I suppose years of gripping a scalpel left the pads of his fingers with a faint callus.
His fingers stroking my cheek made me feel a little itchy.
But his lips, unlike his cold personality, were warm and smelled strongly of alcohol.
The smell made my head swim; I felt a little drunk too. I tilted my chin up and slowly began to respond.
We’d been married three years. Ethan and I lived under the same roof but led lives that never intersected.
He was so busy with work—several surgeries some days—that often when he came home I was already asleep.
This felt like our first kiss.
The air between us grew heavy. He buried his face in the hollow of my neck; his hand had somehow made its way to my back and was undoing my button.
My face flushed, but I didn’t stop him.
Suddenly something warm and wet dripped onto my neck.
"Claire, I dream of bringing you home to be my wife…" His voice was low—stripped of its usual coolness—full of tenderness and longing.
My body froze.
What woman wouldn’t cry hearing that?
But I’m not Claire. Claire was his dead ex-girlfriend.
I pushed Ethan away so hard my fingers clawed at my clothes, raking them back into place.
Maybe my reaction was too violent. The man in front of me slowly sat up, rubbed his brow like he was trying to shake off the drunkenness.
Even now he gave off a frosty, indifferent aura.
Through the haze of his breath and the dim light our eyes met.
His pupils were black and still, showing nothing.
I didn’t know whether Ethan hated me or not.
Years ago, Claire had thrown herself into the water to save my brother and never opened her eyes again.
And in a few days they’d have their engagement ceremony.
Sometimes I wondered—if I hadn’t brought my brother that day, none of this would have happened.
"Three years…" I tried to keep my composure, but my voice trembled, "You still think about her…"
He only stared at me, then tugged his mouth into a half-smile. "Haven’t you been thinking about him too?"
For a moment I couldn’t remember the line I’d rehearsed in my head.
He meant Daniel.
Daniel was Claire’s younger brother—my ex.
After the accident Daniel couldn’t stay with me. Without a word he boarded a plane to America.
Those weeks after the breakup were the darkest of my life.
I took a week off and locked myself in my apartment.
I couldn’t sleep. The moment my head hit the pillow nightmares started.
In the dreams, wet Claire lay on the ground, pale and lifeless.
Then the scene would flip to the ER where a doctor, expressionless, told me, "Your brother was resuscitated, but prolonged brain hypoxia has caused brain death. The chance of recovery is almost zero."
I woke in the black night, clutching my phone and staring at the number I knew by heart but couldn’t bring myself to dial.
Scenes from my past with Daniel replayed over and over—conflicting, aching, unresolved. No one seemed at fault.
Until the day Ethan knocked on my door.
When he stepped in he paused at the mess on the floor, didn’t say anything, and sat on the couch to smoke.
Cigarette after cigarette, like there was no end.
I leaned against the wall and watched him in silence.
He wore a white shirt; the smoke softened his handsome features, making him look even more distant.
I couldn’t name what I felt.
Ethan and I weren’t close. If not for Claire, our paths wouldn’t have crossed.
So why was he here?
"Let’s get married." I opened my mouth to say something and heard the words.
I froze, convinced I must have misheard.
But Ethan repeated it, earnest: "Maya, marry me."
The lights were bright, but I still couldn’t quite read his expression. His eyes were calm as ever. What I could see clearly was my reflection in them.
It was ridiculous. I should have refused.
Before I could react, Ethan stood and strode toward me.
My heart raced with his steps. I straightened, pretending calm.
He noticed.
He bent down, peeled back the uneven throw blanket, and his gaze fell on the pile of sleeping pills scattered on the floor.
Time stilled.
He was silent for a beat, then picked one up.
His long fingers pinched the white pill; the joints of his fingers whitened under the light.
He looked up at me and tugged the corner of his mouth into a smile.
Ethan rarely showed emotion. I’d never seen that smile before—bitter, dark, complicated in a way I couldn’t name.
"You’re not afraid of death, but you’re afraid to marry me?" he said.
I had nothing left to refuse with.
When our parents died, my brother was four and I had just started college.
I single-handedly kept our little life afloat. Daniel had been the only light in my gray existence.
But life seems to enjoy cruel jokes. Just when I reached for happiness, Claire died saving my brother, Daniel left without a word, my brother became a vegetable… the endless guilt and suffering nearly crushed me.
