Then—I saw a boy wrapped in a towel, lying there quietly.
And it was my little pink towel. His legs were too long, my towel too short, and things kept slipping.
I swallowed.
“Mom, you…you serious? How much did this cost?”
I’m convinced my mom’s been corrupted by her square-dance friends.
“For whatever my daughter wants, Mom will buy, no matter the price.”
I…wasn’t it just the other day she’d been forcing me to go on blind dates? After all my failures I joked, “I vow to a lifetime of balanced diet—please, heavens, give me a boyfriend.”
Did Mom actually take me seriously?
“No, Mom, this isn’t—”
“What are you shy about? If I give it to you, you take it.”
I looked at the boy again and felt my scalp tingle, but remembering how awful my reunion was—being buried in PDA—I made up my mind…to claim him.
“Untying his bow” not-so-appropriate younger brother × bold older sister. I was halfway through unwrapping the towel when a hand pinned mine.
“What are you doing?”
He opened his eyes a fraction, voice low and husky, gaze half-lidded.
My heart skipped.
Doing what…doing…
Was he shy?
“Want me to turn the lights off?” I whispered.
He stared at me for half a minute.
Click… I turned off the light.
Thinking of that devastatingly handsome face, I braved a kiss on his cheek.
“How old is sister?” he murmured, smiling as he stopped my wandering hand; his magnetic voice tickled my ear.
My stomach dropped. Was he teasing me?
“E—” I shamelessly padded my cup size.
“Heh…” He chuckled, then laughed until his whole body trembled, “Are you sure?”
Doubting me?
“At least a C—”
I said it like it was fact.
He was silent for a beat, then lazily, “I meant…age.”
How embarrassing. “26.”
I spat the number through clenched teeth.
“A little…old,” he sighed, then let go of my hand. “If the lights are off, I can barely tolerate it.”
Then he lay there like a man at my mercy.
If someone’s paying, you don’t pick the employer!
“Shut up.”
Suddenly competitive, I decided to make him cry. Turns out the little brother actually cries easily.
“Can I sleep?” he asked, eyes reddened, voice hoarse.
“Pain?” I paused.
“Mm.” He fumbled, unable to look at me, as if half his life had gone.
Thinking he’d just dared to provoke me, my pride flared. “Tough it out.”
It hurt for me too, but I refused to lose.
…“Can I sleep?” he whispered again, pulling the covers, sounding threadbare.
“Yes.” By then, I felt like a withered eggplant—completely drained.
I rubbed my waist and muttered to myself: I only wanted Mom to give me a gift; she’d practically handed me possible death.
3 In the middle of the night, my dad knocked on my door.
“Have you seen my boss’s son?” he asked.
I rubbed my exhausted eyes. “Dad, what boss’s son?”
I’d only been asleep for half an hour; my head was mush.
“I drank with the manager last night. The boss’s son got drunk and I brought him to our place to rest. When I came back he wasn’t there, so I thought I’d ask you.”
My dad kept glancing at my door as he said it.
I froze and thought for a full minute.
Boss’s son? Son?
My mind flashed to the barely-alive face on the bed…boom!
A lightning bolt struck me empty.
“No…haven’t seen him.” I stole a look into the room, suddenly wide awake. “I’m going to sleep.”
Click—I shut the door in guilty haste.
After a few minutes of psyching myself up, I crept to the bed and tugged his blanket.
“Asleep?”
I tried to sound gentle.
He opened his eyes slowly and, with a long hand, pulled the cover tighter around himself. “Need anything else?”
Am I some kind of beast?
“No.” I pinched my fingers, nervous. “I wanted to ask—”
“Then sleep a bit,” he said, reaching out like he meant to soothe, rubbing my head. “I’m so tired.”
Hearing that, my heart lurched. It was all a misunderstanding.
“Want water?” I offered, trying to make up for my earlier attitude.
He opened his eyes and stared at me for a few seconds. “Tomorrow, okay?”
Did I read that wrong—was that what he meant?
Mortified. Since we were both in varying states of drunk-and-exhausted, I decided to sleep on it and figure things out later.
4 I did sleep, but I still had no plan.
Early morning, my mom came knocking on my door.
“Opened your gift yet? Do you like it?”
I looked pale and stupid, like a deer in headlights.
“I opened it.”
Lying through my teeth because I had no idea what she’d given me. “Y—yes, I like it. Let me sleep a little more.”
I snapped the door shut.
Back in my room, the bed was empty. Then I heard water in the bathroom.
He’d woken up.
I was doomed.
I paced, trying to think how to get him out without anyone noticing—and without him making a fuss.
Then he came out.
Completely naked.
My eyes burned.
“You—” I flew to the door and locked it, “Why aren’t you dressed?”
He strolled to the bed, shading himself with the comforter, looking at me like it was no big deal. “No clothes.”
I felt my scalp crawl.
“You came here naked last night?”
I wanted to cry.
“I drank too much and threw up on myself.” He leaned on the headboard, casually scrolling his phone.
Looks like he was waiting for me to solve the problem.
I snapped. “Wait here.”
I threw on clothes in seconds—no time to wash up—and bolted out, instructing, “Don’t open the door for anyone. Lock it. Whoever comes, don’t let them in.”
“Whatever,” he said, amused but compliant.
As soon as I stepped outside, I ran straight into Mom. I hurriedly blocked the door.
“Why’s your face so red?” She handed me breakfast. “Come eat.”
“Hot.” I fanned my face, grabbed the trash, and fled.
“Where are you going without breakfast?” Mom asked as she followed.
“To throw out the trash.” I ran headlong down the stairs.
5 At the corner market downstairs, the shop owner saw me hovering near the underwear shelf and sauntered over, amused. “Buying for your dad?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed a random pair, hoping to bluff my way through.
She squeezed my hand. “Too small. Your dad’s got a belly—this won’t fit.”
“He’s…trying to lose weight.” I tugged the returned pair back and dashed to the clothing section for a tee and shorts.
At the register, the owner scanned my stuff and grinned weirdly. “You have a boyfriend now?”
I jumped and my face flushed.
“No, no—my cousin’s here. It’s for him.” I yanked the bag and ran.
Back home, Mom saw me out of breath. “Why are you panting?”
“Morning run.” I pretended, did a few fake jog-in-place steps, hid the plastic bag behind me, then darted into my room and locked myself in.
After I calmed down I tossed the bag to him. He paused his game, glanced at me, then at the bag—silent.
Was I being rude?
I hesitated, pulled the clothes out, and spread them in front of him, voice low, “There’s only this downstairs. Can you make do?”
“All right, but aren’t your demands a little much?” His long fingers toyed with the clothes; he sighed.
What demands?
“You looked already—want me to strip next?” he teased.
Me: ?
Mom knocked again. Annoying. I cracked the door.
“What did you buy? The shop owner said you forgot something.” She handed me a black plastic bag.
I opened it and slammed it shut in under a second. “Mine—underwear.” Guilty, I closed the door.
I’d been so frantic I’d forgotten the underwear I’d bought. My life was basically over.
I turned my back and waited for him to get dressed. Then I crouched in front of him and tried to explain everything earnestly.
“This is totally a misunderstanding,” I said.
“Mm.” He kept playing like I was making it up.
“Can you play along when you go out later?” I softened my voice.
It was the weekend; my parents would be around. Making him disappear wasn’t an option.
He didn’t answer. Looking at his aloofness, I regretted everything.
Finally his game ended. He stopped, stared at me, and asked in a low voice, “Wasn’t I cooperative enough last night?”
He tapped my forehead with a finger and drawled, “Auntie, people shouldn’t be greedy.”
Auntie?
Yesterday he called me sister; now he calls me aunt? That jerk… I flopped to the floor. Was he trying to threaten me?
“What do you want?”
“You tell me.”
Typical—leaning on a bit of looks to bargain.
I glanced at the birthday gift Mom had given me on the dresser, picked it up and handed it to him. “Here—this new bag. Give it to your fiancée. Happy?”
Even a sugar daddy doesn’t get that cheap—I was actually attached to that gift.
He looked at me, stood, and looked down. “Fine. I’ll keep it for now.” Then he swaggered to the door and left.
My head went blank.
6 I pressed my ear to the door to listen. It swung open—Mom barged in.
“Why are you still in bed? The boss’s son’s already up. Come eat.”
What?
She dragged me to the table. There he was, lounging at breakfast.
Dad was unbelievably hospitable, ladling porridge and pouring him a glass of soy milk.
I felt pinned to my chair.
“Ethan, I’m not sure what you like—soy or milk?” Dad pushed everything toward him.
In front of me were two giant steamed buns.
“Give it to your sister—she loves it,” he said, sliding the soy milk toward me.
Did he mean something by that? Was I overthinking?
The mood got awkward.
“You guys—” I mumbled. Dad looked between us. I kept my head down. “I forgot to introduce you—this is my daughter, Sophie Hart. She’s older than you—about six years older. You should call her sister.”
“Look at what good manners she has,” Mom chimed, nudging me to greet him.
My feet hurt. I started to suspect Mom had forgotten who her own daughter was.
Was I rude? Was he?
"Hey there."
I laughed it off. "Little brother, eat more."
I pushed a steamed bun toward him.
He lifted his eyes, gave a faint, teasing arch of his brow, and didn’t say a word. Instead he picked up a bun, didn’t eat it, and just watched while smiling.
His smile made me feel guilty.
Is he even human?
"Did you sleep well last night? I didn’t see you in the guest room—thought you’d left."
Dad started fussing over him.
He didn’t answer directly, only looked at me.
Was the answer written all over my face?
I’m just an innocent girl who likes to eat!
"Probably went to the bathroom," I lied.
He set his chopsticks down, looking like he had no appetite. "The first half of the night I didn’t sleep well. I’m picky about my bed."
Who slept by my side like a hog and flattened my hair so I didn’t dare move?
"Ah…uncle was drunk last night and didn’t take good care of me. Don’t take it to heart."
Dad looked embarrassed—clearly caving to his boss.
"The second half of the night was fine."
He smiled and looked at me again.
You jerk—why don’t you just say it outright and stop torturing my poor heart.
This "little brother" is not to be messed with.
Finally we finished eating and Dad said he’d drive him back.
"Dad, you rest. I’ll drive him."
I volunteered—I was terrified he might sell me out.
"Okay…you youngsters have more to talk about," Dad said awkwardly, probably puzzled by my sudden eagerness.
"No, it’s fine. Better if Uncle drives me back," he refused me with a smile.
After he said that, Dad didn’t push. He hurriedly finished and got ready to go.
