I was born chill. When my younger siblings fought over milk, I sat calmly on the side. Live or die, whatever. When we grew up, my sister snatched the "better" marriage proposal first, leaving me to marry the allegedly bankrupt heir, Adrian Sterling. I nodded. "Okay." Marriage is marriage. As long as he's human, I'm good. Later, Adrian staged a comeback and became the richest man in the city, the envy of everyone. My sister came to me, hoping to swap husbands so she could be Mrs. Sterling. Just as I was about to nod and agree, Adrian stepped forward and covered my mouth. "That's not happening." Me: "It could happen." Adrian: "It really, really can't." 1 From the moment I can remember, I never fought for anything. When we were kids, if my brother and sister brawled over the last bottle of juice, I just watched. It wasn't that I didn't want it. I just felt that getting it was fine, and not getting it was also fine. It's just juice. Once it's gone, it's gone. Mom always said I had no temper. Dad said my "go with the flow" attitude was heartbreaking. But they soon realized my personality was actually quite convenient. Since I didn't fight for anything, they could just give the best stuff to my siblings. Gradually, "heartbreaking" became "matter of course." The best room went to my sister, Bella, because "girls need to be pampered." The expensive private tutors went to my brother, because "boys need to succeed." As for me, Jane, I got the smallest north-facing room and went to public school. "Jane is the most sensible. She won't mind," Mom said every time. I really didn't mind. I didn't take it to heart at all. At twenty-three, I graduated and got a clerical job at a standard company with an average salary. My life was ripple-free. Bella, two years younger, had just returned from studying abroad and was waiting to be married off. That night, our parents called us to the living room. Two portfolios lay on the coffee table. Dad cleared his throat. "You're both at the age to marry. These two young men are suitable candidates." I picked up one. Adrian Sterling, 28, heir to Sterling Group. The man in the photo had sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, an outstanding aura. The file noted: Sterling Group has recently suffered from mismanagement and has filed for bankruptcy restructuring. The other was Liam Cole, the only son of the wealthy Cole family. Solid foundation, assets in the billions. "Bella picks first," Mom said, looking at my sister as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Bella didn't even glance at Adrian's file. She grabbed Liam's immediately. "I want the Cole family." She turned to me, eyes gleamed with triumph and entitlement. "Jane, you marry Adrian. You're not picky anyway." I looked at Adrian's photo and nodded. "Okay." Mom let out a sigh of relief. "Jane is so sensible. Although Adrian is down on his luck, he's still a Sterling. He's more than good enough for you." Dad nodded too. "It's settled then." I closed the file without a word. Marriage is marriage. It's just living life. Besides, truthfully, the man in the photo was quite handsome. 2 From that day on, the house was in wedding mode. Bella's wedding was set for three months later—fifty tables at the city's finest five-star hotel. Mom was busy every day picking dresses, jewelry, and decor, spinning like a top. My wedding was set for a week after Bella's—ten tables at a regular restaurant. Mom said, "Since the Sterling family doesn't have many people left, let's keep it simple." I nodded. "Okay." Then came the dowry preparation. Truckloads of goods moved out for Bella: designer bags, jewelry, antique vases, mahogany furniture sets, the latest appliances, and a check for $500,000 Mom prepared specifically for her. "If the dowry is light, the Cole family will look down on us," Mom said while directing the movers. "We can't lose face." For me, Mom prepared two suitcases: one for clothes, one for daily necessities, and a modest set of silver jewelry. I looked at the two thin suitcases and said nothing. Mom probably felt a twinge of guilt and explained: "Jane, you're marrying a bankrupt man. Adrian has nothing now. It's his blessing to marry you at all; he wouldn't dare complain about a small dowry. He should be grateful." Dad added, "Your sister is different. The Coles are old money; we can't let them underestimate us. You should understand." "I know." Growing up, Bella got the best because she had to marry well. It didn't matter for me, because I didn't care. Caring was useless. This logic had run smoothly in our family for over twenty years, like a precise machine. The night before the wedding, Bella