I wanted to escape.
Then Ethan showed up.
I looked at him and felt a calm I hadn’t known in years. My life had no hope left; if he wanted marriage, fine. I figured I could help him, and maybe he’d help me forget Daniel.
So we got married.
Later I learned Ethan rushed into marriage simply to satisfy family pressure.
But why me?
I once asked, pretending indifference. He didn’t look up from his book. "Because you won’t fall in love with me."
That offhand line lodged like a stone in my throat. It was the moment I realized how deep his love for Claire ran.
Our marriage rested on a life taken. I felt guilty and alien in it; I couldn’t love him. He’d thought he could walk away unscathed.
He miscalculated.
"Daniel already has a girlfriend," Ethan’s voice pulled me back.
I blinked. "What?"
"A few days ago I ran into him. He’s back in the country, and there’s a woman with him." He paused, studying my face as if searching for something, speaking slowly. "I saw them picking out wedding rings."
My eyes widened. Daniel… getting married?
"Does that make you sad?" Ethan’s tone was odd, but I didn’t have the heart to parse it. I shook my head. "No."
I knew the relationship between Daniel and me was over.
Then Ethan suddenly cupped my face; his cool fingertips dragged across my cheek. His voice was cold, an oddly resentful question. "If you’re not sad, then why are you crying?"
Crying? I reached up and touched my face, blinking. It was damp.
"If you want to get him back, I can tell Daniel we’re only faking this marriage," he said. "Just mutual convenience."
I looked up at him, tears clouding my vision so I could barely make out his indifferent face, even this close.
Mutual convenience. He needed a woman who wouldn’t entangle him emotionally to appease family demands; he chose me. I was desperate to forget Daniel; anyone would do. So I agreed. That was his assumption.
A suppressed wave of emotion rose in me—sour, stinging. I hated myself for letting it happen, for drifting toward something I knew was impossible. I wanted to scream, to tell him, "I’m crying because of you!" But the words stuck like a brick. Say them and everything we’d arranged would shatter beyond repair.
Perhaps tired of my silence, Ethan assumed consent. His face cooled completely.
"Consider tonight never happened." He dropped the sentence and walked out.
I watched his back disappear. He walked steady, not the staggering drunk he’d been earlier.
Realization tightened my chest. Was he pretending to be drunk?
After that night, what little fragile connection we had hit rock bottom.
He stopped coming home and didn’t bother to explain.
I’d always known this marriage was nominal. Ethan still respected the façade—he wore the ring, everyone recognized me as Mrs. Walker. Even when work ran late he’d come home.
I remembered falling asleep on the couch once and waking to a gray throw over me, the blanket smelling faintly of something clean and pleasant.
I glanced up and saw Ethan in the kitchen calmly making a late-night meal. Steam curled around his handsome, distant features until they softened.
He noticed my gaze and only glanced over once, unbothered.
When he emerged he carried two sets of bowls and chopsticks.
After we ate, I automatically started clearing the dishes. As I reached for a plate he stood and took it from my hands. "You shouldn’t touch cold water today. I’ll do it," he said.
I opened my mouth to ask, "How did you know?" but the words stuck. I only watched him finish the chores and return to the kitchen.
Maybe it was from that night onward that things between us began to change, little by little.
But these past few days I curled up on the couch, rewinding the same movie over and over, waiting—always waiting—and that familiar figure never came.
I finally couldn’t stand it and called Luke Carter, who works in the same department as Ethan and was our groomsman.
I beat around the bush, but Luke got the point.
"Ethan’s had a ton of surgeries scheduled the last few days, he’s basically been living at St. Mary’s. Claire, didn’t he tell you?" he said.
My fingers tightened around the phone. I didn’t answer.
There was a brief, awkward "uh" from Luke, then he tried to lighten the mood. "Claire, don’t overthink it. Maybe he’s planning a surprise for you!"
My breath hitched. "A surprise?"
"Yeah. I went by his office yesterday and saw him holding a little jewelry box. There was a necklace inside, looks like he was going to give it to you. The pendant’s a silver six-pointed star—it’s gorgeous…"
After I hung up I sat there for a long time, a strange, indefinable feeling spreading through me, riding the hot current of my blood into every corner of my body.
Was Luke telling the truth?
