open the door," Zayne’s voice cut through the barrier. It wasn't his usual calm voice. It was rough, tight, and frayed at the edges.

You didn't answer. You didn't move.

"Open the door," he repeated, louder this time, his knuckles rapping against the wood with a sudden, uncharacteristic impatience. "We are not doing this. Open the door."

Realizing he wasn't going to walk away, you stood up, walked across the room, and unlocked it. You pulled the door open but stood in the doorway, clearly refusing to invite him in, and looked up at him.

Zayne stood still, his tie slightly loosened, his dark hair a little unkempt. The absolute lack of emotion on your face had him frowning. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, troubled breaths.

"A hotel bar?" Zayne broke the silence. He took a step forward, forcing you to back up slightly into the room, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. "You decided to go to a bar on a Sunday afternoon and drink yourself stupid over a fight?"

"I was just having a drink, Zayne," you said, your voice entirely detached. "People do that when they're unhappy."

"Unhappy?" He let out a dry breath that sounded dangerously close to a scoff. "Because of a misunderstanding? I told you, I was just-"

"I went through your laptop."

Whatever was on his tongue died instantly and Zayne went entirely rigid. His hazel eyes widened, a sudden, stark vulnerability flashing across his features.

"You left it on the kitchen counter," you continued, your voice steady, though a single tear finally escaped and rolled down your cheek. "I wanted to apologize. Because I thought that you were right and I was being unreasonable. But then I saw it all. And it was wrong of me to snoop. But I had to know."

You looked directly into his eyes.

"I saw the messages, Zayne. Hundreds of them. And the photos. I saw that photo." A broken, humourless laugh escaped your lips.

Zayne opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time in his life, the brilliant doctor had no words. He looked completely exposed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Nothing ever happened,” he finally managed, his voice strained.

“I know.”

But it didn’t make it better. To Zayne, infidelity meant sex, whispered promises, the betrayal of bodies. He thought compliance with the rules equalled fidelity. But it didn't make it better. Somehow it made everything infinitely worse.

"You don't love me," you said quietly, but firmly. "You never did. You just wanted a safe, quiet life so you could pretend to the world that you moved on. But she is still the one you want. Your life is a complete mess and you dragged me into it. Not only that, but you dared, you fucking dared to tell me that I was delusional."

You rarely swore, hating how the profanities made you feel. Zayne didn’t react to it either. He stood frozen in the doorway, his chest heaving as your words stripped him of every defence. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything he could no longer deny.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And in that moment you didn’t see Zayne Li. You saw a man who was just like your father. A man who carelessly tossed aside everything that you offered and made you suffer when he knew, he fucking knew, that you weren’t the problem.

You looked at the slight disarray of his hair, the tension in his broad shoulders, and the sudden, raw panic in his eyes and realized you didn't have the energy to listen to an explanation. It didn't matter if he apologized. It didn't matter if he tried to explain. You were done with wanting to understand him.

"I am going to close the door now," you said, your voice dropping into a flat, quiet finality that sounded entirely foreign to your own ears.

Zayne flinched, his jaw tightening as he took a half-step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out toward you. "Listen to me—"

"I don't want to see you until the morning, Zayne," you cut him off, not raising your voice, not giving him an inch of room to negotiate.

You looked him dead in the eye, your gaze steady despite the single tear tracking down your cheek. "Do not knock again."

Before he could find his voice, you reached out, took hold of the edge of the door and firmly pulled it shut.

On the other side of the door, there was absolute stillness. You stood with your back against the wood, your breath shallow, waiting to see if his stubborn pride would make him demand entry, or if he would raise his voice to defend himself.

But he didn't.

You could hear the faint, heavy sound of his breathing, a solid, troubled presence right on the threshold.

After a long, agonizing minute, you heard the faint rustle of his clothes as he finally stepped back. His footsteps were slow and uncharacteristically heavy as he walked down the hallway, retreating toward the other side of the house.

When you heard the door of the guest room finally click shut, the last of your strength gave out. You sank down against the locked bedroom door, pulling your knees tightly to your chest. The dull numbness of the alcohol was almost gone now, leaving behind only the sharp, piercing reality of the weekend that had changed everything.