came to my room, leaning against the doorframe as I packed. "Jane, don't you feel shortchanged?" she asked. "Shortchanged how?" I folded clothes without looking up. "Marrying a bankrupt guy," she smirked. "I couldn't handle it." "You don't have to. You're marrying Liam." "True," she nodded with satisfaction. "But don't be too sad. I heard Adrian is a decent guy, at least he won't treat you badly. Besides, with your personality, it doesn't matter who you marry." I looked up at her. "You're right." She paused, probably surprised by my calmness, found it boring, shrugged, and left. I continued packing, thinking: I'm getting married tomorrow. Marrying a man I've never met, starting a completely strange life. Sounds kind of interesting. 3 It drizzled on my wedding day. Bella's wedding a week ago was star-studded and lively. I went to help, watching her in a six-figure gown, wearing the family jade heirloom, holding Liam's arm, face full of happiness. For my wedding, hardly anyone came. Only a few distant relatives from the Sterling side showed up. My side of the family said they weren't feeling well and didn't come. Only a few colleagues I got along with came to support me. I wore the dress Mom prepared—a simple white dress, no veil. The makeup artist was recommended by the restaurant owner, average skills, gave me a light look. I looked in the mirror and thought I looked pretty good. The ceremony was simple. No MC, no flower girl, no complex procedures. Adrian and I exchanged rings under the witness of friends and family—simple silver rings, probably a few hundred dollars. I saw Adrian in person for the first time. He was taller and thinner than in the photo. He wore a suit that had been washed until it was slightly faded, but his tie was meticulous, his hair neat. There was awkwardness in his eyes, but he tried hard to maintain his dignity. His look was complex—apologetic, yet inquiring. "I'm sorry," he whispered as we exchanged rings. "For making you marry someone like me." I looked at him. This man had beautiful eyes; even in poverty, his inherent grace couldn't be hidden. "It's okay. I don't care anyway." He paused, then chuckled softly, a smile mixed with indescribable bitterness. After the brief ceremony, we cut the cake, toasted, and collected the few red envelopes. Then Adrian said to me, "Let's go home." Home. The word sounded a bit unfamiliar. 4 Our new home was an old apartment on the outskirts of the city, sixth floor, no elevator. Adrian carried my two thin suitcases up step by step. I followed, listening to his heavy footsteps. He looked back at me, guilt in his eyes. "Sorry for making you live in a place like this." I looked around. "It's fine. At least it's quiet." He smiled and opened the door. The apartment was small, about 600 square feet, one bedroom. But it was very clean. Simple furniture, clean curtains, freshly washed sheets drying on the balcony. "I spent yesterday cleaning," he said shyly. "Hope you can get used to it." I looked at this small space and felt it was cozy. "I will." He put the suitcases in the bedroom, then took a stack of crumpled bills from his pocket and placed them in my hand. "This is everything I have right now." "$3,000. I'm starting as a delivery driver tomorrow. I should be able to make some money. I'll support you." I took the bills, still warm from his hand. They were smoothed out carefully. Old, but clean. "You keep this money. If you give it all to me, what if you need cash while you're out working?" I pushed the money back, my gaze frank, without a shred of disdain. "You don't despise me?" He asked, eyes holding a cautious hope. "No. As long as we can survive." A complex emotion flashed in his eyes, turning into a light sigh. "You... you really are..." He didn't finish, but I knew what he meant. Probably thought I was too easy to fool. That night, we had a simple dinner. He cooked noodles with two eggs. "I'm not a good cook, just make do." "It's tasty." I genuinely thought so. The plain noodles tasted like home. After dinner, he volunteered to wash the dishes. I sat on the sofa, watching his busy back in the kitchen, and suddenly felt that this life wasn't bad. At bedtime, he gentlemanly offered to sleep on the sofa. "It's okay, the bed is big enough. Let's sleep together." My understanding of "sleeping together" was literally just closing eyes and sleeping. He hesitated for a long time but chose the sofa. "Let's wait until you're used to it." Lying in bed, seeing his figure curled up on the sofa through the half-open door, I felt something indescribable. This man seemed better than I imagined.
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