In a daze, the memory of that night—him pretending to be drunk and calling out my name to see how I’d react—flashed into my mind.
And that kiss, infused with the faint scent of alcohol, soft and lingering… I ran through a thousand guesses. Then the least likely possibility cracked open the soil of my thoughts—could he, in some small way, like me?
That idea tore little fissures through my heart, and through each crack a dozen hopeful lights danced in.
I didn’t dare confirm it. But I also didn’t want to… deny it.
On Friday, after I wrapped up at the studio, I hailed a cab to go home.
Belted in, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "Maya, I’m back. Want to meet?"
I stared at the message a long time, then blacked the screen.
The ride was steady. I stared out the window, a little lost.
Night air had a bite, neon lights slashed across the glass. In that flicker of light and shadow, I could almost see Ethan’s cool, pale face.
Only then did I realize—it’d been a week; maybe I missed him.
A sudden impulse rose inside me. I wanted to be honest with him, tell him everything.
It was so strong I told the driver to turn around and head to St. Mary’s.
We arrived quickly.
At the entrance I asked at the desk on the right which floor Ethan’s office was on, then went for the stairs.
With every step my heart beat faster.
I inhaled and, hands shaking, hit the elevator button.
The doors were about to close when a familiar, gentle voice called, "Excuse me, wait."
A tall, upright figure stepped in.
Seeing Daniel Bennett made me freeze for a moment.
The elevator light was bright, making his suit gleam. Shadows traced the plane of his face—clean, sharp features. Compared to three years ago he looked more mature, steadier.
He seemed surprised too. He parted his lips to speak, and a phone rang in the quiet elevator.
He pulled his phone out, frowned briefly, then answered in a soft voice, "I’m already in the elevator. Don’t be scared, I’m coming right over."
The Husband Who Loved a Ghost
I stared at the numbers climbing.
Whatever he was saying on the phone, his eyes flicked away to the side. He nodded gently as if responding to someone who couldn't see him and said, reassuringly, "The baby will be fine."
My fingertips cramped.
Baby… so it was a pregnancy marriage?
The elevator dinged at the fifth floor just then.
I quickened my pace to step out, and a hand grabbed my wrist. The touch was warm, but it stirred nothing in me.
I frowned and turned, calm. "Yes?"
Daniel looked complicated; his Adam's apple bobbed. After a long beat he said, "Nothing."
I found Ethan's office and knocked, but the door was ajar.
When I pushed it open, the faint tang of disinfectant floated out. The smell felt oddly familiar and made me pause.
He wasn't there—Ethan must have gone out on a case.
I decided to wait.
His office was neat. Papers stacked in tidy piles. One drawer was left half open, like he left in a hurry.
I saw the little black velvet jewelry box right away.
Luke's words raced through my head and my heart jumped. On a whim I opened the box.
Inside lay a delicate six-pointed star pendant studded with tiny diamonds, clean, modern lines. The platinum chain felt cool. I'd seen that brand in fashion magazines—it's a couple's line.
"Claire?"
A low voice spoke right by my ear.
I looked up and our eyes met.
He stood there in a white coat under the light, tall and distant. The night seemed to carve out the depth in his dark eyes—warmer than usual, somehow.
Was he happy to see me?
My pulse skipped, and the corner of my mouth lifted without me realizing it. The necklace slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a small, clear sound.
I crouched to pick it up. In my panic I saw a tiny letter engraved on the back of the pendant.
My hand went cold. My heart froze. Every finger felt numb, like they'd been plunged into icy water.
The letter was "Y."
Y for Yang—the name I dared not hear.
He had never forgotten her.
My chest was crushed as if gripped by a fist. A flood of bitter sorrow drowned me.
What had I been hoping for?
This marriage had been written before it began. I had tampered with the rules; it was my doing. We had never been true spouses—what right did I have to demand the same devotion from Ethan?
Maybe I was wrong from the start.
I swallowed down my feelings and put the necklace back in the drawer.
At the same time, some decision settled in my heart.
"What are you doing here?" Ethan broke the silence first, his voice slow and unexpectedly gentle.
I raised my head, met his eyes, and heard my own even tone: "Let's get a divorce."
Ethan was stunned for a few seconds. His jaw tightened; a coldness sharpened his gaze. "You came all this way just to tell me that?"
"Yes."