The sun rose on Monday morning with an unforgiving brightness, bathing the bedroom in pale light. You hadn’t slept well. You had spent the night drifting between a heavy, exhausted stupor and the sharp reality of your shattered marriage.

When you unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen at 7:00 AM, Zayne was already there.

He wasn't in his surgical scrubs or a tailored suit. He was still wearing the dark trousers and button-down shirt from yesterday, but the sleeves rolled up. He sat at the table, a completely cold cup of black coffee resting between his hands. He looked up the moment you entered. The dark circles under his eyes and the hollow shadow along his jawline told you he hadn't slept either.

The silver laptop sat on the far corner of the counter, closed and untouched, like an unexploded bomb between you.

You didn't start making breakfast. You simply stood near the entryway, your arms crossed defensively over your chest. "I'm listening," you said quietly. "No more excuses, Zayne. Just the truth."

Zayne looked down at his coffee, his large hands tightening around the porcelain. For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.

"I went to the botanical garden yesterday," Zayne broke the silence, his voice incredibly rough and devoid of its usual steadiness. He looked up, meeting your gaze with a raw, painful vulnerability you had never seen in him before. "Before I went to the bar to get you. I went there because I didn't know how to talk to you after what we said to each other last night."

He let out a slow, ragged breath.

"You were right," Zayne confessed, the words clearly tearing out of his throat. "About all of it. I lied to you. I have loved MC for almost my entire life. I loved her when we were children, I loved her through the worst years of our lives, and I loved her silently when she chose Sylus."

Hearing him say the words out loud felt like a physical blow to your chest, but you forced yourself to stand still, absorbing the impact.

"When I went to the matchmaking agency, I told myself I was doing the rational thing," Zayne continued, his eyes shining with a bitter, defensive sorrow. "I told myself that part of my life was dead and buried. I met you, and you were warm, interesting, beautiful, independent, and good. I genuinely thought I could give you a stable, comfortable life. I thought a quiet, dutiful marriage would be enough for both of us."

He stood up, taking an agonizing step toward you, though he kept his distance.

"But I was cowardly," Zayne whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "I thought that if I kept my distance, if I buried myself in surgeries and research, I wouldn't have to face the fact that I was failing you. The messages... the photos... they are a habit of a lifetime that I didn't know how to break."

He stopped, his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely stripped of his pride and his defences. For the first time since you met him, Zayne Li was giving you the absolute, unvarnished truth. It wasn't the truth you wanted, and it didn't make up for the months of isolation, but it was honest.

"I don't love you. At least, not in the way you want me to," Zayne confessed, the words cutting through the air with a brutal, devastating honesty. "I married you because I thought I could build a stable life. At the time, I thought that choosing someone warm and kind would allow me to move on. That everything would be... uncomplicated. But I was incredibly selfish."

"I am deeply sorry for what I did to you," Zayne whispered. " I am sorry for taking your time, your affection, and your trust, and giving you nothing but isolation in return."

“But I think we should stay married,” Zayne said, his voice regaining a touch of that familiar, steady authority as he looked at you across the kitchen island. “What we have… is safe. Frankly, it is better than most marriages. We are compatible. We don't fight, and we provide a good life for each other. We can make this work.”

You looked at him, your chest tight. To him, a marriage was like a successful surgery. It needed zero complications and a stable pulse. But it wasn’t enough. This was stasis, where the natural flow of change and growth was halted and you were stuck with something neither wanted. This was unnatural.

“I have to think,” you whispered and fled back to the bedroom.

You didn't pack a full suitcase; you just threw a few essentials into a small overnight bag while he watched from the bedroom doorway, his expression an unreadable mix of stoicism and brewing panic. You drove downtown and checked into a hotel and that was as far and as much as you could do for yourself for the time being.

You paid with cash and used your maiden name. Because you really meant it when you said that you needed to think. You were about to make one of the most life-changing, potentially devastating decisions of your life. You didn’t want any witnesses to your pain and you didn’t want anyone influencing your decision.

