I’m the heroine of this story. But I have a past with the villain. I even bore him a child. When the hero appeared, a "System" wiped my memories and faked my death. It changed my face and tore me away from the villain’s side. But not even two years later, at a gala, I ran into him again. The widowed villain, holding our son. As I met his cold, distant gaze, my own eyes inexplicably welled up, burning with tears I couldn’t understand. That’s when the comments appeared, scrolling across my vision like phantom text— 【Wait… isn’t the villain supposed to be this dark, heartless monster?】 【Since when did he have a kid?】 【And he guards him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Won't even let anyone look.】 【Is that kid really his? Who’s the mother? Who would dare have a baby with him?】 【Hold on, why is our heroine staring so intensely at the villain?!】 1 Six months into my marriage with Logan, I still flinched at his touch. On Saturday night, he cornered me at my bedroom door again. “I’ve given you six months, Rachel. Are you still not willing to share a room with me?” Logan was handsome, wealthy, and the man I’d supposedly known my whole life—my childhood sweetheart. Even now, his voice was exceptionally gentle as he pleaded with me. But meeting his earnest gaze, I instinctively took a step back. “I’m sorry—” In half a year of marriage, those were the words I’d said to him most. At my words, Logan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “You know that’s not what I want to hear,” he murmured, his voice low. He looked at me again. “You have to at least give me a reason.” I avoided his gaze, my eyes tracing the marble pattern on the floor. “I think… I just need more time.” 2 Four years ago, I went to study abroad. On the flight home, my plane went down. I was in a coma for a full year. Logan never left my side. The moment I woke up, I was rushed into marrying him. For the past six months, he’s been nothing but perfect. We have a shared history, a lifetime of affection. Everyone tells me he loves me. Everyone assumes, as a matter of course, that I love him deeply, too. They say Logan is the only man I’ve ever known. Our marriage is the envy of countless people. Leaning against the headboard, I stared out at the cold sliver of the moon. I subconsciously pressed a hand to my chest, over my heart. But there was always this heavy, hollow feeling inside me. Ever since I opened my eyes in that hospital bed six months ago, I’ve felt like I’ve lost something essential. But no matter how hard I search my memories, I can’t figure out what it is. 3 I had upset Logan again. He left, bottling up his frustration so he wouldn’t show it in front of me. But I knew that later tonight, he’d drink himself into a stupor. Sure enough, his assistant called, stammering on the other end of the line that Logan was drunk again and wasn't making any sense. He said they couldn't move him. “Mr. Sterling has an important meeting tomorrow morning…” he asked tentatively. “Mrs. Sterling, what do you think?” I sighed softly. “Send me the address. I’m on my way.” I parked in the underground garage of a downtown club. After double-checking the address, I pushed my door open and stepped out. The moment I did, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I instinctively followed the gaze and met the stare of a small boy, maybe two or three years old. Across from my parking spot was a discreet black luxury van. The boy, neatly dressed with a beautiful, angelic face, was leaning against the half-open door, just watching me. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze full of a pure, direct, and gentle curiosity. 4 My steps faltered. A small child, all alone in a strange, dark parking garage. My first instinct was to go to him, to scoop him into my arms. But before I could move, a man in a black suit stepped out from the van. He shot me a wary glance before swiftly lifting the boy back inside. The door clicked shut. I just barely heard the child’s soft, slurred words: “...Where’s Daddy?” Then, the bodyguard’s low reply, “Mr. Thorne will be down any second.” I couldn’t hear anything else. 5 As I walked away, a strange sense of reluctance washed over me. I glanced back at the van one last time, only to meet the driver’s warning glare in the rearview mirror. His arms were corded with muscle, and his face was set in a fierce scowl, as if one more look from me would have him storming out of the car to deal with me. They guarded that child with an intense, almost frantic protectiveness. They wouldn't even allow a stranger’s gaze to linger. It must have been an order from his parents. They must cherish him so much to be this vigilant. Finally, I tore my gaze away and walked slowly out of the quiet underground garage. 