I tried to sound indifferent. "Your mother was gravely ill back then and you had to marry me out of necessity. Now she's recovered. We don't need to keep pretending to make it work."
Ethan's face under his black hair darkened. "You think you're making a sacrifice?"
I frowned—didn't understand what he meant.
"I never felt like I was making a sacrifice," I said, clenching my hands. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, I might have… I owe you so much. I'm grateful. It's just… I'm tired now."
"Tired?" he echoed coldly. His eyes froze. "Did Daniel come to see you?"
His voice held undisguised displeasure. I swallowed and carefully explained, "We did meet, but not in the way you think—"
"Claire."
He cut me off. "These three years, you never really treated me like your husband, did you?"
He stared at me, a shadow of resentment and anger creeping into his usually reserved expression. "Every minute you spent with me, you were waiting for him to come back so you could pick up where you left off, weren't you?"
I stared, thoughts scattering. I couldn't straighten them out.
I watched Ethan close the distance between us until our breaths mingled.
"You know it's impossible for you and him to be together," he said, leaning in. One arm braced on the desk by my waist, the other pinched my jaw. His warm breath fanned my face. "Not just because he has a fiancée."
Being that close made me turn my head slightly; my heart pounded as if it might burst.
"I'm telling you, Claire—that's not the only reason," he went on. "There's also Yang."
When he said her name, something inside me snapped. All the hope and tenderness I'd been nursing evaporated like foam in the tide.
Ethan's words woke me up. No matter Daniel, no matter Ethan—because of that accident, there was always an electric divide between us that I could never cross, no matter how hard I tried.
I bit my lip until it hurt and dug my fingers into my palm to steady myself, determined not to cry the way I'd done before.
"Tomorrow I'll move out. We'll file for divorce sometime this week," I said.
My chest tightened; a dull ache spread through me. Summoning some strength, I shoved him away.
He barely let me stand before a long arm wrapped around my waist from behind and forced me back down.
"I won't agree to this," Ethan said, his eyes locked on mine, his tone sharp and absolute. "Claire, I will not agree to a divorce."
Then I couldn't hold back. Tears streamed down, hot and large. I bowed my head and sobbed silently.
A long time later I heard a soft sigh. A hand settled on the back of my head, lifted my face, and gently rubbed my tears away with his fingertips.
I stared at him stupidly. He was close—his eyes deep and tender.
My heart raced and fatigue washed over me. My voice was a raspy whisper, "You clearly don't love me. Then why do you keep treating me this way?"
If he didn't love me, why act in ways that made everything so confusing?
Ethan paused, emotions visibly moving behind his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, when the door suddenly burst open.
"Ethan!" Luke's urgent voice called out. "Guess what great news I—"
His words cut off.
"You two continue," someone said.
The next second the door slammed back—"
The door clicked shut.
I quietly pulled my gaze back and turned my head—just in time to meet Ethan Walker's deep, dark eyes.
What Liang brought really was good news.
The best kind.
My brother was awake.
I boiled water, grabbed the thermos, and stood at the hospital room door, muscles taut, fingers so stiff they couldn't bend—just pressed straight against my sides.
The news was so unexpected, so sudden, so joyful that I felt unmoored. My first impulse was to flee.
I took several steadying breaths and lifted my foot to step inside, when a slightly stiff voice from within stopped me. "I'm your brother-in-law."
Something in me faltered. I froze at the doorway.
In the bed, my brother's pale face was full of confusion. His memory only went back three years.
"But… Daniel Bennett is my brother-in-law."
He licked his lips and spoke slowly, "You're Daniel Bennett's brother-in-law."
Ethan seemed momentarily choked, then fell silent for a beat. He fixed my brother with quiet, deliberate words: "I'm your sister's legal husband now."
My brother touched his head, thinking, blinked, and asked, "Will you be forever?"
Ethan's expression stiffened completely.
…An emergency patient needed surgery immediately, and Ethan was called away.
Before he left, he glanced at me. His handsome brow creased slightly; there was a faint haze of confusion in his eyes.
The light stretched his silhouette. Though the lamp was warm, it somehow lent him a trace of loneliness.
After Ethan left, I took a hot towel and carefully wiped my brother's face and hands.
He lifted his face obediently and, in a soft voice, asked, "Sis, is he really my brother-in-law?"
I answered softly, "Yes."
Then, remembering something, I added, "He won't be, later."