Your only call was to your mother, just to tell her what happened. You expected little sympathy, but her flat, empty reaction still caught you off guard. You braced for her order to go back home. Instead, she surprisingly told you to stay put and take your time.

For two days, you lived in a hazy limbo. You ordered room service you barely touched. You stared at the ceiling. You tried to weigh the cold comfort of a secure, wealthy life against the agonizing vacuum of his affection. In the end it all came down to one thing.

You loved him. And that was the problem.

On Tuesday evening, a knock sounded at your hotel room door.

You opened it to find Zayne standing in the dimly lit hallway. He looked dishevelled, his top button was undone and his shirt was wrinkled, and his eyes carried a dark, intense anguish you had never seen in him before. He didn't ask for permission. He stepped into the room, caught your waist in his large hands, threw the door closed behind him, and pulled you against his chest.

Before you could say a word, he kissed you.

It was a fierce, bruising kiss, filled with a sudden, overwhelming urgency. You were entirely unsure what to think. Was this remorse? Was this fear of the unknown? But as his warmth enveloped you, the months of starvation won. You loved him. God help you, you loved him so much. And he was here and he was yours. So, you let yourself enjoy this moment.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, parted your lips, and kissed him back with equal desperation.

The clothes came off in a frantic, uncharacteristic rush, scattering across the carpeted hotel floor. He lifted you onto the bed, his weight grounding and heavy, his hands gripping your skin with a possessive strength that felt entirely real. For a few breathtaking minutes, losing yourself in the heat and the familiar rhythm of his body, you actually believed things could change. You let yourself hope that his apology would be the pivotal moment in your relationship that you were hoping for.

His lips were on your temple, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, his pace quickening as the tension in the room reached its absolute peak. He gripped your hips tightly, his voice breaking in a low, breathless groan against your ear-

But the words you desperately needed to hear never came.

Zayne didn't pause, he didn’t say anything. There were no apologies or declarations. His rhythm didn't falter. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing remaining heavy, ragged, and frantic as he carried himself over the edge of his own release. He was entirely consumed by the moment.

When it was over, the heavy, suffocating silence crawled back into the hotel room.

Zayne rolled off you, his chest rising and falling as he stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, his breathing began to slow. He reached out, his warm hand finding your arm in the dark, his thumb gently stroking your skin in a gesture he likely thought was comforting.

The two of you lay next to each other. Occupying the same space but somehow far apart.

“How did you know where to find me?” you asked.

“Your mother called.”

A bitter clarity washed over you.

So that was why she insisted you stay put.

Your mother probably convinced herself she was helping, but it was always about her own reputation. She adored Zayne. The moment you secured a rich, handsome husband, she finally had the ultimate weapon to lord it over the neighbourhood women who used to whisper about you being still 'on the shelf.'

"Come back home tomorrow," Zayne murmured. He turned his head to look at you. His silver-rimmed glasses were on the nightstand, leaving his hazel eyes looking softer in the shadows. "We can put this weekend behind us. This... tonight... It proves we can still find our balance. We can make this work."

“How?”

He didn’t answer right away. To a stranger, he might have seemed breathless or lost in the afterglow. But you knew him too well. The silence stretched because he simply had no answers. For you, that empty pause was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage.

“We will find a way,” he finally said.

You turned away and lay perfectly still on your side, your back turned toward him, staring blankly at the artwork on the hotel wall. You didn't pull away from his touch. You didn't cry.

He didn't know how to fix this either.

And this was the cruellest truth of all. And you had to accept it.

"I'm going to take a shower," you whispered.

You slid out from under the covers, carefully avoiding his hand, and gathered your discarded clothes from the floor, not wanting to be bare in front of him. As you walked into the bathroom and closed the door, you didn't look in the mirror. After all, what was there to see except the woman who clung onto a man so pathetically that she chose to ignore every red flag in existence?

Standing under the scalding water, you let the heat turn your skin red. You knew, with absolute, terrifying clarity, that you could never go back to what you were.

The thinking was over. The marriage was dead.

On rare occasions, Zayne would take you out on a date. It was always perfectly orchestrated. Perhaps a nice evening at an expensive restaurant filled with pleasant, polite conversation. A movie night complete with popcorn and various sweets. A weekend ride into the countryside where you two would share a quiet picnic.