While they were busy, I slipped up to him and asked quietly, "Why won’t you let me drive? What are you planning?"
He bent his head, lips almost brushing my face. "Next time. Let me rest, okay?"
I, an ancient auntie, flushed scarlet and jumped back.
"Don’t you dare."
I hissed a warning.
"When did I ever—" he shrugged helplessly. "If you hadn’t—last night—who started it—"
Damn him, he was smiling again.
"Shut up!"
I wanted to tape his mouth shut.
"So wild last night and shy today?" He laughed more freely, eyes on my burning face.
"Get out…"
"I’m leaving." He waved at me. "Don’t miss me too much."
Then as if nothing had happened, he went downstairs with my dad.
No sooner had he left than Mom sidled over with a sly grin.
"Your dad’s boss’s son is so handsome," she sighed. "I want one…"
I stared at Mom. There was a flicker of green above Dad’s head.
"I mean I want a son-in-law like that—don’t think the wrong thing," she shot me a look.
"Oh."
I realized I’d overthought. No—wait. "Sorry, I’m useless. I can’t find you a son-in-law like that."
"You couldn’t even if you tried." Mom heaved a dramatic sigh. "I heard Ethan is about to get engaged."
"Engaged?"
I nearly ground my teeth to pieces.
"Yeah, to another company owner’s daughter—a powerhouse match."
Mom sized him up with a shake of her head.
My stomach dropped and my mind went blank.
So what I did to him last night isn’t just wrong—it’s monstrous? I’m ruined.
"What are you spacing out for?" Mom glanced at me. "I think once their two companies team up, your dad might get promoted. He’s been waiting for this day for so long."
"Oh. That’s great," I stammered, answering Mom while panic churned inside.
I was terrified Dad wouldn’t live to see the promotion… If Ethan’s fiancée found out about us, that engagement would be over. I spent the next few days on edge, then couldn’t stand it—I waited until Dad was in the shower and rifled through his phone.
I found the number and memorized it before sneaking back to my room.
I sent a friend request to that number and waited. No response for a long time.
I messaged, "I’m Sophie Hart—add me."
The next day, still no approval—only a "?".
Annoying. I typed, "I’m his sister."
This time it replied quickly: "Which one?"
Which one? How many?
Of course, rich guys’ sons are playboys.
"Remember that night at my place…" I tried.
"Don’t remember," he replied.
Don’t remember—my blood boiled.
I pressed on, reminding him: "You slept in my room. I undressed you like opening a present. You had no clothes, so I went downstairs and bought you some. You—"
Right when I sent it, the friend request was accepted.
"Aunt?" he messaged, and my blood pressure spiked.
Fine—call me aunt.
"Can we talk about something?"
"Mm."
"The other night—can you keep it secret? You were drunk, I was drunk—neither of us were clear-headed. We’re adults; surely you’d forget?"
No answer. What did that mean? He wasn’t pleased.
I typed again, "Give me your address and I’ll mail you that bag. I washed your clothes and will send them back. If there’s anything else you want, tell me and I’ll try to cover it."
Still nothing.
I realized this was getting tricky and sent, "I heard you’re getting engaged. I’m going on blind dates too. Can we just pretend it never happened?"
Finally he responded: "Done?"
"Done," I said, thinking I’d been clear enough.
"Done. So do you still want me?" He paused. "I’m free tonight."
My skin prickled with goosebumps. Could he mean that? Could I accept? Did my previous words mean nothing?
"Do you even get what I mean?" I asked.
He sent a voice message. I put the phone to my ear. "Why do you like saying ‘do you’ so much?"
Me: ?
Another voice message: "I get it now—Sister, you like it this way."
His lazy voice made the sentence filthy. My face heated and my cheeks burned. I threw the phone aside.
Did I really say such shameful things? Mortifying.
"Can you be serious? I’m trying to handle something here."
He finally replied with a simple, "Okay."
"Tell me—what do you want to do?"
"Whatever you want."
"So obedient?"
"Not obedient. I’m afraid you’ll make me cry…"
More voice messages—he was still smiling.
I got practical: "Give me your address. We’ll delete each other after."
"…" He sent a string of ellipses.
Half an hour passed without an address. I prodded with a "?". A big red exclamation appeared.
He deleted me.
Fine. Delete away—I was suddenly ready to act like it didn’t matter.
A week later, Dad told us the boss’s son’s engagement had hit a snag.
My bag of chips tasted like cardboard.
"Our boss is furious. I heard he beat Ethan and kicked him out," Dad fretted in the family chat.
"If Ethan were my son, I wouldn’t hit him—he’s too pretty," Mom said as if Ethan were her own.
I lurked quietly in the chat, trying to steer the conversation so it wouldn’t implicate me.
"Dad, why? Is your promotion still possible?" I asked carefully, keeping my voice neutral.
"What else? The kid’s a looker and he dated several girls at once—got caught." Dad typed.
"Oh…" Relief flooded me. A playboy—of course it wasn’t my fault.
"Apparently he chatted lewdly with some girl. They supposedly spent the night together and she wanted to get her clothes back—asked him to keep it secret. The girlfriend caught the chat."
Me: ?!
Was Dad hinting at me? I nearly dropped my phone.
Mom wrote, "Are girls so forward these days? If Sophie were half as forward, she wouldn’t be single."
Seriously? My daughter being forward scares even me.
I quit the group, turned off my phone, and broke out in a cold sweat.
Maybe his girlfriend deleted me? The thought was terrifying.
I immediately changed my WeChat avatar and made my Moments visible only to me.
That night the three of us ate dinner together. I kept my head down, shrinking into myself.
"Why did you leave the group?" Mom asked suspiciously.
"Huh? I did? Let me check." My acting was flawless as always.
After dinner Dad took a shower, then brought over a pair of underwear, glaring at Mom. "When did you buy these? What size do you think I am?"
Me: !
Mom looked between him and me, pinched the fabric, and said, "It’s not yours. I never bought anything that expensive."
Then they both looked at me in perfect sync.
I gulped, stalling for half a minute. "Maybe it fell from upstairs?"
They blinked, then nodded in agreement.
Relief flooded through me. I grabbed the underwear to return it to upstairs—except I wasn’t returning it. I paced the downstairs garden for half an hour clutching the thing, and my head throbbed whenever Ethan crossed my mind.
It was his underwear. I’d washed it and hung it in my room, and somehow Mom found it again and washed it a second time. The idea of his clothes in my closet felt unbearably unsafe. I was going crazy.
I dawdled until sunset before making my way back. When I got home and saw that face, my reflex was to step back, check the apartment number, then push open the door.
Who else would be sitting properly on the sofa, playing games, if not Ethan?
"Daisy, come here," Dad called me seriously.
My heart sank.
This was it. Everything’s out.
I walked over trembling, fingers twisting. Seeing the cuts on Ethan’s neck and the rip at his knee made me inhale sharply.
"What’s wrong, Dad?" I stood properly at his side, hands nervously twisting.
Ethan finally paused his game, looked up at me, and gave a small smile—one that made me uneasy.
Even now, he still dared to play games.
"Here’s the thing—Ethan might stay with us for a while. During that time, you can help him catch up in Calculus. Didn’t you say you were good at math?"
Huh?
Tutoring?
I breathed out like someone had lifted a weight.
Wait—Calculus?
"Dad, I’m not good at Calculus."
I froze.
He glanced at me, stood, and pulled me aside. "You once got a perfect score on a Calculus test in college, didn’t you? Don’t be modest. Whether your father gets promoted may depend on this."
I could’ve told him I cheated that time—copied until the end and then randomly changed one multiple-choice answer so it wouldn’t match anyone else’s. Somehow it turned into a 100, while that other kid got 95.
"Why is he living at our place? Doesn’t he have a home?" I said. My head hurt. I finally thought I’d shaken him off—now this?
"Shh, lower your voice."
My dad stared at me. "His dad kicked him out, so he came here. Think about it—Ethan is still his son. I’ve heard he’s failed a lot of classes. If you tutor him, maybe I can get that promotion."
"Dad, I don’t think you’re getting promoted."
I said it without energy.
"Assume you’re being sarcastic," Dad said. "Starting today, you’re tutoring him. Get ready."
After my dad left, I hauled Ethan back inside. "Why did you come to my house? What are you doing?"
He pinched his brow, winced. "It hurts."
I let go and rolled up his sleeve. There were scars on his forearm.
I was stunned.
"Don’t look."
He let the sleeve fall and gave a small smile. "It’s not deadly."
"Why would your dad hit you that hard?"
A little sympathy crept in.
"Not because of you," he said, looking down at me before lazily dropping onto my desk chair and starting his phone again.
Not because of me? I felt a sliver of guilt lift.
"Good. You don’t have anywhere else to go? What if your girlfriend misunderstands you staying here?"
He was bold. Engaged and still this reckless?
He paused, looked up at me. "You want me to leave?"
"Would you want me to keep you?" I shot back. "Didn’t my dad say your girlfriend saw our conversation the other day? If she comes here—"
He lounged in my chair like it didn’t matter. "She won’t."
He really was more careless than I was.
"Are we teaching tonight?" he asked quietly.
"I’m bad at math," I confessed.
"I know."
Me: ?
"So, you can teach me other things."
He chuckled softly.
Great—now he was teasing me again. I was trying to be serious and every line he had an answer for.
"Can you actually practice what I teach you?" I rolled my eyes.
He stifled a grin, and it was infectious. I pretended to pick up a textbook and tried to summon back the lost math memory.
He pushed the book flat with a finger and stared at me, slow and direct. "Try me?"
My heart skipped. My face flamed. I snapped the book upright, stiff as a board. "Today’s lesson is self-study."
"Oh."
He gave me a glance and stopped teasing. He flipped through other books on my desk, casually picking at them.
He sat beside me while I scrolled on my phone and he pretended to read. His phone vibrated constantly—messages flooding in.
"You going to check those?" I asked, pointing.
He didn’t bother to look up. "Annoying. Turn it off for me."
"You—"
I couldn’t help it. "Aren’t you worried I’ll see secrets on your phone?"
He glanced my way. "I don’t have secrets."
Then he sauntered to the balcony to smoke.
I have to admit I get twitchy about other people’s phones, so I found myself opening it. Missed calls, unread messages—hundreds—from a contact labeled "Lily Park."
If I wasn’t wrong, that’s his fiancée.
Cold as ice. I quickly turned the phone off.
"Did your engagement really fall through?" I handed the phone back while the nicotine smell stung.
He looked at me and moved the cigarette away with his hand behind his back. "Do you want it to?"