My brother blinked and motioned for me to come closer.
I raised an eyebrow, leaned in to his ear, and he whispered, "Do you like him?"
My body stiffened. I paused, then kept wiping his face, my voice flat, "I won't like him anymore."
A flush warmed my brother's cheeks and neck. He said, "Oh," and muttered, "That's too bad for him."
I couldn't help smiling. "What's there to pity?"
He protested, "You don't like him, and Claire doesn't like him—"
He clapped a hand over his mouth suddenly, eyelids fluttering like that would hide the secret he'd almost let slip.
I widened my eyes and stared at him.
He swallowed guiltily and turned his head away to avoid my probing.
No matter how I pressed, he wouldn't tell me. He said it was a secret between him and Claire.
Right—my brother didn't know Claire had died saving him.
I thought about it a long time and decided I'd wait until his condition had recovered more before telling him.
"It's strange," he said. "When I was unconscious, there was an old lady who came to see me a lot. She didn't say anything—just cried. Sis, do you know who she was?"
He asked curiously. I knew he was changing the subject, but I still froze.
My heart felt suddenly, violently clenched—salt stung my nose and eyes.
The old lady he meant had to be Claire's mother.
The next day I bought some fruit and tonics, took a cab to Claire's home, and, as usual, left the things with their neighbors to pass on to Claire's mother.
When I turned, I saw two figures I hadn't expected.
It was Claire's mother and a stranger—a young woman I didn't recognize.
She wasn't classically pretty, but she had presence. Pale skin, long hair down to her waist, and when she looked down I noticed a small baby bump.
She looped her arm through Claire's mother's affectionately and said in a soft voice, "Mom, when Daniel gets home, I want him to make me spare-rib soup."
Claire's mother looked at her with doting tenderness. "Okay," she said.
I leaned against the wall and watched.
Before, because of my background, Claire's mother had always opposed me and Daniel being together. She'd never shown me this warmth.
I remembered that Claire had told me her mother liked kids, so I asked Claire to invite her out to eat and even brought my brother along.
Then her mother bailed at the last minute and we waited at the restaurant for three hours. Claire felt bad and took my brother to the nearby park to play.
And then…that happened.
I lifted my chin and wiped my tears away. My vision cleared, and I looked up—into an expression calm and unreadable.
My heart dropped. Before I could react, Claire's mother turned away from me as if I were a stranger.
After a long moment, I blinked the sting from my eyes and prepared to leave.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the neighbor's little girl step out of the house holding a pair of scissors. She slipped, lost her balance, and began to fall toward Daniel's fiancée.
Neither of them noticed.
My pupils contracted and my brain moved before I could—"Careful!"
In an instant, the sharp blade sliced into my arm. A long bright line bled; red seeped out.
The accident happened so fast.
I clutched my arm and half-kneeling on the ground, Claire's mother finally reacted, calling my name in alarm.
I looked into her worried eyes and felt a little dazed.
Daniel's fiancée, shaken, needed to rest at home; Claire's mother sent me to St. Mary's Hospital.
The cut wasn't deep, but it was long. I needed seven or eight stitches.
I hate needles. When the needle pierced, I bit down hard and my shoulder blades trembled. By the end, sweat dotted my forehead.
"Thank you for what you did," Claire's mother said, pouring me a glass of water. Her look was complicated.
I paused, then met her eyes calmly. "At that moment, whoever it was, I would have saved them."
She stared at me, as if remembering something, and moisture welled in her eyes. After a long time she said, "Yes. At that time, she would have saved anyone."
I didn't plan to tell Ethan about the injury.
Even if, like my brother said, Claire didn't like him—so what? Ethan never loved me; his heart had always belonged to Claire.
The doctor reminded me of some aftercare, told me to come back for dressing changes, and then let me go.
I was a little distracted leaving and nearly bumped into someone. Looking up, my eyes met Daniel's.
"Let's talk," he said. His calm eyes were gentle.
I lowered my head and didn't refuse.
We walked to the grassy area outside the hospital and sat down.
We were quiet for a long while before Daniel spoke sincerely. "My mom told me about what happened today. Thank you."
"Mm," I said.
Silence fell again.
He hesitated and then asked, "Three years ago I left without explanation and left you to deal with everything alone. Do you hate me?"