Sex, if and when it happened, was amazing. He made sure that you came at least once. The physical encounters with Zayne were a confusing mix of intense gratification and heartbreaking distance. When he did touch you, his precision in anything he put his mind to translated into an overwhelming, breathless mastery that left your body entirely consumed. He was unfailingly thorough, using his hands and mouth with a focused dedication that ensured your pleasure, never allowing the encounter to end until he felt your body shatter beneath him.

Yet, beneath the heat of his touch, his passion felt deliberate. A flawless execution of a procedure. Something that he did because he was meant to. There was no fun, mess or chaos. No bumping noses or awkwardness. No bursts of affection, no vulnerability in his eyes, and no soft, unprompted whispers in the dark. As you lay in his arms afterward, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely performing the duties of a husband, leaving his heart entirely untouched.

You were worried at first when the occasions when you were intimate with your husbands became scarce and far between. But then you reminded yourself that settling into a routine meant that passion became less of a priority. Besides, how could you complain when your husband was out there saving lives?

You were grateful for your life. To any outsider looking in, it would seem flawless.

You genuinely loved your job. Being a teacher was not everyone’s cup of tea, but you found true joy in working with children. You loved your friends, too. Blythe could not spend as much time with you as before now that she was pregnant with her second child, but you had recently reconnected with a few close friends from university.

And then, of course, there was MC.

Despite your deep-seated insecurities and how much you still hated the soft, rare look on Zayne’s face whenever her name was casually mentioned, MC was a great person. She invited you to hang out with her and her co-workers Tara and Simone. When you mentioned that you weren’t really sure what would look good in the sparsely decorated house, she whisked you off on a shopping trip, pushing you to buy the gorgeous things to decorate your home that both of you knew were more to your taste than Zayne’s. Not that Zayne commented on anything that you purchased. When he was actually around, he seemed to treat your house as more of a space where he’d spend time between surgeries rather than a home.

And, of course, you loved your husband. How could you not? He was everything a dutiful husband was supposed to be. Except sometimes, late at night as you lay alone in your marital bed waiting for him, you wondered. Wondered if he truly cared about you as a person, or if he just cared about portraying a certain image of a perfect life.

But you always told yourself that it was fine. Your life was fine. You were fine. Zayne was fine. If anything, you felt that thinking otherwise was you being ungrateful. Many women would kill to have such a comfortable, stable life and a secure relationship. It was certainly better than the relationship your parents had.

To this day you were unsure why your mother hadn’t left your father. To everyone else, he was a charming, handsome man who doted on his beautiful, elegant wife and somewhat plain, unremarkable daughter. But behind closed doors, he was a tyrant who took out all his frustrations with his life on you. He had never hit you. The torture was psychological only. You still remembered vividly how you felt when the call about his fatal car accident came. You didn’t feel sadness, just relief. And what kind of a monster feels that way about her own father?

Perhaps it was the lingering guilt that pushed you to try harder in your marriage. Or perhaps it was the feeling that you could never measure up to the man who chose you. Whatever it was, you knew that you won the husband lottery. You were with a man who never shouted, belittled you or let others disrespect you, and treated you with care. Perhaps your relationship was not as emotionally close as you hoped and dreamed. But you were going to try harder, pour more of yourself in it, and make sure that it would eventually become the real, deep love that you craved.

And for now, you contented yourself with spending an occasional afternoon with Blythe, Caleb, and their toddler. With Blythe heavily pregnant with their second son, Caleb had managed to take a significant chunk of time off from his military duties to be with his growing family. It must have been incredibly difficult to arrange, but he had secured a rare three-month leave out of the six he had originally pushed for.

“Argh, I’m such a whale!” Blythe groaned, dropping rather inelegantly onto the sofa beside you. “And you look so pretty and just look at your perfect legs! I kinda hate you right now.”

“Don’t say that,” you laughed gently, squeezing her hand. “You are absolutely glowing.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. The miracle of life and all that,” she scoffed playfully. Then, she raised her voice, directing it toward the kitchen. “I swear, this is the last one, Caleb! I’m not doing this again!”