I was caught off guard. "Why would I? I’m not the type to break people up. If you two team up, my dad might even get a raise. You splitting up wouldn’t benefit me."
I said it fast to make my position clear.
He looked empty-faced for a moment, then turned to look out the window. "So what are you trying to get by staying here? Shouldn’t you be going back to make things right with your fiancée?"
I was anxious for them.
He finally looked at me and sighed. "Some peace and quiet."
Right—while their household was probably falling apart, he came here for peace.
"Fine. I’m only letting you stay a few days," I said. He scanned me up and down and said, "You’re like an aunt. No lights? I’m not interested."
"Do you have any manners?" I almost had to throw him off the balcony.
He laughed. "You’re calling me ‘aunt’—what else counts as polite?"
I was sputtering. For a moment I had no snappy comeback. By the time I thought of one, he had left the room. Great.
The next days, we kept to ourselves. He came to my room every night and pretended to let me tutor him for an hour. He actually just read my comics.
I couldn’t understand my dad’s logic—hoping to get promoted by currying favor with the boss’s son? Ethan hadn’t had anyone come look for him in days. I guessed he was in a pretty bad spot.
"When are you planning to freeload here until?" I asked, playing a game and glancing his way.
"Until my dad ships me off overseas," he said without turning.
"Studying abroad?"
"Sort of…"
He didn’t want to elaborate.
"If he pays for school, that’s good. Which school?"
He stopped and said dryly, "Whichever one he pays for."
So rich? He treated the chance like nothing—definitely a sheltered rich kid.
I suddenly felt magnanimous. "Your dad may hit you, but he cares. He spends money on your future."
He paused, then let a small, bitter smile show. "He didn’t spend time on me. Money’s the only thing he can give."
He set the book down and went back to the balcony to smoke. Twenty years old and still sulking—what a rebel.
I followed him during a game death interval and stared. I had so many things I wanted to say and then blanked.
"Why do you like smoking so much?" I asked.
He shifted the cigarette, looked at me. "You know why."
The memory of that night flashed through my mind. My cheeks warmed.
I tried to change the subject. "Smoking’s bad. Why don’t you care?"
He hesitated and asked softly, "Are you worried about me?"
"I—I’m not your parent. If you won’t listen to advice, fine."
He grew quiet, then said, "Why should I live by other people’s suggestions?"
There was an edge in his voice I couldn’t read, but it was clear he was upset.
"Not everything has to be obeyed," I said, choosing my words. "You don’t have to go against your family for the sake of it."
He’d been avoiding calls from his family and his girlfriend for days, like he wanted a full-blown showdown. Watching him linger here with no plan made me nervous.
"What do you think is right?" he asked, calmer.
"Talk things out. Not answering calls isn’t talking."
He stared a beat, then simply said, "I’m going to sleep," waved his hand, and left.
So arrogant. If he were my brother, I’d have throttled him.
"Rude," I muttered.
He paused at the doorway, then turned back and came to me with a sheepish smile. "Okay, what’s polite?"
"Don’t walk away while someone is still talking. Your mom didn’t teach you that?"
I took a step back.
The smile faltered. Something flashed across his eyes, and he quietly said, "She didn’t."
He lied, or maybe he just couldn’t bear to admit it. Either way, I didn’t want to argue.
Then he suddenly said, "She died." No hesitation. He walked out.
My mind went blank. His mother…was dead? My dad never mentioned it. I felt awful, like I’d accused him of something wrong.
That night I couldn’t sleep. His "She died" echoed in my mind—he said it like it was nothing, but I felt real sadness beneath it.
Guilt nagged at me. In the middle of the night, I tiptoed over to his room—barefoot, in my pajamas—worried my voice might wake the house.
His door was unlocked. I used my phone as a light and edged to his bedside.
He was asleep. Without expression, his face looked almost colder in the darkness. I hesitated to wake him and apologize; I considered leaving and trying again in the morning.
Just as I turned to go, he grabbed my hand. I nearly shrieked. Then he covered my mouth with his free hand. His cool eyes met mine in the dim light. Once he realized it was me, he loosened his grip.
"What are you doing?" I snapped, snatching my hand back.
He lay back down and sneered, "What are you doing sneaking into my room in the middle of the night?"
Only then did I remember why I was there.
But suddenly apologizing felt awkward, so I stammered, "I shouldn’t have said that tonight. I didn’t know your mom wasn’t here…"
He looked at me as if he heard, and as if he didn’t—expressionless.
I forced on, "I shouldn’t have picked at your wound. I’m sorry."
Still no answer. He just picked up his phone and checked the time.
"Don’t care what others say. You’re good."
He put the phone down and gave a short laugh. "Good?"
I gathered myself. "Pretty good. You have a bad temper, but I’ve never seen you hit anyone; you’re rebellious, but you never yell at your dad; you can be a jerk, but you haven’t been a jerk to me…"
The more I said, the guiltier I felt.
My compliments sounded strained even to my own ears.
When I stopped, he suddenly laughed—whether he’d absorbed my words or not, I couldn’t tell.
My scalp went tingly.
"Three hours until dawn."
He said it out of nowhere, staring straight at me. "If you want to, hurry."
"I’m not—"
I came to apologize; what did he think I was doing?
"Not what?"
He pushed himself up, his face suddenly huge and close.
My breath froze; I forgot to back away.
"I want to—"
I didn’t finish the words "go back" before a warm, soft sensation touched my lips.
When I snapped awake and pushed him, he didn’t give me a second to breathe. He looped his hand behind my head and held me.
My mind went fuzzy; I couldn’t think.
After a long kiss, he finally let go for a moment, breathing softly, and in a hoarse voice asked in my ear, "Did you lock the door?"
I jolted, instantly alert, pushing him away. "No—I’m going back."
Taking advantage of his brief lag, I bolted out like a rocket, not caring about how silly I looked—more like tumbling than running.
Back in my room, I realized I could hear my own heart pounding.
I almost didn’t sleep.
I felt guilty for my pulse racing over a man who already had someone.
Tossing and turning, I decided we needed distance.
No more crossing lines.
The next morning he was at the kitchen table eating when I woke up.
I was surprised—didn’t he normally sleep till noon? Why was he up so early?
I grabbed a carton of milk and sprinted out.
He looked up at me a few seconds and didn’t say anything.
As I was leaving, he suddenly stepped in front of me, like he wanted to say something but stopped.
Flustered, I put on my shoes and stood at the elevator. He beat me to it and pressed the down button.
"You’re… headed out?"
The silence while we waited felt awkward.
I glanced up; his hair looked like he’d just washed it—long enough to nearly cover his eyes.
He still said nothing, just watched me.
I couldn’t hold his regard; I looked away.
When we reached the basement level, he stopped at the garage door and didn’t move. He just stared at me. "You get off at five, right?"
"Uh…" I was thrown. "Yeah. Why?"
Hands in his pockets, he looked at me lazily and said softly, "I’ll wait."
That line hit me like a surprise; I scrambled into my car without looking back.
Later, I couldn’t stop wondering what exactly he meant by "wait."
I couldn’t figure it out and my head nearly exploded.
At work, all I could picture was him kissing me that night. I was losing it.
Finally it was time to get off, and then I got a text from him.
"Bring me a milk tea."
I glanced back, "No time."
"Working late?"
He asked again.
I paused—suddenly he seemed so attentive. What was his game?
"Date."
I shot back. I lied that it was a coworker dinner; I wasn’t planning to go but now decided I would.
"?"
He sent a single question mark.
"Company heartthrob’s taking me to a movie. Tell my mom I won’t be home for dinner."
I made up a reason I hoped would extinguish any of his ideas—and mine.
He didn’t reply.
Even though I kept checking my phone at the dinner, no more messages came. He must have understood. My plan worked, but I felt weird about it.
After dinner everyone went to karaoke and started drinking.
Thanks to the coworkers’ relentless pushing, I drank enough that toward the end I hardly knew who Ethan Cole was—but then I saw him again.
He was outside, smoking with a group by the restrooms.
My first instinct was to run, but I’d drunk too much and couldn’t hold it. With attention on me from him and his friends, I still went to the restroom.
When I came out, they were still there, loud and teasing.
"Eyeing that lady?"
He didn’t say anything aloud—just gave me a look loaded with meaning.
"She’s so hot. If you don’t take her, I will."
A gray-haired young guy stared straight at me. I looked over at Ethan; he was just blowing smoke rings.
I, tipsy and bold, staggered over and glared at the gray-haired kid. "I’m his sister, you little brat. Watch your manners."
The group exploded in teasing laughs.
"Ethan, since when did you have such a pretty sister?"
"Why hide her from us?"
The gray-haired guy leaned in. "Sis, you look wasted. Come have some fun in our room."
"No," I pushed his hand away.
"It’s Ethan’s birthday tonight. Aren’t you going to celebrate with him as his sister?"
Huh?
I turned to look at Ethan. He averted his eyes, said nothing. Calm as always.
Was that why he said he’d wait—because it was his birthday?
The Night Mom Sent Me Trouble
I felt a twinge of guilt. Remembering he didn't have a mom, my sympathy swelled, and I hesitated before replying with a tentative "Okay."
Just as a bunch of younger guys were shepherding me away, Ethan spoke up. "They're all guys. What are you doing there?"
Was I being rejected? He really held grudges.
"Then I won't go."
I changed my mind immediately. "I heard it's your birthday."
He was silent for a few seconds, then, casually: "What's so good about birthdays?"
Wow. With that, I felt foolish for assuming anything.
"Bye, have fun you guys." I tried to be polite and started to leave.
One step out, I ran straight into a wall of people.
Ethan watched me through the smoke. "If you want to come, then come."
Wait—who just told me to go? Who said birthdays were nothing?
"I don't want to."
I rolled my eyes at him.
He paused, then smiled, bent close, and murmured into my ear, "That's the one thing you shouldn't say…"
He smiled like it meant everything. My face burned like fireworks.
"Let's go."
He moved aside, grabbed my wrist, and led me into his room.
Tonight he was in a surprisingly good mood. He sat front and center; people kept toasting him and he accepted it with a grin.
An hour in, buzzed but steady, I sat beside him.
"How old are you today?"
I asked quietly between drinks. The room was loud; he had to lean in so I could hear. "Twenty-two."
"I thought you said something else last time."
I wasn't stupid when I was drunk.
He blinked, "Twenty-one."
How does that change?
"Just how old are you? Stop making things up."
My voice was louder than I'd meant—coincidentally, the music cut out and everyone heard.
"Sheesh, he's only twenty. Don't wanna scare her off as too young," one of his friends joked, and the room erupted.
