Of all the second-generation billionaires in my circle, I chose the only doctor for our arranged marriage. Only after we were married did I realize—he’s exactly like the doctor best friend in every romance novel who gets dragged out of bed at 3 AM to treat the female lead! After witnessing this happen multiple times, I decided to scrap my plan of trying to make this marriage work romantically. I mean, seriously. Who wants to compete with a billionaire’s love interest? But I never expected one thing: he can read my mind. For people like us, we always knew an arranged marriage was coming. It's fine, really. We enjoy so many privileges; it’s only fair we pay a price. I was lucky enough to choose my own partner—from a pool of eligible heirs, of course. Honestly, it didn't matter who it was. Everyone knows these marriages are just for show, a way to cement business deals between families. But since I had a choice, I wanted someone... normal. According to my intel: One guy is still obsessed with his ex who’s studying abroad. Hard pass. Another is playing some "cat and mouse" game with his kept woman. Pass. And a third just started sponsoring a D-list actress. Definitely pass. After picking through the lot, I landed on Caleb Vance. The few memories I had of him were of a refined, elegant man. His name sounds like a classic CEO, but he’s actually the only one in the group who isn't. Caleb is a doctor. A genuine academic who got into the top medical school in the country on his own merit, completing his MD and PhD in one go. He fits the image perfectly: gentle, polite, always looking clean and sophisticated. Every time I see him, he’s wearing white or light-colored suits. With his doctor filter, he almost seems saintly. Our engagement went smoothly. Our parents hit it off immediately. I heard Caleb agreed without hesitation. So, in just a month, I went from single since birth to a married woman. From the day of the wedding, I moved into the house he bought for us. The beige interior suited him perfectly. That day, after giving me a tour, Caleb led me to the master bedroom. His voice was warm and gentle: "Even though this is an arranged marriage, I don't want it to be just for show. I hope we can take things slow, get to know each other, and build a real relationship." He pointed to the guest room across the hall. "I'll sleep there. Don't be nervous. I won't force anything until we're both ready." I went into the master bedroom and closed the door. Honestly, he was better than I expected. I always assumed that even without scandals, his friends were all typical rich playboys with their "pets." Birds of a feather, right? Even though he seemed different, I didn't have high hopes. I just wanted a peaceful marriage. As long as no one caused trouble in front of me, I wouldn't care what he did outside. Two months passed in a blink. One night, after a shower, I lay in bed staring at the scandalously skimpy nightgown beside me. My heart started racing. Look, Caleb might be a gentleman with no impure thoughts. But I am not! I've been single for over twenty years and barely held a man's hand, but my mind is definitely rated R. With a legitimate, handsome husband right here, why should I live like a nun? Plus, over the last two months, he's come home at 6 PM every day. We've had cozy dinners, gone shopping on weekends, and he's even waited patiently while I got my nails and hair done. We've binged cheesy soap operas on the couch together. I have to admit, I'm kind of falling for him. One day, I was out shopping with friends and realized it was 5:30 PM. My first thought was, I need to go home. I paused, realizing I truly saw that house as my home. I felt a sense of belonging I hadn't expected. Seeing the chaos in our circle—including my own parents' dramatic affairs and illegitimate children popping up—I thought I had no hope for love or family. But the quiet consistency of our life was powerful. Thinking about Caleb's character, I felt a surge of confidence. I wanted to gamble on this. Maybe trusting someone, trusting in love, could actually work out? Caleb's parents are one of the few happily married couples in our circle. Surely, the son they raised is trustworthy... right? Even if it's a trap, maybe it's one everyone has to walk into eventually. I put on the black lace nightgown, tiptoed to Caleb's door, struck a pose I learned online, and knocked lightly. The door opened. Caleb froze. He looked left and right, clearly searching for something to cover me with, but failed. Our eyes met. His gaze darkened. Finally, his voice raspy, he asked, "Chloe, are you sure?" With my nod, he swept me up and carried me to the bed. The room was dim, lit only by a warm bedside lamp. The weight of another person pressed down on me. His warmth on my face, shoulders, back, and waist... his hands, his kisses... everywhere he touched burned. I felt like I was melting. My brain turned to mush. I was pliable as water under him. Turning my head, I saw the pristine white sheets and had the inappropriate thought: If we make a mess, it'll be really obvious. But I didn't get to find out. Just as I had turned into a puddle and Caleb was about to take off his shirt, his phone rang. Caleb took a few deep breaths, exhaling hot air. He propped himself up on one arm and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. "Dr. Vance, Mr. Sterling drank too much and is in severe pain. Can you come over?" The anxious male voice on the other end sounded familiar. I think I'd heard him with one of the other CEOs. Caleb paused. When he spoke, his voice was incredibly hoarse. "I know. I'll be there." I snapped out of my haze. I grabbed his half-removed shirt. "Don't go!" Caleb met my eyes. He lowered his head, gently biting my lip, and coaxed, "Be good. I need to check on him." Watching him get dressed, anger flared in my chest. I