My lover has paranoia. He imagines that I am his nemesis, his mortal enemy, the person he despises most in this world. Day after day, I play along with his delusions. Until one day, I couldn't play the part anymore. I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. 1 The house was pitch-black when I got home. I set my bag down, kicked off my shoes, and trailed my hand along the wall, slowly feeling my way through the dark. The moment my fingers brushed the light switch, a ceramic plate came flying at my head. I tilted my head, dodging it just in time. The lights flickered on. A man stood on the staircase, staring down at me with an entirely expressionless face. "So you still know how to come back." "..." I smiled, walking toward him. I reached out and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Can you stop acting like a bitter, neglected housewife, Ethan?" He smelled faintly of floral soap, a scent I specifically picked out for him. I always hoped it would somehow neutralize the freezing aura he radiated. But it never did. The way he looked at me was still full of absolute disgust. 2 The crystal chandelier cast fragmented, glittering light across the room. Yet, the brightly lit living room felt agonizingly cold, and the man sitting right beside me offered no warmth at all. I rested the iPad on my lap, swiping through the pages to show him. "Look at this for our wedding. Should I wear this one?" "The skirt is a mermaid design." "It’s so pretty, like liquid light slipping right over the fabric." "Oh, and I love this one too. The veil has a starry night design, just like the time you took me to see the—" A sharp scoff cut off my words. He lifted his gaze, his dark, pitch-black eyes staring dead into mine. "Did we even have a past?" I wanted so desperately to tell the man in front of me that yes, we did. We had so many beautiful, wonderful memories together. But the man in front of me only saw me as an unforgivable, heinous villain. He gripped my chin, his thumb pressing into my skin, and landed a kiss at the corner of my lips. His cold voice carried a ripple of deliberate, elegant seduction. "Be a good girl. Give me the medicine." 3 The only reason Ethan Hayes listened to me at all was that I held the one thing he desperately craved. If he ever bothered to look through the Seattle Police Department's internal reports from a few years ago, he would be shocked to find his own name listed under both "Narcotics Commendations" and "Injured in the Line of Duty." Ethan got hooked on drugs while working deep undercover. And after his undercover days ended, he developed severe paranoid psychosis. Delusional disorder. He categorized almost everyone around him as the enemy—including me. Including the woman he once said he loved the most, the woman he swore to protect with his life. That gentle man was long gone, dragged down into a living hell. His eyes, when he looked at me, were like thousand-year-old ice caves. The bedroom light was dim. I gripped his collar. Even though I had him pinned beneath me, his gaze remained entirely unfazed. Even tainted by addiction, he still looked as pure and untouchable as a god looking down from above. Just the slight curve of his lips was mesmerizing. I leaned down, wanting to kiss him, but with a sudden, practiced twist of his hips, he flipped me over and pinned me to the mattress. He dug into my chest pocket for a moment and pulled out the syringe. With practiced ease, he injected it right into his right arm. ... To him, that syringe was his heroin. But it wasn't. It was a specially formulated psychiatric medication laced with heavy sedatives. You can't cure a severe addiction overnight; you have to slowly taper the dosage. Lying there, I suddenly understood exactly why he hated me so much. Because, in his eyes... I wasn't his devoted lover. I was the monster who got him hooked on drugs, the dealer who kept him on a leash by dangling a pathetic little fix in front of him every single day... Just a villain. 4 I had a dream. I dreamed of a few years ago, back when Ethan was still deep undercover. I went to see him on Christmas Eve. We navigated through the thick holiday crowd, only able to truly look at each other while hiding behind the cover of a newspaper. He had both hands shoved in his pockets, leaning lazily against the railing like he didn't have a bone in his body. Ethan was a gorgeous man. Even a slight smirk made him look dangerously handsome, drawing the eyes of two young women nearby. Right in front of me, he whistled at the two girls. I kicked him in the shin. He let out a dramatic "Ow!" and lowered his voice, leaning in. "Honey, I gotta play the part, right?" He was already starting to carry the grimy, dangerous aura of the criminal underworld, but his eyes were still so clear. The sound of Jingle Bells drifted through the air. He tilted his head back, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Just one more year, they always say. Then another, then another." It was a line reminiscent of our favorite mob movies. He turned his head, our eyes meeting only through our reflections in the glass pane beside us. "When am I finally going to be able to marry you, Claire?" ... I lowered the newspaper and walked past him, our shoulders just barely brushing. "Finish the job. I'm waiting for you." ... He finished the job, but I never got to marry him. When I woke up the next morning, the space next to me in bed was cold and empty. I knew he hated me, that he despised sharing a bed with me. But when I hurried downstairs and couldn't find him anywhere, a blind panic set in. I tore through every room in the house. He was gone. I tried calling a friend, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. He was nowhere. I squatted on the floor, clutching my head. Lately, I had been getting these splitting headaches whenever I tried to focus or think too hard. The throbbing pain made my vision blur, but the agonizing anxiety of losing him was far worse. I frantically typed out a text, on the verge of begging my old colleagues at the precinct to run a search. My heart hammered against my ribs, burning hotter and hotter—until a pair of white sneakers stepped into my line of sight. "What are you doing?" The voice was steady, as cold and indifferent as ever. Ethan wasn't Ethan anymore, yet he was still Ethan. It was just that this detached, icy man standing in front of me could never be reconciled with the sunny, teasing boy in my memories. I stood up and threw my arms