I stared at the living grass in front of me, my fingers drumming the bench. I didn't answer directly. "It's in the past."
I didn't know if I hated him. If I'd been in his position then, I couldn't have handled it better either.
Daniel watched me for a moment and a gentle smile touched his lips. "Luckily, we both got through it and each found someone to spend a lifetime with."
My fingers stilled. Ethan's face flashed in my mind—just wishful thinking on my part.
I tried to breathe out the tightness in my chest but it didn't help.
"Actually, two years ago I came back looking for you," Daniel said calmly.
I blinked at that. He lowered his eyes, sounding casual but tinged with regret. "You were already married to Ethan then. I went to see you, but you wouldn't meet me. You told Ethan to tell me that you were happy and not to bother you."
My eyelids twitched involuntarily and I looked at him, bewildered. When did this happen?
Daniel gave a helpless little smile. "I was angry that he took you and angry he treated my sister like that. We almost fought."
"If my mom hadn't found my sister's diary and realized there was nothing between them, I probably wouldn't have let it go so easily."
"Then I flew back to the U.S. and met the woman I'm engaged to."
My brows knit. The more he said, the less it added up. I was about to ask more when he asked, concerned, "By the way—how is the baby inside you?"
I stared at him. "Baby?"
Seeing my confusion, Daniel frowned slightly, studying my face. "Last night Ethan messaged me saying you'd been diagnosed as four weeks pregnant. He said you didn't want to see me, that it would upset you, and asked me not to come find you."
"He paused, then looked at me thoughtfully. "You're not pregnant?"
"I—"
I barely began when a cold voice came from behind. "Maya."
I jolted and stood up reflexively.
A long, strong hand wrapped around my waist and, with a slight tug, pulled me into someone's arms.
That familiar crisp scent enveloped me.
My spine stiffened. I looked up to meet him.
Ethan stared at my arm, his face darkening bit by bit.
I saw in his eyes a worry he couldn't hide.
"It was an accident. I got a few stitches—it's nothing," I said automatically.
"The doctor who stitched me said it wasn't deep and it'll heal quickly," I added, my voice unconsciously softer.
Ethan's lips stayed pressed tight.
"Brother Ethan," Daniel approached with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "A doctor who misdiagnoses his own wife's pregnancy—aren't you a little negligent?"
Ethan tensed, glanced at me, then coolly turned his attention to Daniel. "If you have time to worry about that, go soothe your fiancée who got frightened."
I froze. So Ethan knew too.
When he spoke, Daniel’s smile on his face slowly faded. He was silent for a moment, eyes complicated. Finally he sighed, “I just wanted to tell you—you don’t need to be so hostile toward me.”
Ethan let out a soft, dismissive snort.
Daniel looked calm. “I came back for Maya this time just to clear things up with her, to end what was unfinished.”
Ethan’s brow tightened as he silently drew my waist closer.
“I never intended to get back together with her.”
Ethan gave him a cold look—clearly unconvinced.
Daniel finally gave up, voice deliberate, each word landing like a small stone, “I see it clearly. The person she loves now is you.”
Ethan froze.
Ethan didn’t have surgery today; he’d taken the day off early to drive me home.
All the way there I felt the atmosphere between us shift, just a little, into something fragile and new.
There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t know where to begin.
He seemed to have things he wanted to say to me too, but he never spoke.
So we rode in silence, each carrying our own thoughts, then rode the elevator in silence, opened the door in silence.
I was starting to believe that if I stayed quiet, Ethan would pretend everything was normal.
Then suddenly he gripped my uninjured arm and dragged me onto the couch.
He pinned me—chest to sofa—too quickly for me to react, and his kiss landed hard, possessive.
Sometimes fierce, sometimes slow and lingering.
This kiss felt like the last one and also different.
His breath was cool and relentless, inching into my space like an airtight web, wrapping me layer by layer as if to swallow me whole.
Two buttons of my shirt came undone. Skin shivered under his cool fingertips.
His mouth kept moving downward.
I don’t know how long passed before he buried his face in the hollow of my neck, breathing ragged, a muffled laugh escaping him. “Maya, so you love me.”
Heat surged to my face, making it blaze.
I hadn’t expected it—Ethan liked me too.
Piece by piece everything stacked up; his feelings for me became painfully clear.
Something clicked in my head and I tilted my face up. “Daniel said there was nothing between you and Claire—so what about your engagement?”
Ethan blinked, then answered slowly, “Back then, Claire’s crush ran away from an arranged marriage for her and even cut ties with his family. Claire had no choice, so she asked me to pretend to be her fiancé.”
I frowned at the logic. “If Claire liked him, then why—”
Ethan was quiet for a moment, then spoke softly, “The person Claire liked was a girl.”
My heart tightened.
“That girl—you know her. She used to tutor your brother.”
No wonder my brother knew about Claire and that girl.
My mind blurred for a moment.
A pretty girl in a white dress, a small dark freckle at the side of her nose, suddenly floated into my memory.
I remembered now—she had told me she came to this city looking for someone.
And during that time, whenever I invited Claire over for dinner, Claire always made excuses to avoid it.
Everything suddenly made sense.
“We agreed: once that girl left, the engagement would be canceled. Claire and I grew up together—I couldn’t not help her.”
“Couldn’t not help…” I looked up, thinking, then bit my lip and asked, “Did you ever like Claire?”
At my words, Ethan’s stern features softened, a whisper of a smile. “Are you jealous?”
Before I could answer, he looked into my eyes and said, “No.”
So close, the earnestness and openness in his eyes were plain as day.
I couldn’t help but believe him.
Then a memory surfaced. I narrowed my eyes. “But that night you yelled Claire’s name at me.”
Ethan’s expression stiffened, and he turned his face slightly away. “For three years I thought you still had feelings for Daniel. I wanted to know if I had any place in your heart.”
“So it was just a test?”
“Mm,” he admitted, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. “Daniel just happened to be back in the country. I was afraid you’d rekindled something with him, so I panicked and did something rash.”
He leaned in, pressed his forehead to mine, then pulled back. His voice was raw with contrition. “Sorry. That was my mistake. You must have been hurt.”
I stared at Ethan for a moment, then smiled. “Alright. I’ll forgive you this once.”
I hadn’t expected someone as composed and reserved as Ethan to have moments of such insecurity.
But I still had one question.
“When did you start liking me?”
Ethan thought for a beat. “At first maybe I did it to fend off family pressure.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He glanced down at me, a curve at the corner of his mouth, his deep voice softening, “But later I realized—sometime along the way—I got used to doing two place settings after dinner, used to carrying someone sleeping on the couch back to the bedroom, used to picking champagne roses from the florist when I walked by because you liked them, even started planning a necklace to surprise that person a month before our anniversary.”
While I blinked in surprise, he produced a six-pointed star pendant from somewhere.
His cool fingers brushed my warm neck; I flinched. He clicked the clasp, freeing his hand from around my throat.
He watched me for a moment, his voice husky, “It looks good.”
My face burned. My fingers moved to the pendant without thinking.
My heart kicked hard—like it might burst.
The “Y” on the pendant—Y was for Maya.
For me.
“But…” I lowered my gaze, biting my lip. “If it had been someone else—if it wasn’t me—would you have gotten used to it? Would you have cooked for her, bought her flowers, carried her back to the bedroom?”
My voice dropped. The thought of that possibility made everything inside me go cold and sour.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
“I’ve wondered that too,” Ethan said, his eyes dark as if he could see into me. “And I realized—if it hadn’t been you from the start, I wouldn’t have married.”
My breathing hitched. Before I could say anything, he added, “My mom isn’t some stubborn relic. ‘Pressuring me to marry’ was just a little prodding. She’s kind—she wouldn’t force me into something just to get grandchildren. Besides, hasn’t this past three years gone pretty well?”
I found myself nodding. He was right in a way.
Ethan’s mother had always been good to me and had never once pushed us about kids in three years.
“Don’t you understand?” Ethan looked at me, corners of his mouth lifting. “From the beginning, you were my ideal.”
I stared into his eyes, feeling my heart get looped and tightened by invisible threads. I couldn’t speak until his kiss came down again.
He pressed against my lips, fingers tracing the hollow of my waist, voice rough and low, “Your arm’s injured—be careful later.”
He murmured something else, “Not here.”
Before I could react, he swept me up in a cradle carry.
I wrapped my arms instinctively around his neck and exclaimed, “Where are you taking me?”
He lifted an eyebrow, smiling, unhurried, “Carrying someone back to the bedroom.”