I snapped, "Aren't you all tired of drinking and talking?"
Ethan glared at his buddies; they shut up.
Another round of toasts started and I frowned. If he gets trashed, how will I get him home?
When he lifted his cup again, I tugged his sleeve, "Drink less."
He looked down at me. "Worried about me?"
I was. Worried I couldn't get him home if he passed out. "Kids shouldn't drink so much. It's bad for them."
He downed the cup in one, then leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. Even drunk, I'll still have energy for my sister."
My heart slammed.
No matter how hard I tried to keep things normal, our relationship kept sliding off track.
So I pretended not to notice and fidgeted with my phone.
By the time it wound down after midnight, my mom had texted me a dozen times. He was still going.
I was exhausted. Kids his age had stamina I couldn't match.
At the end, I wanted to help him get a taxi, but he stood up straight. I didn't expect him to drink that much.
"In the car, be quiet going in. Don't wake my parents. They're asleep," I reminded him.
He flopped toward me and said casually, "We could go to a hotel so you don't wake them."
I moved away and sat farther. "Ethan!"
"Mm?"
That single "mm" was so soft I nearly melted.
"We can't do this."
I hesitated. "Forget it, you're drunk. I can't have this conversation now."
"If you can't explain… then—"
He edged closer and whispered one word into my ear, "Do."
My face turned beet red. Afraid the driver might hear, I kept my cool.
He pushed further. "Go to a hotel, okay?"
I stayed silent and ignored him.
We finally got out. I pulled him from the taxi and after it left I snapped, "Ethan, what do you want?"
Why say things that lead to so many illusions?
"What did I do?"
He sat on a planter and watched me with a smile.
"Asked you to a hotel—are you sane?"
I was furious and pacing.
"You said you didn't want to wake them…"
He looked innocent.
Could I have read it wrong?
"Still, we can't go to a hotel."
Anyone could go to a hotel. Did he not get that? He sighed and reached for my hand. "Don't be mad."
I pulled my hand away.
"Let's go home."
I started out ahead, but then he grabbed my wrist.
"What are you trying to do now?"
I was speechless. What was his drunken stunt this time?
He held onto me, refusing to let go, just sitting there staring.
Finally, as if he'd lost patience, he yanked me into his arms and I fell into his lap.
"Give me five minutes."
He murmured in my ear.
"What do you need five minutes for?"
I was going upstairs to sleep.
He stared at me, his eyes glittering like they were full of stars. Softly he said, "I want a birthday present."
"I didn't prepare anything!"
"It's ready."
No sooner had he finished speaking than his lips were on mine.
His kiss smelled faintly of tobacco and the sweet tang of red wine. It knocked my brain into blank.
At first he was urgent and rough, then he softened into something tender and lingering.
I knew it was wrong, but in that moment I couldn't push him away.
When he finally stopped and released me, I gulped for air like I'd been underwater.
"You go up first."
He fished out a cigarette and lit it.
Smoking again. My head was fuzzy and I was annoyed, so I trudged upstairs in a bad mood.
"Don't be mad."
Maybe he noticed. He grabbed my hand. "Let me make it up to you."
He glanced down at himself and sighed.
I followed his look and froze—then ran to press the elevator button before I could think.
Back in my room, I buried myself under the covers, replaying the night. I felt exhilarated and headache-y at the same time.
What should I do? I think I'm falling for someone I shouldn't—someone younger, someone who's basically my little brother.
After washing up I lay awake for a long time. When I finally heard him come home, my heart started racing again just from the faint noises.
He walked softly to my door and stopped.
I held my breath.
A few seconds passed, and instead of a knock, my phone buzzed with a text.
"Love the birthday gift. Don't overthink it. See you tomorrow."
I stared at the screen. I could read the words, but I couldn't make sense of them as a whole.
Did he like the gift—or me?
What was I supposed to do?
I tossed and turned all night and barely slept. Luckily it was the weekend and I didn't have to work. I woke up at ten in the morning.
After a night of agonizing, I found myself oddly looking forward to seeing him again.
I fussed with my room, put on makeup, chose a short purple dress, dabbed at the dark circles under my eyes, and finally stepped out.
At the couch I saw his back and my heart sped up.
I rounded the couch and froze when I saw the young girl's face beside him.
"You're the sister who tutors him, right?"
She smiled like a cute kitten—soft and sweet.
I said nothing, nervously glanced at Ethan, who looked unnaturally calm.
My heart dropped.
"Mm."
I answered and sat down.
"Sophie, this is Lily, Ethan's fiancée. She's here to see Ethan."
My Dad came over cheerfully with a fruit plate.
I knew—my dad's wish was about to come true.
"Oh."
I shoved a slice of watermelon into my mouth. It tasted like nothing.
"Weren't you supposed to go out with classmates?"
My dad gave me a nudge with his eyes.
I blinked—I hadn't arranged anything with classmates.
I snapped to and stood up at once, hearing my dad say, "You two young people, talk it out. Don't go sulking at every little thing."
That was clearly directed at them.
Lily obediently said, "Yes, Uncle."
Then she fed a piece of watermelon to Ethan.
Ethan didn't open his mouth; he turned and looked at me, which made me awkward.
I felt out of place standing there.
"I'm heading out. You two talk."
I turned toward my room.
"I don't have anything to discuss with you."
"Are you kidding me…"
"Just delete me, okay?"
I couldn't help eavesdropping from my door. Mostly Lily was sobbing; I couldn't catch everything.
Ethan was mostly silent, only muttering now and then with impatience.
I pinched my skirt and sighed—feeling ridiculous.
No matter how they argued, they were getting engaged.
What was I supposed to be in all this?
I dragged myself to the mirror, looked at my face, then at Lily's. I felt drained.
Youth was an advantage.
Ethan was only twenty. Lily was probably the same. I was already twenty-six—what could I possibly compete with?
Plus he was my dad's boss's son. What was I thinking?
While I was brooding, Mom came over and teased, "Jealous, single dog?"
She jerked her chin toward the living room.
"What would I be jealous of?" I was speechless.
"Honestly, I'm jealous too," Mom said, reminiscing about her own younger days. "Young couples who fight a lot—it's good for the relationship."
"Mom, I'm in a bad mood. I suggest you don't provoke me."
I didn't want to talk about it.
"Why are you in a bad mood?"
She looked incredulous. I sunk into a chair and scrolled my phone.
"If it were me, I'd be upset too. That Lily isn't even as pretty as you. Why does she get someone like Ethan? My daughter is still single."
For a moment I couldn't tell if Mom was friend or foe.
"I met someone at mahjong last night—her nephew is a doctor."
I eyed her, waiting for the punchline.
"Learning medicine takes forever—he just graduated at twenty-eight and doesn't have a girlfriend. Want me to give you his WeChat?"
Of course!
Mom never missed an opportunity to set me up. A guy from a mahjong table—reliable, right?
I kept scrolling.
She leaned in, suddenly stern: "Your grandfather put his foot down. If you come home for National Day without a boyfriend, you won't be allowed in the house."
Me: !
"They're old fashioned. They keep asking me if you have a boyfriend and I feel so much pressure."
Mom started playing the victim.
"Send me his WeChat."
Grudgingly, I added the doctor, but he didn't accept for a long time. Annoyed, I decided to go downstairs.
When I opened the door, Lily was sitting beside Ethan, tear-streaked.
Ethan, as usual, was expressionless.
I felt weird and almost walked out.
"Where are you headed?"
Ethan spoke. I hadn't expected him to care at a time like this.
"Out for a walk."
I slipped on shoes and left.
He followed, and so did Lily.
The elevator ride was unbearably awkward with the three of us silent.
Once out, I whispered, "Why are you following me?"
He looked down at me and hesitated. "Don't you know?"
I couldn't believe him. His girlfriend was crying right behind him—did he have no shame?
"Why don't you go comfort her?"
I felt guilty for storming off like this.
He didn't answer. He just looked at me. "Don't you need someone to comfort you?"
I: … "Stop saying stuff like that. She's your fiancée."
I reminded him.
"Who agreed to that?" he asked back.
How was I supposed to know what was going on between them?
After a moment he sighed, "Give me some time."
"Stay away from me."
I didn't want any ambiguity in a mess like this.
He froze, staring at me.
"Ethan, wait for me, I can't keep up!"
Lily came up fast, eyes swollen from crying.
"Why did you follow her?"
Ethan's temper flared cold. The little girl started crying harder.
I couldn't stand it and snapped, "Why are you being so mean?"
He paused, anger flickering across his usually impassive face, like I owed him something.
"Sis, don't fight over me. Ethan, please don't ignore me. I'll do anything."
Lily grabbed his sleeve, but he shrugged her off.
"Don't bother me. Your agreement is your business. No one can make decisions for me. How many times do I have to say it?"
He'd lost patience, tossed the words at her, and walked away.
It was the first time I saw him truly angry.
"Sis…"
Lily flopped into my arms, shaking with sobs. I stood there awkwardly, embarrassed to push her away.
After a long while she lifted her head and rambled on until my head buzzed.
"Even if it's a family-arranged engagement, you don't have to obey them. People choose their own partners now."
I summed up for her.
"But I love him—I've loved him since I was little. My biggest dream is to marry him."
She spoke like she was under a spell.
I was speechless.
"Does he love you?" I couldn't help asking—admittedly out of selfish curiosity.
"Does it matter?"
She stopped crying and suddenly smiled. "He'll be mine in the end."
Okay, she was confident.
"No, but if he doesn't want you…"
"How do you know he doesn't?" She cut me off before I finished.
"His family begged me to be engaged to him."
She said it proudly.
I was taken aback.
"Well, then—congratulations."
That was all I could say.
Maybe I didn't understand—why did these rich kids treat engagements like royal decrees? Like arranged marriages.
I left and sulked home alone.
No sooner had I walked in than the doctor accepted my WeChat request.
I hesitated and left a note: "Lin Feng."
"Sorry, I had a patient," he replied politely.
I texted back, "No problem."
Then I saw Ethan on the balcony, smoking.
He was tall—about six two—but thin. The balcony light made him look even more fragile.
I thought of Lily's certainty and felt a sudden pang of pity for him.
At dinner he barely ate and kept staring at me, which made me uncomfortable.
I avoided his gaze.
My dad nudged a chicken leg toward him. "Ethan's so thin—eat more."
Without missing a beat, Ethan served the leg to me instead, ignoring my dad's comment. "She's thin too."
My parents looked at the two of us in that weird, suspicious way.
"I'm dieting."
I pushed my bowl away and the chicken drumstick clattered onto the table.
His expression soured.
"You child…"
Dad awkwardly tried to smooth things over.
Luckily a WeChat ping came through, so I buried my face in my phone and started messaging.
It was Lin Feng.
"Want to walk down by the river after dinner?"
I really did not want to stay with Ethan Cole another minute, so I replied, "Sure, send me the location."
Just as I propped myself up, Mom asked, "Finished eating? Where are you going?"
"Full. Going to walk by the river."
When I said that, I saw Ethan put his chopsticks down too.
"Ethan, why aren't you eating either?"
Mom looked genuinely confused.
He stood, glanced at me, and said coldly, "Aren't you afraid going to the river alone?"
My stomach dropped. Didn't he realize that would make my parents suspicious about our relationship?
Does he have no shame?
"A girl going to the river at night isn't exactly safe. Ethan, you haven't seen the river at night yet, do go with her and take a look."
Dad really was a master at changing the mood.
But he had no clue what he was doing. Ethan wouldn't go with me for a casual riverside walk—besides, I already had plans.
"Mm."
Hearing Ethan's "mm" chilled me to the bone.
He actually was going?
"I already made plans with someone."
I forced the words out.
"Who did you make plans with?"
Mom's gossip radar was instantly up.
I didn't dare look at Ethan. I exhaled, "Who else? The one you introduced to me."
Silence fell for a beat.
"What? Sophie has a boyfriend?"
Dad got excited, his face oddly pleased.
"Hurry, it's someone you set me up with—give them a call, don't keep them waiting."
Mom couldn't hide her delight.
Creak!
A chair scraped abruptly and we all turned to see Ethan pushing his chair back and walking out.
Me: … Mom: ? Dad: ?
After a few seconds Dad rationalized, "Maybe he's upset about his fiancée. I can understand that."
"They haven't made up after their fight?" Mom asked.
Listening to them talk made me feel sick.
"Sophie, your relationship with Ethan's been alright lately—why don't you mediate?" Dad said, shifting his gaze to me.
"I'm not getting involved."
I wasn't going to be the peacemaker. If I didn't break them up, that would be enough.
"We need to figure something out if he's going to keep staying here," Mom said.
"You two think about it," I tossed the comment and left.
No sooner had I stepped into the hallway than someone yanked me back. I nearly screamed.
Seeing Ethan up close, I reached out to slap him in anger.
He didn't flinch. He just stared at me straight on.
Caught, I withdrew my hand.
"What are you doing?" I said, though my voice sounded thin. The hallway opened onto the front door—Mom could have walked out and seen us.
He stayed silent, then lowered his head, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Say it. People are waiting for me."
Patience gone, I snapped.
He stepped toward me until I was pressed against the railing, my back aching.
After a moment he asked quietly, "Playing with me?"
I felt a jolt of shock. Who was playing who? He had a fiancée and yet he kept leading me on.
I was bruised, but I wasn't going to lose face.
"We're adults. Don't talk about 'playing.' Sort out the relationship and maybe we can be friends."
He hesitated, then asked slowly, "You kissed me, slept with me… is that how you interact with friends?"
"I didn't kiss you—you're the one who made the moves. Pot calling the kettle black," I protested.
He suddenly smiled, took a step back, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, tugged the collar, and pointed to his collarbone. "Do you want to kiss me back?"
My eyes tracked down his throat to that collarbone and I couldn't help swallowing.
"N-no… I won't."
I turned my face away, afraid I'd go weak in the knees if I looked.
He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his mouth, kissing it.
My whole body trembled and I snatched my hand back.
"Do whatever you want with me," he said with a smile, then, softer, "But can you stop making trouble?"
His voice made my resolve waver.
"I'm not making trouble, Ethan," I steadied myself. "You have Lily Park, and I have my life. I won't let one accidental mistake turn into a chain of mistakes. We both need to get back on track."
He went silent and his expression darkened.
"You call that a mistake?" he asked slowly, enunciating each word.
"Isn't it?" I shot back. "I'm twenty-six. I'm not a kid. I don't have time for on-again, off-again games."
Saying that hurt. I felt awful inside.
He pressed his lips together for a long time, then laughed bitterly. "Sophie, you're really cruel."
I didn't understand what he meant.
"When you get to play me, you make it soft for me. Once you're done, you deny it."
Every word drilled into me and I wanted to sink through the floor.
My phone rang, breaking the silence. It was Lin Feng—maybe wondering why I hadn't come or called.
My first instinct wasn't to pick up but to stare at Ethan. His face looked calm, but the air around him felt heavy.
Why was I afraid of him? He was younger than me.
I reached for my phone to hang up, but Ethan grabbed it.
"You—"
I tried to snatch it back, but he held it just out of reach.
Then Lin Feng's voice came through.
"Hello? Is this Sophie?"
I didn't know what Ethan planned, so I stayed quiet.
He glanced at me and said casually, "No."
I wanted to cry. Why would he answer my phone?
My heart was pounding.
"Um… who is this?" the caller asked politely. This was a WeChat voice call; a lie like that could get exposed.
I was doomed.
Ethan kept my silence and I shut up, not daring to make a fuss.
"She's—shower—" he spoke, syllable by syllable.
My brain exploded. What a jerk.
I stood up so fast Ethan seemed to remember his conscience and handed the phone back.
"She'll be right out. I—my cousin—sorry." I babbled an apology like an idiot.
There was a hesitant "Okay, take your time."
After the call, I looked for Ethan to give him a piece of my mind—but he was already gone, turning his back in a deliberately casual way.
Then a text popped in.
"Girls should be more reserved. Come back early tonight."
Me: … Who asked?
I didn't reply. I hit the elevator and rushed down.
When I saw Lin Feng he looked very put together, talking on the phone by the river. He smiled, gave me a quiet shushing gesture.
I awkwardly waited until he was done.
"Sorry, there was an emergency at the hospital. Thanks for waiting."
I looked up and saw his gentle smile. He had a certain warmth in his voice that put people at ease.
"It's fine—work comes first." I wasn't so selfish to put myself above a patient.
We walked and talked. He was polite and gentle—constantly positioning himself between me and people on bikes who rode past, protecting me.
My feet were killing me and I regretted wearing heels for a walk.
"Want to sit over there for a bit?" He noticed my ankle and frowned faintly.
I was startled—when had he noticed my limp?
"Okay." I went with him to a little tea shop by the river.
The moment I sat, I wanted to sit there forever. My heel throbbed terribly.
"Stay here. I'll be back in five minutes."
"Okay."
As soon as he left I slipped my shoe off and checked the damage with my phone flashlight—skin split, no wonder it hurt.
"Don't move."
Just as I reached for it, a voice above startled me. I scrambled to put my shoe back on. He crouched and gently held my foot down. I was mortified.
"Dr. Lin, it's minor. No need—"
I tried to pull my foot away.
He didn't mind at all. He took cotton swabs and disinfectant from a plastic bag. "I'll clean it. Better to avoid infection."
Oh—so he had gone to buy medicine.
"I can do it myself."
"It'll just take a minute."
He was a professional. I had no reason to argue, but I felt embarrassed.
My phone buzzed again. A message from Ethan: "Where's my calculus book?"
He was trying to pick a fight. When did he need calculus?
"I don't know."
"If you don't tell me, I'll look in your room myself."
I seethed.
"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" Lin Feng asked, looking up.
"No—"
I was so wrapped up in the spat with Ethan I'd almost forgotten Lin Feng was treating my foot.
"It'll be fine in a minute." He was even gentler.
Watching him care so carefully made me feel guilty—here he was helping me and I was sniping with another man. I scolded myself to stay clear-headed.
Another text: "Guess what I found."
I wasn't going to reply.
Another: "Your mom's terrible—she hid my underwear. Why would she keep it?"
My head practically split. Oh no. I remembered stuffing his underwear into the vanity drawer after Mom found us last time, then completely forgetting about it. This was not explainable.
"The wind's picking up. I'll take you home." Lin Feng stood and took off his suit jacket to put over my shoulders.
My mind was still ringing from Ethan; it took me a beat to be able to answer, "Okay."
He asked if I could walk. Of course I had to say yes—there's no way I'd let him carry me.
We walked a stretch and finally made it downstairs. Ethan was leaning against the planter, smoking, head tilted back, looking at me with that roguish smirk.
My heart lurched. It felt like we were being caught in an affair.
"That's my cousin."
I explained to Mr. Turner.
Mr. Turner’s smile froze for a beat. After a few seconds he handed my bag back. "Want me to walk you up?"
"No, it's fine."
I hurried to refuse. I had no idea when Ethan, this ticking time bomb, might blow.
"Okay. Be careful washing your feet tonight—don’t get them wet."
He gave a few more instructions, glanced at Ethan as if to say something, then turned and left.
I stood there, stunned. For some reason, I felt like Mr. Turner didn’t like Ethan.
I thought it over—my little lie had no holes, right?
"Cousin?" I heard Ethan say.
He’d already come up beside me and glanced at my foot.
"Sort of."
I didn’t want to waste time arguing.
He smiled at me in a way that made no sense.
"What a coincidence."
He looked amused. "He's my cousin."
Me: !
My brain completely shut down. My chest felt like it was being squeezed until I couldn't breathe.
"You lied to me."
I wasn’t ready to give up.
"When have I ever lied to you?"
He sighed and looked at me like it was funny.
Oh no.
So Mr. Turner had seen through my lie but hadn’t exposed me.
I wanted to cry.
"He must have misunderstood."
Now I was totally sunk; there was no way to back out.
"Misunderstood about what?" Ethan asked.
"You tell me—he must’ve thought you and I…" I couldn’t finish. I was furious and mortified at the same time.
Ethan was calm, reaching out to steady me.
I pushed him away; he reached again.
I glared until he finally withdrew his hand and strolled beside me. "What are you mad about? Don’t tell me we haven’t… hmm?"
"Ethan!"
"Don't use my name so casually."
He stopped and looked at me.
"…"
"I'm afraid I won’t be able to resist."
He was shameless.
I ignored him and deliberately put some distance between us.
A few steps later my body felt light—so light that I grabbed at something.
"Watch your nails," he said. "Lightly—your uncle and aunt will have questions."
Only then did I notice the red mark on his neck from where my nails had scraped him.
"Put me down."
My face flamed with embarrassment.
"How long do you plan to keep walking?"
He looked at me coolly. "If your foot hurts, be honest about it."
Then, with zero hesitation, he scooped me up and strode for the stairwell.
"There are cameras."
I reminded him as we reached the elevator.
He started toward the hallway instead of the elevator.
"Hey—why aren't we taking the lift?"
He glanced down at me. "Didn't you just say there are cameras?"
"I meant 'put me down,' not 'carry me up the stairs.' My foot is killing me."
He let me struggle and didn’t set me down until after one flight.
"Up."
He climbed a few steps down and motioned for me to climb on his back so he could carry me.
"Ethan, are you nuts? Who asked you to carry me? There's an elevator."
I was half laughing, half furious.
"Get on."
He hesitated, then: "If you don't climb up, I'll think you're asking me to kiss you."
Me: !
Threats now.
And he’d do anything.
"What do you even want?" I snapped, but I climbed onto his back anyway.
"You know what I want, don't you?"
He said, turning and climbing.
My apartment is on the tenth floor. I thought he was insane.
Since I could never argue him into anything, I shut up and endured the ride on his back.
"Heavy?"
Halfway up, his hair was damp with sweat. I couldn't help asking.
"It's fine."
He smiled and kept going. I didn't know what he was trying to prove.
"Put me down, you'll be exhausted tomorrow."
"Then stop moving," he said without warmth.
True enough, I was his personal "don’t-know-better."
"I'm leaving tomorrow."
He said it out of nowhere.
I froze. "Oh."
Silence stretched between us.
"Have you made up with your dad?" I asked.
"Sort of."
His mood dropped for no reason I could read.
"Well, congratulations."
If they'd made up, then he could leave. He was going to get engaged to Lily Park, right? That was supposed to be good. But oddly, I felt a strange, heavy pull in my chest.
"You really want me to go that much?" he asked suddenly.
"Do you plan to stay in my house forever?"
I answered flippantly.
He stopped in his tracks.
"I might go abroad for three or four years."
He sighed and kept climbing.
"That’s perfect—so many pretty girls overseas. Lucky you."
The joke I made sounded bitter even to my own ears.
He went silent. The mood grew so heavy I almost jumped down and walked the rest.
I studied his sweat-dark hair and the reflection of him in the stairwell, trying to calculate what he'd be like in three or four years.
He'll be twenty-four then—right in his prime. I'll be almost thirty.
For the first time, I felt old in comparison, and it was because of a boy I’d probably never cross paths with again.
"Sophie."
He called my name for the first time—it felt strange coming from him.
"What?" I asked.
"You…" He hesitated. "What age are you thinking of getting married?"
My heart thudded. "I haven’t thought about it."
"Then think."
"I—"
I had no idea what to say. Marriage isn’t like snapping your fingers, and I don’t even have a boyfriend.
"Answer me."
He urged.
I hated being nagged. "Maybe twenty-six."
I shot out a number to placate him.
He stiffened. "You're so casual."
Casual? Not me.
"I'm serious. Twenty-six, plan for a baby at twenty-seven, second kid by thirty—that’s the order. What do you know, kid?"
My mom’s whole life-plan speech, drilled into me for years, replayed itself perfectly. I could recite it in my sleep.
"Can't we change the plan?" he asked.
"Change… why?" I replied.
"You're single, unstable in your job, still not grown up. It's too early—"
He mumbled—no logic, and he struck a nerve.
I snapped. "My job is fine. I make enough to live. And I'll have a boyfriend soon."
Who was he to lecture me?
"Is he your type?" he asked, meaning Mr. Turner.
"Kind of. He's good at his job, nice, and handsome…"
"We’re here."
I hadn’t finished when he barked at me to get off. What had I done?
At least it was the tenth floor. He showed a sliver of decency.
"Thanks."
I smoothed my skirt and turned to go, then remembered. "Want me to help you pack?"
Honestly, I only asked because he’d carried me up and I felt guilty.
He shot me a hateful look. "No."
Then he was a step ahead of me, opening the door, not bothering to wait. Zero chivalry.
I stood there stunned. When he asked what kind of guy I liked, his face had flashed through my mind as the answer. I surprised myself and got scared at the thought. If I said it out loud, he'd mock me.
I sighed.
That night I meant to text Mr. Turner and explain. I held my phone and couldn’t find a way to start, so I sent nothing.
I sat curled on the living room sofa, watching to see if Ethan had started packing. He hadn’t.
All night I tossed and turned, thinking about everything. In the end I realized one thing clearly: I hated to see him go.
The next morning I got up early to see him off. Dad said, "He left early—his plane took off already."
I froze. Empty.
"This morning the boss himself came to pick him up," Dad said, eyes shining.
"Oh, congratulations."
"When he left he told us not to wake you. The kid looks irresponsible, but he's considerate. He knows you like to sleep in."
Mom smiled like she was a mother-in-law spotting talent.
"If you want a handsome son like that, give birth to one yourself."
"Well, you find me one, then. How are things with that Mr. Turner?" she asked.
"It fell through," I mumbled and dodged. Mom pressed more, and I slammed the bedroom door.
When Ethan left, all news about him came through Dad. The most shocking thing: his engagement to Lily had collapsed.
"Ethan has a temper—he refused to get engaged. The boss gave him an ultimatum: either go abroad to study or get engaged. He stood up to the whole family and chose going abroad," Dad told me, looking at me as he spoke.
Look at me why?
"The company’s talking…"
He scanned me top to bottom.
"What are they saying?"
I pretended to be nonchalant, cracking sunflower seeds.
"They say Ethan fell for a girl way older than him. The boss beat him up, but he swore he'd marry only her."
My stomach dropped. It sounded like he wasn’t talking about me, but for some reason I felt like it was all about me—and I panicked.
"I thought—" Dad grabbed a handful of seeds, building suspense.
"Thought what?"
"Never mind."
He shook his head and said he didn’t think it could be me—we weren’t the same type, he didn’t think sparks would fly between us.
I thumbed on my phone, pretending not to care.
"You and I aren’t the same type either," Mom muttered, giving Dad an eye roll.
"Different times," Dad said, immediately sweet-talking her again.
I felt useless, so I went back to my room.
Sitting on the bed, I’d had enough of my parents' PDA. I wanted to fall in love, I admitted to myself. But who would I text?
Memories of Dad’s gossip and Ethan’s small, ambiguous flirts tangled in my head. After a long hesitation, I added his number and sent a friend request on WeChat.
After they deleted me last time, he and I only kept in touch by text. One night I suddenly wanted to check his Moments, just to see what he was up to.
No surprise—he hadn’t posted anything.
I tossed my phone aside and went to bed with that knot in my chest.
25
A few days later he accepted my WeChat request. We didn’t talk—his name just lay there quietly in my contacts.
Even more ridiculous: he had no Moments at all.
I’d been added for nothing.
Life went on. I figured Ethan had been embarrassed by that night and wouldn’t contact me again.
Then one day after work I walked past a crowd on the sidewalk.
I pushed through and saw him.
He was doing CPR on an old woman who’d collapsed.
Only when I saw her ragged clothes did I realize she was the old lady in our neighborhood who collected recyclables.
Her life was miserable—old and scraping by collecting trash, her kids didn’t care for her. I stopped and watched.
More people gathered, everybody nervous. Some murmured, pitying: “She’s so old—illnesses piling up. Doing mouth-to-mouth, who knows if it’ll spread.”
“Poor thing. Even if she survives, how long will she live?”
“Alive but miserable.”
…I wanted to say something, but watching people treat it like a spectacle made me sad and helpless.
In the end they saved her. Ethan helped the woman up and said he’d take her home. He looked up and saw me.
“I know where she lives. I’ll go with you,” I said.
“Okay.”
He looked surprised to see me.
After they got her home, he walked me back. We were both quiet the whole way.
“Isn’t that dangerous for doctors doing rescue like that?” I couldn’t help asking.
He paused. “You worried she might have an infectious disease?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible.”
“You should have put a gauze over her mouth before doing CPR,” I said.
He explained, “In an emergency you’d usually put a layer of gauze over the mouth before doing artificial respiration.”
“But you didn’t have any.”
I felt like everyone else—worried.
“I know those precautions,” he said after a beat. “But when it’s a life, as a doctor you have to save it.”
I stood there stunned. Respect for doctors swelled up in me, and my earlier worry felt petty.
“Don’t worry about me. As a doctor, I know how to prevent and treat a lot of things,” he added, trying to reassure me.
“All right. Then I feel better.” I smiled.
We kept walking, and when we reached the building under my apartment he hesitated, not leaving right away.
“About last time, Ethan…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it straight. “He’s your cousin, right?”
“Yeah.”
He gave a bitter little smile. “He’s doing fine over there. Going abroad was probably a better choice for him.”
“Yeah, good for him.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“Dr. Cole—can we just be friends?” I blurted.
He froze, then after a long moment said one word: “Okay.”
26 Finally saying those words made me feel a little better.
Ethan and I became inseparable friends. Put the whole matchmaking thing aside, and I found I was completely at ease with him—no more awkwardness.
Our tastes matched in ridiculous ways: favorite songs, movies, actors, places to travel…we were clearly the same generation—our preferences overlapped a lot.
But every time I marveled at how similar we were, my mind wandered back to Ethan’s cousin.
There was more than one kind of gap between us. I couldn’t understand some of the things he did.
Sometimes I wanted to message him, ask how he was, if he had a girlfriend. Then I’d think, why should I care? With that face that attracts attention, it’s hard for him not to have someone.
Another six months passed. Ethan had gone from my good friend to practically my mom’s right-hand man. He stopped by our house so often it was obvious—he liked me. I liked him too.
Yet he never said the word like. He left me no reason to refuse him.
Like my dad said, he’s the kind of man you marry.
Mom shot back, “Sophie, don’t be like your mother and marry the practical guy who makes life dull. I want you to marry quickly—but marry someone you actually like.”
My dad stared like he’d been hit out of nowhere.
Someone I like? I tried to remember the last time my heart had fluttered after twenty. Other than that night—Ethan’s cousin whispering in my ear about whether I’d locked the door—the flush in my cheeks and pounding in my chest still made me dizzy thinking about it.
I grabbed my phone and sent a fake group message to Ethan’s cousin: “Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.”
After a little while with no reply I felt ashamed, wanted to retract it, but too late. I took the phone into the shower and waited for a response.
Mid-shower, the reply came.
“Mass text?”
I breathed easier—at least he didn’t notice it was just me.
“A mass greeting is still a greeting.”
“Who are you kidding?” He was the same as before—gone for half a year but acting like he’d never left.
I typed back, “Believe it if you want.”
I looked up at the mirror and saw myself laughing. I must be crazy.
Another message popped up. I opened it.
“Why didn’t my cousin get the mass text?”
I froze. How did he know his cousin didn’t get it?
I wasn’t the mass-text sort; my first attempt at pretending failed.
“How’d you know?”
“Oh, wow, he missed out? Lucky me.”
He paused, then sent a photo. It was a blurry picture of Ethan drunk.
Oh—so he was with Ethan. Wait, how were they together?
27 “You’re back in the States?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Yeah, later,” he said—“later” bruising my pride.
I threw my phone down and swore I wouldn’t reply again.
At 11 p.m., the phone rang. It was Ethan’s cousin.
I glanced at the screen and turned it off. I wasn’t going to answer.
He called again. I still didn’t pick up. I wanted him to know how annoyed I was.
Eventually the calls stopped. Ha, kid.
Just as I was smug, a knock sounded outside. It was my dad.
“Sophie, what’s going on with you and Ethan? He says you called him a bunch and then didn’t pick up when he called back—this late at night…” My dad, wearing dark eyes and yawning, added, “Did you just brush against your phone?”
“Ah!” I blurted, “Maybe.”
I didn’t expect him to call my dad—what a move.
“Call him back. It’s late.”
My dad shuffled off, slippers squeaking.
“Okay.” I closed the door and muttered how shameless he was.
The phone rang in perfect timing. This time I answered.
“Why did you call my dad?” I asked, exasperated.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer and I wouldn’t be able to sleep,” he said, voice hoarse from too much drinking and smoking.
“Who can’t sleep?” I snapped.
He didn’t reply, just gave a muffled laugh that made me feel oddly guilty.
After laughing a while I was about to hang up when he lowered his voice, “It’s me… I can’t sleep.”
His voice slid through my ear and down into my limbs—tingly and electric.
“Quit with the drunk talk and hang up.” I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t hang up…” he quickly begged. After a few seconds, “Don’t hang up.”
Then he muttered to himself on the line, “Let me hear your voice.”
“Ethan, how much did you drink?” I asked. How much do you have to drink to talk like this?
“Worried about me?” he asked, smiling in his voice.
“Worried about her?” I shot back, thinking of the little sister he’d mentioned once.
He laughed and then, suddenly serious: “No.”
No? That wasn’t like him.
I didn’t want to play along with this nonsense. “Are you home? If you are, hang up.”
He hesitated, ignored me, and kept going: “My cousin came to America today. We drank together.”
“Oh.” A few days ago Ethan had said he was going away for a bit. Turns out it was for an exchange.
“He said he likes you.”
Ethan wasn’t the kind to blab, so how would he have told his cousin?
“He’s drunk, right? You were the one who got him that way?”
“Yeah, I got him drunk.” He sounded proud.
“Did you take him back to his hotel?”
“Just did.”
He went quiet, then after a long pause asked, “Do you like him?”
My heart dropped. I knew my answer, but I didn’t want Ethan to hear it from someone else.
“That’s none of your business,” I said.
Silence again—then the sound of a door opening. He must be home.
“Sophie.” He said my name softly.
“What?”
Every time he called my name it made me feel ridiculous.
“My head is spinning.” His voice had gone very low, like he was being playful.
Playful… I was stunned by the word.
“Don’t drink so much.”
“What happened was when my cousin and I were talking about you, I lost control.”
He laughed.
I: …Two men talking about me, what is this.
“You should shower and go to bed early.” I tried to change the subject.
“He said you two get along well. You’re great. He likes you and he plans to tell you when he goes back. He asked me to give him my blessing.”
“Did you give it?” I didn’t get why he’d be talking about this.
“I chose to get him drunk so he’d be bold,” he said with a cold little laugh.
Me: !
28 “He’s useless…” he paused. “I’ve been holding back for half a year and he still couldn’t be your boyfriend.”
I froze. What did he mean he’d been holding back for half a year?
“You’re very drunk,” I said. I didn’t know how to answer.
“Admit it.” He switched to a teasing tone. “You like me… like me.”
Like me… my head went numb. Everything stopped. My heart began to race.
“Say something!” His voice snapped me back.
I still didn’t know what to say. I thought I liked him, but was he serious? And the real-world problems between us—could they be solved?
He paused, sighed, and soothed me in a low voice, "Can you talk to me?"
After what felt like a century, my inner struggle did nothing. I suddenly realized how my heart had raced when I’d heard his confession—how much I wanted to tell him I liked him.
"Ethan."
I said his name.
"Mm."
He answered softly.
"Are you serious?"
I sighed and asked the question anyway.
He didn't answer right away. "If I said I was serious—if I said I want to date you, want you to be my girlfriend, want to marry you—would that scare you?"
I was stunned, and answered one word truthfully: "Yes."
I never imagined I'd get butterflies over a younger guy.
"You're such a coward," he said with an exasperated sigh.
"Then I'll say it in person."
"Come back?"
I was stunned.
"You're coming back?"
I whispered.
"What else would I do…"
He hesitated. "There are people who never message me, but every day they show up in my dreams, put me—"
Me: …he’s being weird again.
"Not joking. I'm going to sleep."
My face was burning beyond saving.
"Can we video chat for a bit?"
He suddenly asked. "I'm going crazy."
"You look fine to me."
I snapped back.
"Then look… I'll show you anything you want to see, just start the video."
Me: …He always had a way of making my face flush and my heart race. This conversation can't continue.
"I'm hanging up."
I really hung up.
Soon WeChat flashed a message: "Heartless."
Because I’d stayed up too late and the next day was a holiday, I slept until nearly noon.
Waking up, I still felt my heart race thinking about last night's call.
But reality crept in—he’s abroad, still studying. By the time he comes back in a few years, I’ll be old. Thinking about that gave me a headache.
Before I could sort through it, Mom knocked on my door.
"Sophie, get up! I'm off to buy groceries. Ethan's coming later—at least don't lie around like that, what are you doing?"
"Mom, who are you talking about?"
I was confused.
"Ethan! He texted your dad last night and said he'd be here at noon to stop by."
I was even more baffled.
When did he say that?
I jumped up and messaged him—no reply; he was probably on the plane.
Dizzyheaded, I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom to wake up, and then it hit me—he was actually coming.
While tidying at Mom's instructions, I kept thinking about what he’d said. He wanted to say it in person—could he mean today?
My heart started pounding.
What if Mom and Dad find out?
I finished sweeping the last patch of floor and felt a hand pat my back. It was Dad.
I jumped, and was about to joke that Dad is so quiet he’s a ghost, when a face appeared behind him.
I froze.
Ethan.
I hadn't seen him in a long time. His sudden appearance left me stunned and, embarrassingly, a little shy.
"Sis…"
He had always been well-behaved in front of Dad.
"Mm. You're back."
I sounded cold; actually I was afraid he'd get out of line.
He came back without warning—how could I trust him?
"Uncle, I'm a bit tired. Can I go nap first?"
He shrugged helplessly.
"Sure, sure. Of course. Your uncle forgot you'd be jet-lagged."
Dad, as always, was overly welcoming. "Sophie, tidy the guest room and change the sheets."
…Fine.
I led the way; Ethan trailed behind. I felt a weird flutter in my chest.
As soon as we entered the guest room, he shut the door and pressed me against the wall.
I froze, too afraid to breathe. "Ethan, Dad's right out there—"
"I don't care."
Before I could say more, he lowered his head and kissed me hard.
It was messy, like a starving wolf pouncing.
I worried Dad would burst in and couldn't make a sound, so I let him go on.
When I nearly couldn't breathe, he finally let go, and brushed his finger along my lips, laughing. "Sorry—your lipstick's smeared."
"Are you a dog or something?"
I wanted to curse him; my lips were on fire.
"Sorry. I'll be careful next time."
He laughed and gently touched my lips; I turned my face away, embarrassed.
"Move. I'm going to change the sheets."
This time he didn't keep holding me. I wrenched free and he stood by the door, grinning like an idiot.
I swear, he was still smiling.
My face flushed down my neck as I bent over the bed to fix the sheets.
He lingered a bit, then casually got into bed and grabbed my hand.
"Let go."
I pried his fingers away with one eye on the door, afraid Dad would come in.
"Sophie."
He said my name softly, staring at some place in the room, and sighed. "I can't sleep."
I followed his gaze and nearly died of embarrassment.
I’d already felt it when he’d been holding me—he always said such shameless things out loud. It was mortifying.
"Can't sleep? Want me to knock you out?"
I shoved his hand away. I actually wanted to hit him.
He just smiled, "I like when—makes me… you know? Want me to say it?"
"Shut up!"
I bolted out.
Dad looked at me suspiciously. "What happened to your face?"
I trembled, forcing my breath steady. "Allergic reaction."
"Dust?"
Dad wanted details I could not give.
"Maybe."
Just then Mom came back, arms full of groceries.
"What are you two doing just standing there?"
She set the bags down, sounding like she’d emptied the whole market. "Come help."
"Coming!"
I thanked Mom silently and rushed to help.
She was startled—"You actually helping? Did you do something huge wrong? Tell me."
I wasn't that lazy.
"Lost money in stocks?"
"No."
I peeled vegetables and endured Mom’s interrogation.
"Dumped Lin Feng?"
"We were never together."
Mom looked doubtful as she cooked, then blurted, "You're not pregnant, are you?"
Me: … "Mom, you remember I don't have a boyfriend, right?"
Her imagination was impressive.
"Mom knows that, but kids these days are more open. If you were pregnant, I could help you raise the baby—just don't go to some shady clinic."
I was speechless.
Still, somehow, compared to that, my own problem felt less immense.
"Mom, I have a friend."
"Which friend?"
"Just… my best friend from elementary school. She found a much younger boyfriend and doesn't know what to do."
"She? She can find a younger boyfriend and you can't? Sophie, have you considered the problem might be you?"
I was stunned. Mom's line of thinking was… different.
"She's struggling. Mom, you're experienced—what would you do?"
She pretended to ponder, glanced furtively at Dad outside the kitchen, and leaned in. "Logically I wouldn't approve, but if I were twenty years younger, I'd want a younger boyfriend—obedient, romantic—not like your dad…"
Me: …Poor Dad, dragged into it again.
"Your dad treats you so well, and you—"
"You don't get it. Dad is good, so Mom enjoys life with him too. My point is, when you're young don't limit yourself too much, or you'll regret it when you're older."
I was stunned by Mom's words—impressively bold. Maybe this wasn't entirely my fault; maybe it was Mom's genes. That thought made me oddly relieved.
At dinner, Ethan got up looking pale—severely sleep-deprived.
Dad didn't press him much, perhaps sensing he was exhausted. After dinner they told him to nap more.