6 That weekend, Logan took me to my parents’ house for dinner. He played the part of the perfect husband, always making sure we stayed connected with both our families. At the dinner table, my mother casually brought up our neighbor's new granddaughter. The implication in her voice was painfully obvious. She added that I was already twenty-six and couldn't afford to wait any longer. Logan, to his credit, smoothed things over for me. I just stared blankly at the plate in front of me, my mind adrift. A pair of bright, dark eyes—a child’s eyes—materialized in my thoughts. I kept thinking about the little boy from the parking garage. Maybe it was because he was so beautiful, or because of the intense way he had looked at me. Sometimes, I even dreamed of him. A hand rested affectionately on my right shoulder, jolting me back to the present. I looked up into Logan’s smiling eyes. I hadn’t heard a word he’d said, but he was clearly waiting for an answer. He had his head tilted slightly, his focus entirely on me. But lately, I couldn't bear that look. I couldn’t meet his gaze. So I just turned my head away, pushed my plate back, and stood up. “I’m full.” Logan’s hand fell from my shoulder. In my peripheral vision, I saw his fingers curl slightly, closing around an empty palm. As I walked upstairs, I heard my mother complaining to Logan behind me. She said that ever since my accident, my personality had completely changed. Then came Logan’s placid explanation: “She was probably just frightened by the whole ordeal.” 7 That night, Logan had a business gala to attend. He asked me to go with him. “We’ve been married for months, and I’ve never had the chance to properly show you off,” he said, his tone pleading. My first instinct was to refuse. “...You could take your secretary.” Logan shook his head instantly. “It’s not the same.” He held my gaze. “I won’t ask anyone else. If you don’t go, I’ll go alone.” I had been cold enough to him during the day. I didn’t know if I loved Logan, but I was constantly overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. It felt like I could never give him what he wanted. Meeting his burning gaze, I finally relented. I nodded, murmuring a quiet, “Okay.” Logan’s face broke into a radiant smile. 8 The gala was held at a private, secluded mountain estate on the outskirts of the city. We were already running a bit late when we arrived. As we were about to enter, he subtly offered me his arm, an invitation to take it. Since I had already agreed to accompany him, I didn't make a fuss. I lightly placed my hand in the crook of his elbow. Just as the attendant was about to lead us into the main hall, a commotion erupted behind us. A black Phantom limousine pulled up brazenly to the main entrance of the estate. The car had barely stopped when the host of the evening was already rushing over to greet it. The man, well past fifty, stood by respectfully, ready to open the car door himself. Whoever this was, he was a very big deal. That’s what I thought at the time. 9 The car door finally swung open under the eager watch of the crowd. A black leather shoe hit the pavement, and a man stooped to emerge. What was surprising wasn't just his chiseled, coldly handsome face, but the small child nestled in the crook of his arm. The gala was a networking event for high-society elites. No one brought a child. The boy’s presence was jarring. He didn’t seem shy at all, his arm draped over the man’s shoulder as he blinked his big, curious eyes, taking in the scene. My gaze froze. I recognized that child—I had seen him that night in the underground garage. 10 The man, dressed in a sharp black suit, had a completely blank expression. He was coolly dealing with the fawning host. The half of his face I could see was a little pale. He was tall, but with a leanness that you couldn't ignore. The suit, while making him look distinguished, also seemed to hang on him with a kind of weary grace. He wasn’t well. I was almost certain of it. But he held the child securely, his other hand gently supporting the restless boy’s back. He was an experienced father. It was baffling. Just the sight of his back, half-turned to me, made me stare, unable to look away. Perhaps my gaze was too intense. The little boy, perched on his father’s shoulder, turned his head first and noticed me. It had been days, and he probably didn’t remember me, but just like that night, once his eyes met mine, they didn't move away. He rested his chin on his father’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around his neck, and watched me with that same soft, serious curiosity. Meeting his gaze, my heart began to hammer in my chest. My vision blurred. Suddenly, white lines of text scrolled across my eyes— 【Wait… isn’t the villain supposed to be this dark, heartless monster?】 【Since when did he have a kid?】 【And such a beautiful, well-behaved one, too.】 【He guards him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Won't even let anyone look.】 【Is that kid really his? Who’s the mother? Who would dare have a baby with him?】 【I wouldn’t be surprised about anyone else, but this guy is genuinely cold-blooded. He sent his own father and brother to prison when he was fifteen.】 【His IQ is off the charts and he’s merciless. How could he possibly start a family, let alone raise a child…】 【Wrong, that’s not the point! Hasn’t anyone noticed—】 【Why is our heroine staring so intensely at the villain?!】 11 Villain. Heroine. The dense lines of text flashed past my eyes. I stared at the baffling words, managing to grasp only a few key phrases, slowly connecting them to myself. The villain… was that the cold-faced man holding the child over there? And the heroine… could that be me? I thought about my smooth, fortunate life—the open-minded parents, the wealthy family, and beside me… my childhood-sweetheart husband. Was I really the fortunate heroine? And was that man over there really the inscrutable villain? “Rachel?” Logan squeezed my hand. I snapped back to reality, turning to look at him. His eyes were filled with a faint worry. He followed my gaze toward the lawn, but the crowd was moving, and the father and son from a moment ago had already been respectfully escorted into a private lounge by the host. 12 “What were you looking at?” Logan asked. I suppressed the strange sense of loss in my heart. I noticed that as soon as Logan spoke, the on-screen comments vanished completely. I shook my head, making up a random excuse. “The fountain over there is beautiful.” Logan suddenly reached a hand toward my face. I flinched back instinctively. His thumb brushed my cheekbone in a fleeting motion. He held his hand up for me to see. “Then why are you crying?” I stared at the glint of moisture on his fingertip and finally became aware of the dampness around my own eyes. Why was I crying? I raised a hand to my face, gently touching my eyes. I hadn’t even realized it myself. I was crying. 13 Halfway through the gala, Logan’s gaze remained on me, laced with thought and concern. I didn’t want to be watched so intently, so I excused myself to the restroom. The main hall was a vibrant cacophony, but the hallway leading to the restrooms was exceptionally quiet. As I came out after washing my hands, I saw that a small figure had appeared in the corridor. He was leaning against the opposite wall, his head bowed as he played with a small, diamond-encrusted horse pendant hanging around his neck. I recognized it. It was the final, show-stopping piece from the auction earlier. It had been sold for a staggering price to a mysterious bidder. So, it was bought to be a child’s toy. Perhaps hearing my footsteps, the boy looked up. The light spilled over his face as he blinked at me, a look of innocent confusion in his eyes. The moment our gazes met, my heart melted. I moved toward him without thinking, crouching down to his level. 14 I softened my expression, trying to muster a gentle smile. “What are you doing here all by yourself?” I asked softly. He pressed his lips together, his expression a forced imitation of seriousness. “Daddy said I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” He enunciated each word clearly. But as soon as he finished, he lowered the diamond pony and reached out, his finger gently brushing my earlobe. He seemed shy. The touch was feather-light before he curled his fingers into a fist and quickly pulled his hand back. He looked at me and said earnestly, “My mommy has one of these, too.” The reflection in the window showed the small red mole on the side of my ear. The little boy’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked at me, his gaze so clean, so soft. In that moment, I desperately wanted to hug him. But before I could move, a sound came from the restroom behind me. Someone was approaching with quick, urgent steps. An arm shot out and swept the child off the ground. I looked up, stunned, and met the man’s cold, vigilant eyes. “Don’t touch him,” he said, his voice low and commanding, looking down at me. He spared me only three words. My outstretched hand froze in mid-air, not even having grazed the hem of the child’s clothes. 15 I slowly stood up, only to realize how tall the man in front of me was. I had to tilt my head back to see his face. The moment I saw him clearly, my breath caught. An unstoppable wave of sorrow surged into my sinuses. He had a high-bridged nose, thin lips, and sharp, piercing eyes. His gaze was lowered, all his attention focused on the child in his arms. He expertly smoothed out a wrinkle on the boy's collar. I found my voice, trying to explain. “He’s so cute. I was just worried… about him being here all alone.” The man finally deigned to look at me. His gaze was once again a mask of indifference, completely devoid of warmth. He was still a man of few words. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Then, holding his son, he turned and strode away. I stood rooted to the spot, watching him disappear down the hall. The child sat in his arms, cupping the man’s face with both his little hands. I heard his small, milky voice ask, “Daddy, does your head still hurt?” The man caught the boy’s hands in his. “Not anymore,” he murmured. And then they were gone, vanished around the corner. I leaned back against the wall where the boy had been standing. I thought about the man’s overly pale face when he’d come out of the restroom. I’d thought he was just anxious then. But now, thinking about it, a man who cherished his child that much would never leave him alone in a hallway just to use the restroom. He must have been sick.
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