around him. I don't know why, but I loved hugging him. It felt like, if I just held him tightly enough, I could transfer my body heat to him—even if he never hugged me back. "I thought you left, Ethan." He took a step back, smoothly peeling my arms off him. "I was just out in the back watering the plants." "..." I smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "What do you want for dinner tonight? I'll make you—" "Drop the fake act. You don't even let me out the front door." He cut me off, snatched a book off the dining table, and walked upstairs. I didn't let Ethan leave the house because I was terrified of cartel remnants coming after him for revenge. But the more I protected him... The more he felt like a white dove trapped in a cage. And the more he hated me. 5 I went to the hospital for a full-body scan. The headaches had been getting significantly worse over the last few days. I was never someone who liked hospitals, but ever since Ethan's incident, I had become hyper-vigilant about my health. I was terrified that if I died, there would be no one left to take care of him. He would be left to suffer in his personal hell all alone. At least while I was here, I could sit in the flames with him. Ethan lived in hell. When he was first diagnosed with his delusions, his psychiatrist pulled me aside. He told me that the reason Ethan constantly pushed me away was because, deep in his subconscious, he believed that as a junkie, he was no longer worthy of me. The cartel boss had forced him to test the product. Forced him to shoot up. He had no choice. A decorated cop, turned into a heroin addict. That was Ethan's personal hell. I couldn't drag him out of it, but I could stay in the dark with him. The test results wouldn't be ready for a while, so on my way home, aside from picking up groceries, I bought a bouquet of baby's breath. When Ethan was undercover, he used to send me flowers all the time. He couldn't send them to my real address, so he sent them to our secret spot. Ethan's handwriting was terrible, but he tirelessly wrote little notes on the cards anyway. Short, sweet little love letters. "I'm no poet, Claire, otherwise I'd write you the moon." "Watched the sunset today. It wasn't a fraction as pretty as it is when you're here." "The wind blew off the lake, and the wind told me I miss you." "Claire, seriously, I miss you so damn much." "..." I could perfectly picture the scene. Him, stuck in some damp, miserable trap house under the cartel's thumb. Tilting his head, leaning against a dirty windowsill, writing out these incredibly sappy lines. And then smiling to himself as he tucked them into the bright, blooming flowers. 6 Lately, even our home had stopped being a safe haven. Several luxury cars were parked outside my house. Holding the bouquet of baby's breath, my heart plummeted like a stone the moment I saw the front door wide open. I kept telling myself to breathe, but a sudden, blunt force of pain slammed into my skull, forcing me to grip the doorframe to stay upright. Three men in black suits and sunglasses stood in the entryway. Sitting gracefully on my living room sofa was a woman. "Detective Vance. Even if you're a cop, trespassing is still a crime." I slowly set the flowers down on the entryway console and spoke to the woman on the couch. She tilted her head and offered a slow, deliberate smile. "Illegal imprisonment is also a crime. And you're not a cop anymore, Claire." "..." I was accusing her of breaking in; she was accusing me of locking Ethan up and restricting his freedom. Victoria Vance. The sole, precious daughter of the Seattle Police Commissioner, and my... rival. She loved Ethan, too. "I'm taking Ethan with me." She raised her chin, looking down to casually inspect her flawless manicure. "Not happening." I leaned heavily on the coffee table, glaring at her. "Why isn't it happening? The department universally agrees that you are no longer capable of managing Ethan's treatment. He's been with you all this time, and he hasn't improved at all." "I have the best medical resources. The absolute best psychiatrists. Only with me can he get the care he—" "I am his fiancée." I cut her off. The woman finally looked up at me, pure disdain reflecting beneath her immaculate makeup. "Says who? He didn't marry you. Ethan never married you." "He said he would." "But now he hates you. Watch." Victoria pulled a pocketknife from her coat and pressed it directly against my throat. She turned me to face the staircase. There, Ethan was slowly walking down. The man watched with a completely blank expression as Victoria held a blade to my neck. "See? Even if I killed you right here, he wouldn't even blink." It felt like she was choking me, whispering, Look. You gave him everything, and he threw it to the dogs. How good had I been to Ethan? I had practically carved out my own heart and handed it to him. Yet when my life was threatened, he didn't even spare me a second glance. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, it was all useless. Then... I guess I just have to try harder. That was our promise. Ethan and I had promised we would never give up on each other. No matter what. Slowly, I brought my bare hand up and gripped the sharp edge of the blade. Victoria obviously didn't really want to stab me; she visibly flinched and paused. "I am not letting you take Ethan." In the silent, tense standoff, she suddenly laughed. "Fine. Then let's play fair." "Let Ethan choose. Whoever he chooses, he goes with." "How about it?" ... Ethan wasn't an object. He wasn't a prize to be won. After they finally left, I sat alone on the sofa. The lighting in the living room really was too dim. I needed to remember to buy new bulbs. I kept my head down until a shadow fell over me. He stood in front of me, his voice entirely flat and monotone. "They didn't break in. I opened the door and let them inside." "When she put that knife to your throat, I really didn't feel a thing." "..." Ethan knew exactly how to twist the knife into my heart. I looked up at him. Reflected in his pitch-black eyes, I saw just how utterly broken I looked. I asked him softly. "So you want to leave with her? Is that it?" "..." He didn't answer. ...Makes sense. To Ethan, leaving with Victoria was just trading one cage for another. What he didn't know was that he himself was the cage. Dark, sunless, and full of endless torment.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "450065", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel