1 "Captain, I request to join the undercover op." Anya's voice was steady in the quiet room. After a long silence, Cranston replied gravely, "You're still injured. And your fiancé—" "This is my decision," Anya interrupted. "I'm breaking up with him anyway. You know I'm the best for this job." Another pause, then a heavy sigh. "Take two weeks to... prepare. Then wait for the call." The unspoken meaning was clear—final arrangements. But Anya had no one left to answer to. After hanging up, Anya’s gaze fell on two framed photos on her nightstand. The most important people in her life. The first was of her parents. The second, of her fiancé. Her parents, both decorated officers, had died in the line of duty when she was ten, leaving her an orphan. She later learned their only regrets were not being able to watch her grow up, and never receiving the Medal of Valor. The day she buried their ashes, she stood before their gravestones and made a vow. She would carry their torch. She would earn that medal for them. At twenty-two, she graduated from the academy at the top of her class and joined the major crimes unit. That was the year she met Liam. To the world, he was a brilliant, aloof attorney, famously immune to feminine charms. But with her, it was different. He said it was love at first sight. He did everything to get her number, took her on dates, showered her with thoughtful gifts and surprises. She fell for him, hard. Once they were official, he became even more devoted. He’d drive over in the middle of the night with her favorite food when she was on the night shift. He was a nervous wreck every time she was on a dangerous assignment. When she told him about her dream of earning the medal, he’d hold her and smile, telling her she would undoubtedly achieve it. Anya truly believed she had found the man she would spend her life with. Until their fifth anniversary. Liam gave her a beautiful dress and told her to meet him at a remote, secluded location. She waited for hours. He never showed. Instead, a masked man with a knife did. She was chloroformed and dragged into a van. When she woke up, she was in a damp basement. The man stroked her face, his words sending a chill down her spine. “The resemblance is uncanny. No wonder he’s so obsessed with you. But what’s the use? You’re not her. You’re just the bait.” It was then that Anya learned Liam’s secret. He had a childhood sweetheart, a famous actress named Monica Reed. The cool, detached lawyer was a different person around her; he had loved and protected her his entire life. On the very day he had planned a grand romantic gesture to confess his feelings, Monica was kidnapped by an obsessed fan. When they finally found her, she was covered in blood, barely conscious. She had been in a coma ever since. The kidnapper escaped and had remained at large for years. Liam was destroyed. From that day on, his life had only two purposes. First, to wait for Monica to wake up. Second, to hunt down her attacker. When he saw Anya, he was captivated. She looked so much like Monica. So he pursued her, using her face as a vessel for his longing for another woman. And he began to plot. To use her face to lure the monster out of hiding. He waited five years. When he finally got a lead, he orchestrated the whole thing. For seven hours, Anya was tortured, pushed to the brink of a mental and physical breakdown. She was rescued moments before her captor could deliver the final, fatal blow. Liam got what he wanted. The man was caught. But the price was Anya’s right hand. It was permanently damaged, the nerves shredded beyond repair. It took her a long time to process everything—being a substitute, her hand being crippled. The woman who came out the other side was a hollowed-out version of her former self. Her faith in love was dead. Worse, her faith in everything else was gone, too. She could never be a field officer again. Her dream of earning the Medal of Valor was shattered. Then, yesterday, a colleague visiting her mentioned a new, high-stakes operation to take down a massive crime syndicate. They needed three undercover agents. Two spots were filled, but the third was so dangerous they couldn’t find a volunteer. She decided in an instant. She would be the third. She knew she would be chosen. She fit all the criteria. Especially with her injured hand. Who would suspect a crippled ex-cop? For her country, and for her dream. She would go without hesitation, without regret. As for Liam, they were finished. She was letting him go. Anya quietly packed up her belongings in the apartment. By the time she was done, it was eleven. She heard footsteps outside the door. Liam was home. He walked in, a smile on his face, but it vanished when he saw the packed boxes. “Anya? What’s all this?” 2 She couldn’t tell anyone about the mission. “I quit,” she said, her voice flat. Liam was stunned. “But they were going to move you to a desk job, weren’t they?” Anya turned to look at him. “I told you, Liam. My dream was the medal. It was being on the front lines.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of blame. But her words twisted his heart into a knot. A film of sweat coated his palms. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, a flash of regret in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.” Anya just shook her head and zipped up the last box. “It’s not your fault.” His guilt only deepened. He had deceived her, and because of him, her career was over. He fumbled for words. “Quitting… quitting is good. You can rest. I’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? Anya looked at him, a complex mix of emotions swirling inside her. He never understood her. She said nothing, just went to wash up for the night. Later, in the darkness of the bedroom, Liam wrapped his arms around her from behind, his warm breath on her neck. He tried to kiss her. Anya stiffened, using her elbow to create a space between them, and shifted to the far edge of the bed. “Anya…?” Liam’s voice was laced with surprise at the rejection. “Sorry, my hand is bothering me tonight. I just want to sleep.” “Oh. Okay. Goodnight, then.” Three days later, it was Anya’s birthday. Liam took the day off and cooked a feast. Wearing a paper party hat, she stared at the table laden with spicy dishes, her mind drifting. Liam loved to cook for her, but he always loaded every dish with chili peppers. She had told him countless times she couldn't handle spicy food, but he always said it was the only style he knew how to cook. To not disappoint him, she had learned to eat it, enduring stomach aches and heartburn, all for him. Now she knew the truth. It was someone else who loved spicy food. He was just reliving memories of another woman through her. She didn't want to force herself anymore. She didn't pick up her chopsticks. Liam noticed. "What's wrong?" Anya rolled up her sleeve, revealing the jagged scar on her wrist. She reached for the cake. "At my last check-up, the doctor said I need to eat bland food for a while." A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He stood up to clear the plates, saying he would cook something else. Anya stopped him as she opened the cake box. "Don't bother. I'm not hungry. I'll eat later." Liam hesitated, then simply helped her put the candles on the cake and lit them. She closed her eyes, her hands clasped together, and made a wish. "This year, my wish is to finally earn the Medal of Valor." The last few words made Liam’s brow furrow in confusion. She had quit, hadn’t she? How could she earn the medal now? He was about to ask when his phone vibrated. He saw the caller ID—Dr. Evans—and a jolt went through him. He answered without a second thought. "Mr. Thorne, Monica is awake!" The words were like a thunderclap. He shot up from his chair, not even bothering with his coat or shoes, and sprinted for the door. He left without a word. Anya opened her eyes to the sight of his frantic, retreating back. She didn't know what had happened, but after a moment's hesitation, she grabbed his coat and ran after him. By the time she got downstairs, Liam was already peeling out of the driveway, driving like a man possessed. The sheer recklessness of it terrified her. Her professional instincts kicked in. Fearing he would cause an accident, she hailed a cab and followed him. He sped all the way to the hospital on the west side of town and rushed to the third floor. She followed, breathless, and stopped outside a hospital room. Through the window, she saw Liam, holding someone in his arms, his face streaked with tears. She had never seen him so emotional; his job had taught him to be perpetually composed. When the person in his arms looked up, her face tear-stained and lovely, Anya froze. The kidnapper had told her she looked just like Monica Reed, especially in profile. It was as if they were cast from the same mold. Today, seeing her for the first time, Anya knew it was true. After the initial shock, a wave of understanding washed over her. She finally knew why he had been so frantic. The woman he had waited five years for was finally awake. 3 Listening to them inside, crying, whispering of their longing and five years of regret, Anya looked down at the coat in her hands and gave a self-deprecating smile. She took a deep breath, suppressed the rising tide of emotion, and turned away from the hospital. When she got home, the birthday candles had burned all the way down, leaving a black, charred mess on the white frosting. She took a trash bag and scraped the entire feast, cake and all, into it. Then she went to her room, turned off the lights, and quietly spent the rest of her 27th birthday in the dark. For the next week, Liam vanished. Anya didn’t try to contact him. She spent her days at home, slowly clearing out her things, making countless trips downstairs to the dumpster without complaint. After emptying the last cabinet, she surveyed the now-barren apartment and wheeled a small cart downstairs. With her injured hand, it took a great deal of effort to toss the last bag into the bin. As she was rubbing her sore wrist, she looked up and saw Liam. He looked troubled, his mind elsewhere. She had thought he would be happy now that Monica was awake. She couldn't understand his gloomy expression. He noticed her gaze and quickened his pace. “What are you doing down here? What are you throwing out?” “Just some trash.” He glanced at the overflowing bin and frowned. “You’re injured. Why didn’t you just leave it for me to take care of when I got back?” Anya managed a small smile, her hand resting on the cart. “The cart makes it easy. Besides, you weren't here. The trash was starting to smell.” Her words reminded him that he had disappeared on her birthday without a word. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he quickly invented an excuse. “Anya, I’m sorry. A client called with an emergency. She was out of town, and I was worried something would happen, so I had to leave on a business trip. I’m sorry for making you worry.” It was a clumsy, last-minute lie, but Anya didn’t call him on it. She even gave him an out. “So you’re back. Is everything resolved?” Liam was taken aback by how easily she seemed to believe him. The truth was, he had been at the hospital the entire time, by Monica’s side. He knew the pain of loss, and now that he had her back, he didn't want to waste a single second. He had forgotten everything else—his parents, his girlfriend, his work. This morning, Monica, having heard from friends about everything he had done for her while she was in a coma, was deeply moved and finally broke the silence between them. “Liam, I know you have feelings for me. And… I’ve liked you for a long time, too. Will you be my boyfriend?” He had waited nearly twenty years to hear those words. But when he finally did, he didn't feel the joy he had expected. Instead, another name popped into his head. Anya. The past five years with her replayed in his mind like a filmstrip: her kiss on New Year's Eve, the scarf she had knitted for him, the umbrella she brought to his office during a typhoon… Every frame was etched with her name. The final image was of her being carried out on a stretcher, her hands a bloody mess. A sharp pain, like a knife twisting in his heart, pierced him. He knew that because of his selfishness, Anya’s life, her dreams, were utterly destroyed. Guilt, remorse, and another unnameable emotion overwhelmed him. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. After what felt like an eternity, he finally composed himself and answered Monica, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry. I need some time to think.” Monica was shocked by his rejection. Everyone around them knew how much he adored her. Liam, not knowing how to face her, made an excuse and left the hospital. Now, seeing Anya again, his heart was in even more turmoil. Every lie he told felt like a stone weighing him down, crushing the air from his lungs. He hesitated for a long time before finally telling a sliver of the truth. “It’ll be a while longer.” From the look in his eyes, Anya guessed that he and Monica had talked. The woman he was waiting for was awake. And she herself had finally let go. She didn't want to continue this charade. In a light, joking tone, she tested the waters with the words she truly meant. “Liam… what if we broke up?” 4 The word “breakup” made the color drain from Liam’s face. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice rising in alarm. “Break up? I don’t agree! Anya, why? Why would you suddenly say that?” His panicked reaction surprised her. The love of his life was awake. He should be thrilled that she was offering him an out. Why did he look so terrified of losing her? She didn’t want to read too much into it. The only explanation was that while he loved Monica, his guilt over crippling her was so immense that he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her now. It seemed a direct breakup wouldn't work. He would never agree. And with her mission being top secret, she couldn't risk alarming him. She would have to disappear quietly. She forced a smile, smoothly backtracking. “You just looked so unhappy, I thought I’d make a joke to lighten the mood. Don’t take it seriously.” Liam stared at her face, searching for any sign of a lie. Seeing none, he finally relaxed, taking the cart from her and leading her upstairs. “Don’t ever make a joke like that again. I promised I’d take care of you for life.” Anya glanced at him, memories flooding her mind. In the beginning, after learning the truth, the pain had been unbearable. She had questioned if she was unlovable, if fate was playing a cruel trick on her. She had pushed everyone away and cried for days. But in the end, the rational mind of a detective had won out over despair. She had asked herself again and again: as an officer, wasn't it her duty to catch criminals and protect people? The answer was yes. Her hand was ruined, but the perpetrator was caught. No one else would be harmed by him. In a way, she hadn't just saved Liam's love interest; she had saved Monica Reed, an innocent victim who had lost five years of her life. The capture of her attacker was a form of justice for her, too. Once she realized this, Anya let go of her resentment. So now, hearing Liam’s promise again, she gently pulled her hand away and looked at him, her expression serious. “I don’t need you to take care of me. From the day I took my oath, I was prepared to bleed, to be injured. I dedicated my life to my country. As long as justice is served, any sacrifice is worth it.” “I may not be able to work the front lines anymore, but I will find another way to serve. What’s done is done. We should both look forward. There are new stories waiting for us.” These were her heartfelt words, the last sentence carrying a hidden meaning. But Liam, drowning in his guilt, didn’t catch it. Her solemnity only deepened his self-loathing. He didn’t know what to say, so he tried to atone with actions. For the next week, he barely left the house, dedicating himself to caring for Anya. He did all the chores, tried to make her laugh, took her to her physical therapy appointments, and showered her with gifts he called belated birthday presents. For a fleeting moment, seeing his gentle, attentive care, Anya almost believed the past few months had been a bad dream. No kidnapping, no undercover mission, no Monica Reed. A world where she could fulfill her vow and grow old with the man she loved. But then she would see the scar on her hand, or catch him sneaking onto the balcony to take a call, and the illusion would shatter.
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