“That’s what you said the last time!” Caleb called back, his voice full of easy amusement.

“Well, I mean it this time!” Blythe yelled back, crossing her arms over her round belly. “Don’t you dare come near me for the next ten years!”

Caleb grinned as he walked into the living room. Without a word of complaint, he popped a spoonful of ice cream directly into her mouth to quiet her down, before handing her the rest of the bowl.

“Even if I have ice cream?” he teased.

Blythe swallowed, a smile blooming on her face. “Only if you have ice cream.”

Watching them, a familiar, quiet ache bloomed in your chest. You looked down at your hands, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I wish Zayne was around more.”

“Is he still working himself stupid?” Caleb asked. His expression softened as he noticed how nervous you were. He handed you a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. “And here I thought that Mr. Snowman would actually allow himself to be human from time to time.”

“He’s just really busy,” you murmured, your fingers tightening around the warm coffee mug Caleb had handed you. You forced a small, practiced smile to your lips, automatically stepping into the familiar role of an understanding wife. “There’s been so many complex cardiac cases at the hospital lately. He’s one of the few surgeons who can handle them.”

Blythe rolled her eyes affectionately over her bowl of ice cream, though her gaze remained sharp and perceptive. “Hun, lives are always on the line. He was a workaholic when he was twenty, and he’s a workaholic now. But he’s a married man now. He needs to realize his schedule affects you.”

“It’s fine, really,” you insisted, your voice carrying a desperate edge of reassurance. “I knew what I was signing up for. And I really want him to succeed. Besides, when he is home, he’s incredibly attentive. He always remembers exactly what I like, and he takes care of everything.”

Caleb sat down in a nearby armchair, holding his own cup of coffee. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his violet, striking eyes studying you with quiet concern. Unlike Blythe's bluntness, Caleb's approach was almost brotherly in its gentleness.

“Look, we all respect Zayne’s dedication,” Caleb said. “But even the military gives us leave to be with our families. A marriage can’t survive on the scraps of someone’s time, no matter how noble their job is. You’re allowed to miss your husband. You’re allowed to want him ‘round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stared down at the slice of cake on your plate, suddenly unable to meet Caleb’s eyes. If they only knew that it wasn’t just the long hours that hurt.

“Anyway, enough about Zayne,” you said quickly, forcing a brighter note into your voice as you set your coffee mug down on the table. “We should be focusing on the two of you. Three months of uninterrupted family time is incredible, Caleb. How did you even manage to pull that off with your superiors?”

Caleb stared at you for a heartbeat too long, clearly recognizing the pivot for what it was, but he let it go. He offered a warm, easy smile and leaned back. “Let’s just say I might have done a few favours for the commanding officer. Plus, I think they are scared of Mrs. Xia here.”

“Damn right,” Blythe muttered happily, taking another large spoonful of ice cream. “But seriously, it’s been amazing having him here to help chase our toddler around. I don't think my back could take it.”

You listened to them talk, nodding and smiling in all the right places as the conversation shifted to the chaotic joy of raising a family. It was obvious that they were a team. Navigating the challenges of Caleb's career together without losing their warmth or their connection. The contrast between their genuine, messy affection and your own pristine, silent marriage was deafening.

By the time you finally said your goodbyes and stepped out into the cool evening air, the weight of loneliness was entirely suffocating. Sitting in the driver's seat of your car, you gripped the steering wheel.

A marriage can’t survive on the scraps of someone’s time.

You wiped your eyes with a rough, jerky movement and took a deep breath. There was no use comparing their family dynamic with the one that you had. Every marriage was different. As you drove off, you once again reminded yourself that everything was fine.

You spent the rest of the day losing yourself in your garden, tending to blooms big and small. Wiping your hands on a cloth, you stood back to admire your hard work. Vines of star jasmine flirted with the pink variety, both climbing a vertical archway lush with glossy, dark green leaves and fragrant petals. Nearby sat the evergreen shrubs of Arabian jasmine, which you would soon harvest, dry, and mix with green tea for a calming floral brew. These jasmines were your absolute favourites. Though you would never admit that out loud, of course! Every flower was tended with love, but the abundance of jasmine was deliberate. It was your quiet trap to lure your husband outside, to convince him to sit with you on the swing you had installed a few weeks ago. You could picture it perfectly. The two of you surrounded by greenery and fresh, floral scents, sipping tea and eating the delicate pastries he loved so much.