Because it was Mid-Autumn, Mom and Dad went to Grandma's and thought it rude to leave Ethan alone, so they asked me to stay until he woke up.
Back in my room, oily from cooking, I decided to shower.
Halfway through, someone knocked.
I had to call out I was showering and asked what he wanted.
"Can I come in?"
"No."
"Did you lock the door?"
He asked, teasing.
I froze. Lock the door in my own house? I never did that.
"I'll just sit at your desk and read comics."
He sounded so innocent—if I refused, it would look like I was the one thinking dirty thoughts.
"Don't touch my stuff."
"Okay."
So I watched the shower ceiling, awkward, imagining him out there, and hurried.
When I finished, I realized with a jolt I’d only grabbed some undergarments—no pajamas.
No way I could walk out like that. But I couldn't stay forever.
After five minutes thinking in the bathroom, I texted him.
"Can you pass me my clothes? They're on the bed by the side. I forgot them."
He didn't reply. Nervous, I was about to call him when a knock sounded.
"Just hand them through the crack," I stammered, opening the door just a sliver.
He didn't move, so I reached out and felt for his hands.
The door swung open and then shut quickly, and he stood in front of me.
"Close your eyes!"
I didn't even know what to cover.
He looked amused. "You invite me in and then stop me? What are you doing, sis?"
"I honestly forgot my clothes."
How do you explain that?
"Don't hide. It's not like I haven't seen it before."
He set the clothes aside.
My face flushed to fever pitch.
"Give me my clothes!"
As I reached, he grabbed me, cupped my face, and smiled. "Wear them in a bit."
He kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips—then trailed downward.
When I came to, I was pushing him away, but right before he lost control he shoved a small square box into my hand. "Sis, I bought this."
Looking at that little box, I lost it.
"When did you buy this?"
"A while ago. It won't expire."
Me: …By the time I was fully awake, my fingers were so tired I could barely move them.
He held me and poured out a string of sweet words.
My head was buzzing; I caught the gist but not the specifics.
Then he asked, "Will you be my girlfriend?"
I didn't answer.
He tried again, "Then can I be your boyfriend?"
I still didn't answer.
At that moment, all I wanted was to sleep.
"Let me rest a bit."
I sighed.
He fell silent for a long time; the smile left his face.
When his quiet felt too heavy, I asked, "What's wrong?"
He turned his face away and wouldn't look at me.
I forced his face up. His eyes were red. He said hoarsely, "If you're not going to take responsibility, what do you think I am?"
A tear slipped down.
I panicked.
"I'm not shirking responsibility."
I reached out to wipe his tears.
He grabbed my hand. "So you're not going to give me a title?"
"I will, I will. Don't cry."
If he cried more, I'd start crying too.
Obviously I was the one being tormented, but he always had this way of making me feel like I was the one at fault.
After I coaxed him for a long while, he finally lit up with joy when I called him "husband."
Later I hurried him to the guest room and lay down alone in my own room.
He called.
"The moon is so beautiful tonight."
I murmured in agreement.
"Sis, my heart can't hold the moon anymore," he said in an outrageously dramatic way.
Whatever. I humored him a bit and he finally fell asleep.
I lay in bed replaying everything that had happened—what looked impulsive was really just being led by my heart.
How lucky I was to follow my feelings while I was still young.
If I had to choose again, I'd choose him without hesitation.
The rest would be left to time.
Extra 1: Considering the age gap between me and Ethan and the fact he was studying abroad, our relationship turned into an underground romance.
He wasn't happy about that.
I told him I'd visit him in the U.S. over the National Day holiday. He reluctantly agreed.
"Fine. If you think it's more thrilling that way, do it. I don't care."
On the day we left, he acted shamelessly at my house.
"Shut up!"
I wanted to stitch his mouth closed.
We'd agreed to keep things secret, but he took every chance to flaunt it in front of me.
As soon as he finished talking, my dad looked at me with a troubled expression. "Sophie, come here for a moment."
Oh no!
Had he heard?
I set my things down and shot Ethan a glare. He still looked like he wasn't afraid of anything.
My dad pulled me aside and tried to reason with me kindly. "Why are you always so harsh with Ethan? He's my boss's son — do you want to make my life at the company harder?"
"Dad, I'm not harsh with him. By the way, did your boss give you that promotion?"
I suddenly remembered that issue.
My dad was silent for a moment. "Ah…the boss is mercurial. He appreciated me taking Ethan in and thinking I'm reliable…so he assigned me more projects. My workload doubled."
"That's great, congratulations. Wishes come true."
My dad pressed his temple. "My salary didn't increase."
Sorry, I couldn't help laughing.
"Dad, your boss is probably testing you," I said, trying to encourage him so he wouldn't get too down.
My dad moped onto the couch, muttering, "When will your old man rise up and put the capitalists in their place…"
"It'll happen," I joked, then slipped away.
"What happened?"
I drove Ethan to the airport. He kept reaching to grab my hand.
"Nothing, it's about my dad…work stuff."
I pulled my hand away. "Let go. It's not safe."
He let go, but at the stoplight he grabbed my hand again, eyes flicking across my knuckles. "Sis, your hands are so smooth. I like them."
"Ethan, be serious."
He was like a kid possessed. Ever since I agreed to be his girlfriend, he'd been like this for days.
"I try," he said with a grin, "but whenever I look at you, I can't be a proper gentleman."
I stayed quiet—too tired to argue.
"You're ignoring me again."
He started whining. "Don't tell me you coaxed me onto the plane and then didn't message me."
"I did message you."
I wanted to cry. What did he take me for?
"You haven't. You added me on WeChat six months ago and you've never sent me a single message."
He dug up ancient grievances.
"You're the one who doesn't reach out."
I thought he was being unreasonable.
"If you coax me, I'm all yours."
He took my hand and kissed it lightly.
"Enough. Stop messing around and go board the plane."
He was clingy to the point of being impossible to shake.
At the airport he unclipped his seatbelt but lingered in his seat, not moving.
"Get out."
"I regret it."
He sighed suddenly.
"Regret what?"
He turned his face and looked at me with real feeling. "Why did I agree to go study abroad? When I think about not seeing you for a week or two, my chest hurts."
He pointed at his heart.
I froze, then hurried to reassure him, "It'll be quick. I'll come see you during National Day."
"But…we just made it official a few days ago…"
He sulked a bit more, then bit his lip and finally got out. He walked a few steps, came back around to the driver's side, bent down, kissed me hard, then left reluctantly.
Watching him walk away, an ache of the same intensity rose in my chest.
But I couldn't hold him back. I couldn't derail his studies.
So I steeled myself and drove off quickly.
Extra 2: Two years later my dad said he wanted to take me to a dinner where, of course, the plan was to introduce me to single young men.
For two years my parents had assumed I wasn't dating because I disliked men.
The truth was I was being pestered non-stop by that little troublemaker on WeChat. Fortunately, even though he was clingy, he'd really changed.
He was acing every class, getting scholarships, and working on projects with his advisor.
His dad was pleased too, letting Ethan handle small projects to train him.
I agreed to go to the dinner because we'd planned it together. We hardly saw each other, and he always complained, so we took every opportunity to meet.
"I heard from my dad you were doing well at the company."
I clinked glasses with him.
He swirled his wine, leaned close, and murmured, "Isn't that because Sis trained me well?"
"Your dad is watching," I whispered nervously.
He glanced over but said nothing.
When his father saw me he smiled and came over. My scalp tingled.
"So you're Sophie?" he said.
He was the classic successful type—polite but exuding pressure.
"Yes. Hello, sir."
I put on a big smile.
"Good."
He glanced at Ethan as he spoke, which made me reflexively move a little away. "Why don't you come by our place for dinner sometime?"
"Huh?"
I half understood, half didn't.
"Dad, Liu is calling for you."
My dad happened to walk over and saw us. He seemed unsure what to say.
"Later," Ethan's father said, changing to a more forced smile when he saw my dad. "Old Mr. Hart, I should invite your wife and Sophie over sometime. You two kids have known each other so long…"
"Two kids?"
My dad looked between Ethan and me, clearly startled.
I thought I was done for.
"Old Mr. Hart, don't take it the wrong way—after all, we're all family now. You don't have to be so formal with me."
Ethan grinned like he'd planned this.
"When? That'll take some discussion…" my dad stammered.
"Let's talk in the private room," Ethan's father said, and dragged my dad inside. They didn't come back out for a long time.
"How did your dad find out?" I pinched Ethan.
He pursed his lips and told me, lowering his voice, "He found your favorite green apple-scented stuff in my room…"
My face burned.
How could that be discovered? "Why did you leave things everywhere?"
"I figured since I was going back home, I'd order some. My housekeeper thought it was her package and opened it…then she told my dad."
He shrugged.
Ugh, moment of mass humiliation.
On the drive home my dad barely spoke. I was afraid to make a sound.
When we reached the garage he burst out, "That's satisfying. Our girl did great."
Me: ?
My dad narrated his negotiation with Ethan's father like it was a victory. "He's always been haughty, but today he was so humble. He begged me to agree to you two being together, said his son got better because of us, and promised to give me a raise."
I listened as my dad gushed for a while.
"Did you agree?" I asked, stunned.
He glanced at me. "No. I said I'd think about it."
"Sophie, I don't want you to enter a relationship out of obligation because of me. Don't suffer or compromise because of my connections. I'm a hired man—I can bow and scrape, but my daughter won't. Think carefully. Don't let that rotten kid walk all over you."
I pictured every goodbye—Ethan crying and begging me to video-call, telling me he felt insecure and to wait for him.
Maybe…I'm the one who bullies him more.
I didn't say that. I answered my dad with one word: "Okay."
Back home I confessed everything to Mom.
She was speechless for a long time, then gave me a thumbs-up. "Impressive."
The next day Ethan had an evening flight, but he showed up at my place during the day and immediately started laying it on thick. Mom and Dad were absolutely pleased.
Mom liked him more and more as she watched, until she finally came up with an excuse—she wanted to visit Grandma—and dragged Dad out the door.
No sooner had they left than Ethan dropped his act.
"Hey, sis…"
He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his head nuzzling my shoulder, rubbing against me.
"Pack your stuff. You have a plane tonight."
I pushed him away.
He wouldn't let go.
"Three more hours," he murmured, whining in my ear.
"You need to be at the airport two hours early. Stop messing around."
"Then there's still one hour," he protested, persistent, and then he kissed me—soft, deliberate—and sighed. "Time's too short. Sis, hurry up…"
"You'll be exhausted later."
"If I'm tired, I can just sleep on the plane."
That teasing little imp!