stared at his back, cursing internally: Be good? I'll go check? Ha! Who knows if you're checking on a bro or a babe. He froze, stuttering in his movements, and turned to look at me with a complicated expression. "What's wrong?" I asked. He shook his head and continued dressing. I kept up my internal monologue: Go ahead, go. Who can stop you, Mr. Saint? Ambulances are useless, hospitals are useless. You must have magic powers if only you can save him... I felt better after venting silently. But as he left, I saw him stumble. Must have been my imagination. After all, he's famous for being unflappable. Before closing the door, he said, "Chloe, I'll be back soon." I don't know when I fell asleep, but he hadn't returned. When I woke up, he was sleeping beside me, back in his pajamas from last night. Seeing him just made me angrier. Seriously? You can just leave in the middle of that? Even when he reached over me for the phone, I could feel the heat radiating off him. I angrily chewed on my toast. Caleb walked out. Seeing my face, he chuckled softly. He hugged me from behind and whispered in my ear, "Sorry. Sterling is in a bad spot. He had gastric bleeding recently, so I was worried." It happened. I didn't want to dwell on it. But after he left for work, I watched a drama on TV. The plot involved a CEO chasing his runaway lover. The female lead got hurt, and the CEO called his doctor friend to treat her. It hit me like a bolt of lightning. The plots of all those romance novels I'd read flooded my brain. Wait. Isn't Caleb exactly like that poor doctor friend who always gets called in the middle of the night? We have plenty of CEOs around us. Gastric bleeding? Check. Doctor friend? Check. Midnight call? Check. I imagined Caleb being summoned by this CEO today, that CEO tomorrow... a pitiful tool, running around like a tired puppy. I couldn't help but laugh. That night, I didn't make a move. But Caleb knocked on my door. His hair was styled, and he smelled of cologne. He looked at me with smiling eyes. "Can you take me in tonight?" I raised an eyebrow. "No one needs a checkup tonight?" He didn't speak. He cupped my face and kissed me, gentle and teasing. With the previous night's experience, things went smoother. Until he took off his shirt. We both froze, terrified the phone would ring. We looked at the phone, then at each other, and almost burst out laughing. He leaned in close, his voice thick with amusement, hot breath tickling my ear. "I'm not leaving tonight." My face burned. Jeez, making it sound like I'm the desperate one. That night taught me a lesson: don't judge a book by its cover. Caleb is a good person. Objectively speaking. Professionally, he's dedicated to curing incurable diseases. Personally, he has a great temper, is filial to his parents, loyal to his friends, and takes excellent care of me. However, being too good has its downsides. It's not the first time. Just as we're about to celebrate an anniversary or go on a trip, a friend calls. It doesn't happen often, but it's always at the worst time. The assistants' voices on the phone are always trembling and pitiful. Sometimes a CEO has gastric bleeding from drinking. Sometimes a CEO's "forced love" antics have left someone physically collapsed. What can I do? They make it sound life-threatening. I can't stop him. Though I'm speechless. Is calling an ambulance that hard? Does it have to be Caleb? I laughed thinking he was a tool in a novel. But this is reality. Not calling the police or going to a hospital? Even though he rushes back every time, the mood is ruined. Today is our first wedding anniversary. Last night, I specifically told Caleb I didn't want any interruptions today. His lab has made progress recently, so he's been busy. We went grocery shopping together, a rare treat. On my birthday, Caleb surprised me by cooking. It was amazing—restaurant quality, and all my favorite dishes. When we first confessed our feelings, we made a big deal out of every holiday. But for this anniversary, we just wanted to shop and cook a quiet dinner together. Watching Caleb busy in the kitchen, I felt dazed. A year ago, I never imagined my married life would be like this. Not explosive, but warm. I walked over and hugged his waist from behind, rubbing my face against his back. He chuckled and was about to speak. The phone rang. I pressed my lips together. I have PTSD from his ringtone now. I listened against his back. "Dr. Vance, please come quickly..." Rage flared. I snatched the phone. "Can you not call an ambulance? Can you not drive him to the hospital yourself?" The voice on the other end choked. I hung up, still fuming. "That was Sterling's assistant, wasn't it? I recognize his voice. You really believe that playboy is drinking himself to death over a woman?!" Caleb frowned. "I heard he really cares about someone recently..." "He's cared about a busload of people over the years!" I gritted my teeth. "If you go, we're done. Your bros are clearly more important, so go live with them." He went anyway. Even though he coaxed me gently, "I'll just take a look. I'll be back before you finish one episode, okay?" I was disappointed. My heart sank. Compared to the tear-jerking, life-or-death love stories of others, our journey was too smooth, too plain. My only complaint was wishing these grown-ass CEOs would grow up. Stop with the "kidnapping" and "fatal illness" tropes that drag Caleb into their mess. But I realized something. Even if my "rivals" are these unexpected men, Caleb's attitude matters. I've heard rumors. Some of these illnesses are fake. Tricks to win sympathy. Tricks to fool the board. They're lies. I can tell some of them apart now. I don't believe Caleb can't. I'm not smart, and I hate trouble. My solution to difficult things is usually acceptance or avoidance.
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