Smiling, you checked the time. Zayne wasn't due home for hours. There was plenty of time left for your secret.

Walking into the far corner of the garden, you dug a little and unearthed your diary. It was stored in a waterproof container and wrapped up tightly. You knew that perhaps it made you objectively crazy to hide your diary. But you needed an outlet for your emotions and didn’t know what Zayne would think if he ever happened to come across it.

You hadn’t always hidden your thoughts away like that. As a quiet, easily startled child that could not make friends and once she did was uprooted and thrust into a different school, you still needed someone to talk to. So diaries became your companions. The things you documented were innocent enough. Dreams, Christmas and Birthday gifts, stories that you wrote about stories that you had enjoyed reading. But as you grew older, you documented your raw, unfiltered emotions. And that was your mistake.

Even now, you could still see your father’s face as he held your open diary, its pages violated by his angry, prying eyes.

“Is this what you really think of us? Huh? That we are unreasonable? That we are unfair? After all we've done for you over the years? Answer me!”

Hot tears had rolled down your cheeks as your lips trembled, your eyes glued to the floor.

“I said answer me! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

You had forced yourself to look up. He was standing too close, almost thrusting the diary into your face. “I bet this is what you go around telling people, too! You ungrateful little shit.”

“I—”

“Well?”

“I don’t.”

“Liar! I’ll cure you of that!”

With a sharp blink, you shook your head, forcing the bitter memory to dissolve back into the past. You stood up, walked over to the garden swing, and took off your shoes. Pulling your knees tight against your chest, you promised yourself you wouldn't think of him anymore. That life was gone. Dead and buried. You had a wonderful life now, and a kind husband. Yet, sometimes, when you looked across the table at Zayne as he silently scrolled through his phone during breakfast or the occasional dinner, you deeply wished you could share more of yourself with him. Perhaps, one day, you would.

You were really good at lying to yourself. Practice makes perfect, after all. But no matter how much you convinced yourself that you were happy with the way things were, as days passed and the air started to grow cooler, you could no longer ignore the truth.

The illusion finally shattered on a Saturday night in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store. As you stood there alone, trying to decide on an ice cream treat to eat by yourself, a sudden, staggering realization hit you. The last time you and your husband had been intimate was seven months ago. And you were only two years into your marriage.

Your immediate knee-jerk reaction was to blame yourself, wondering if the lack of physical warmth was entirely your fault. Because you hated confrontation and knew how exhausted he always was, you had stayed silent for months to avoid becoming a cliché. That is, the nagging, demanding wife who puts her own needs before her husband’s career.

No, you told yourself, that wasn’t who you were. You just weren’t trying hard enough. Shaking off the sudden loneliness, you decided to surprise him. Instead of spending another Saturday evening alone watching a film, you put on your favourite summer dress, the one that had his gaze lingering on your back a moment too long to be accidental, packed a basket full of desserts, and drove straight to the hospital. You were determined to bridge the distance between you in whatever way you could.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Li is not here," the receptionist told you politely when you arrived.

"Oh, I see," you stammered, caught off guard. "I thought he had two more surgeries tonight."

"No, he clocked out about an hour ago."

You quickly thanked the receptionist, commenting on how forgetful you were and hoping desperately that she didn’t notice how tight and fragile your smile had become.

Sitting down on a bench just outside the hospital entrance, putting down the useless basket of sweets beside you, you felt a heavy, suffocating dread settle deep in your chest.

If he wasn't working, was it possible that he was avoiding you?

It just didn’t make any sense. With how completely exhausted he was every day after work, surely Zayne would want to get home and unwind in his own space as early as he possibly could.

No, you reasoned, you were just overthinking things again. You tended to do that. He was probably already home, walking through the door right now and wondering where you were.

And yet, when you returned to the dark, silent house forty minutes later, he still wasn't there.

Feeling a sudden wave of desperation, and terrified that something terrible might have happened to the man you loved, you called his phone. It went straight to voicemail. Feeling increasingly frantic, you called again, and again, and again.

With nowhere else to turn, you realized there was only one person left who might know his habits outside the hospital. You dialled her number.

"Hello?" MC answered on the second ring.

"Um, hi! I’m so sorry to call you out of the blue like this," you stammered, your throat tightening as you tried to keep your voice steady. "But I was wondering if you might know where Zayne is. He’s not at work, he’s not answering his phone, and I’m just… I'm really worried something happened to him."

In the background, you suddenly heard the distinct rustle of clothing and movement. "Wait, hang on. No, Sylus, I can't right now," MC whispered. Then, cutting clearly through the line, you heard Sylus mutter a single, low word: "Idiot." MC quickly shushed him, her tone sharp.

Your face burned with an immediate, agonizing flush of humiliation. Was Sylus calling you an idiot? Was he mocking you for being a clueless, desperate wife who had to call her husband's childhood friend just to track him down on a Saturday night? You felt incredibly small, stripped of all your pride in a single second.

"I'm sorry, I don't know exactly where Zayne is right now," MC said, her voice laced with almost sisterly protective worry. "But he sometimes does research or clears his head outside the hospital walls, so that's probably why his phone is turned off. You know how he is! Getting so completely caught up with his work that he forgets everything else around him."

"Sure. Yes. Thank you," you whispered. You hung up the phone, letting it drop against the sofa cushions, and stared out into the empty night. The phone screen dimmed, casting a faint blue glow over your hands before going entirely dark.

You sat on the edge of the sofa in the living room. You shivered, still in your light summer dress. The house was cold. Zayne preferred the thermostat kept at a precise, lower temperature. He said it was a habit from years in sterile, heavily climate-controlled operating theatres.

Your face still burned with the memory of the call. “No, Sylus, I can't right now.” And then that single, low word.

 Idiot.

Was Sylus annoyed that your frantic call interrupted whatever private moment they were sharing? Was he annoyed that you were taking up his wife’s time and asking inane questions about your husband’s whereabouts? Or had he been looking at the situation from the outside, his sharp, cynical intelligence instantly diagnosing the pathetic reality of your marriage? A wife sitting alone in a dark house at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, calling her husband’s lifelong crush to ask where he was.

You looked down at your lap.

The soft, pale blue cotton dress with small embroidered flowers felt entirely ridiculous. It wasn’t meant for someone like you. It was meant for someone full of hope and laughter, for a woman who felt cherished, loved and seen. On you, it looked like a desperate attempt to play the role of someone else.

Seven months.

How had you let seven months slip by without acknowledging what was really going on? You had spent all that time telling yourself that everything was fine. You had swept all your worries under a rug and focused on keeping to a routine. You woke up early, made his coffee, watched the disciplined line of his back as he left for his morning runs, and convinced yourself that this structured, peaceful co-existence was what mature, healthy love looked like.

You had poured yourself into your work at the school. You had leaned on your friends. And you had genuinely tried with MC. Perhaps that was the most painful part. She wasn't a villain. If she had been cruel or dismissive, it would have been so much easier to hate her. And although MC could be careless and difficult, she was kind. She had genuinely cared about helping you and including you.

But Zayne’s heart didn't care how much you tried. It seemed that no matter what you did, his heart did not belong to you.

“He sometimes does research outside the hospital,” MC had said, her voice full of gentle rationalization. “You know how he is.”

It was a beautiful lie. But you wanted to face the truth now, no matter how it made you feel.

Zayne Li did not wander aimlessly. He was a man of absolute precision, of rigorous schedules and micro-managed time. If he was missing for hours after a shift, it was because he had actively chosen to be somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn't here. Somewhere far away from the woman he had legally bound himself to.

The electronic lock on the front door beeped at exactly eleven thirty PM, the mechanical latch sliding back shattered the quiet.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body went rigid as the door swung open, admitting a gust of night air from the hallway. Zayne stepped into the apartment looking exactly as he always did. He was perfectly put-together, sharp, and imposing. He wore a dark, tailored coat over his suit, his medical bag held firmly in his left hand. His silver-rimmed glasses caught the faint light of the hallway before he closed the door behind him.

He paused in the entryway, his hazel-green eyes tracing the dark living room until they locked onto you sitting on the sofa. He didn't look frantic or apologetic. He didn't look like a man who had accidentally lost track of time. His expression was an unreadable mask.

“You’re still awake,” Zayne said, his voice cutting through the air. He set his bag down on the coffee table and began unbuttoning his coat with slow, deliberate movements. “And the lights are off. Is something wrong with the electricity?”

He didn't mention his phone. He didn't apologize for being late. He didn't even seem to notice the dress or the basket sitting at your feet. He was simply analysing the environment, treating whatever this was like a puzzle to be solved. You sat there in the dark, looking at the flawless, beautiful man, you loved so desperately. And in that moment, you knew with perfect clarity that you had enough.

"You're still up," he repeated, his voice betraying his fatigue. "I told you not to wait up for me."

"I went to the hospital today. You weren't there, Zayne," you said. Your voice was quiet, but the absolute lack of a tremor surprised even you.

He paused, his hand dropping. "I had research to review. I went to a quiet cafe near the hospital to get away from it all."

"Your phone was off."

"The battery died." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, it's been a long day. If this is about me missing dinner again—"

"We haven't slept together in seven months."

The words cut through the room like a physical blade. Zayne froze. The distant mask he always wore seemed to crack for a fraction of a second, his hazel eyes widening slightly before slamming shut again.

"I am a surgeon," he said, his tone tightening, turning defensive. "My schedule is demanding. I am mentally and physically drained when I get home. It isn't personal."

"Isn't it?" You stood up from the couch, finally letting months of buried hurt rise to the surface. "You have enough energy to go running every single morning. You have enough energy to go out of your way for extra research. And you certainly make an effort when it comes to MC."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw the way you looked at MC before we got married," you said, your throat tightening. "I saw the way you looked at her at our own wedding. Whenever she is around, you look at her like she hung the stars. And then you come home to me, and you look right through me."

Zayne’s posture went entirely rigid. "MC is my friend. She is married to Sylus. You are being completely irrational."

"Am I?" You took a step closer to him, refusing to back down. "I called her tonight because I was terrified something happened to you. Do you know what I heard? I heard Sylus in the background calling someone an idiot. Was he talking about you, Zayne? Or was he talking about me, for being stupid enough to marry a man who is clearly in love with someone else?"

Silence fell over the room. Zayne stared at you. His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. For the first time in your marriage, the distance between you wasn't just a physical absence.

This was war.

The vulnerability you thought you glimpsed vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, impenetrable wall. He straightened, his eyes turning dismissive as he drew himself up to his full height.

"This is completely absurd," Zayne said, his voice becoming dangerously calm, as if he was speaking to someone out of their mind. "You are projecting your own insecurities onto my friendships and my career."

He walked past you, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud, sharp clatter that made you flinch.

"I am a surgeon," he continued, turning to face you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "My days are spent dealing with life-and-death stakes and gruelling physical exhaustion. When I come home, I need peace. I do not have the emotional bandwidth to reassure you because you feel intimidated by MC or because you're overanalysing a passing glance from months ago."

"So, the last seven months are just me overanalysing?" Your voice shook, his words making you angry and giving you the strength to soldier on. "The lack of intimacy, the empty bed, the distance between us… You are telling me that's just all in my head?"

"This is the reality of marrying a doctor," Zayne snapped, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. "I am tired. I am drained. If you wanted a husband who was home by five, you shouldn't have agreed to marry me. My commitment to this marriage is shown in the life I provide for us, not by how many times I can force myself to ask you about your day after a fourteen-hour shift."

He looked at you, his eyes flat and distant, completely denying the emotional vacuum he had left you in.

"Sylus was calling me an idiot. It had absolutely nothing to do with you," Zayne said, his face an unreadable mask. "I am going to sleep in the guest room tonight. I suggest you use the time to calm down."

He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, closing the guest room door behind him with a firm, decisive click. He left you alone in the dark living room, colder and more isolated than you had ever been.

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