I dated Jaxon when I was younger. Three months, then we were done. He said I was too much of a good girl, no fun to mess around with. I tried shadowing my best friend, who was deep in her edgy phase. After two weeks, she blew a perfect smoke ring in my face and told me to just stick to the books. I didn't have the "bad girl" gene. I accepted my fate. After a period of deep reflection on my youthful foolishness and the flawed belief that "love is all you need," I decisively found myself a rich kid. His name was Marty. He was rich, generous, and handsome. His only flaw was a long list of exes and a flock of female "friends." The moment Marty’s engagement ring was on my finger, I received a sonogram from one of his closest "friends." She was eight weeks pregnant. I sat in the coffee shop, thinking long and hard, before finally saying with the utmost sincerity, "My love for Marty is simply too deep. I can't bring myself to leave him." "Why don't you have the baby? I may be young, but I don't mind being a stepmother." 1 I swear, I was being completely genuine when I said that. But I think his friend, Isabelle, took it as sarcasm. Seeing that I wouldn't leave Marty on my own, she started recounting their history. How they went to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower, climbed snow-capped mountains together, celebrated New Year's Eve side-by-side. How Marty would be on a video call with me, telling me he missed me, only to hang up and fall into bed with her seconds later. Isabelle was a fantastic storyteller; I felt like I was listening to a beautifully written, poetic novel. After about fifteen minutes of this, I glanced at my watch and politely interrupted her. "I'm so sorry, but I have to get back to work." The look on her face was priceless. She just stared at me, utterly speechless. I put on my coat, wrapped my scarf around my neck, and stood up to leave. "Are you really that shameless? Clinging to Marty like this? You, a woman whose entire style screams 'wife material.' Do you honestly think a guy like Marty, who's seen countless beautiful women, would ever truly be interested in you?" Her voice was sharp, and the previously buzzing coffee shop fell silent. I stopped and turned back to look at her. Her expression was twisted with anger. But a beautiful woman is still beautiful, even when her face is contorted in a sneer. Far more beautiful than me. I smiled, but in the end, I didn't say a word. 2 It was true, I didn't want to break up with Marty. After all, of all the men I knew, he was the best overall package. His family was wealthy, he had a cheerful personality, and he was generous with me. Aside from being a player, he had no other faults. But what rich man isn't a player? He could party, fool around, and have his female "confidantes." It didn't matter. As long as I was his official girlfriend, the woman he wanted to marry, that was enough. I had a very clear understanding of my own value. If I broke up with Marty, I'd never find another man in his league. Stepping into the elevator, I examined my reflection in the polished steel doors. A knit scarf, a mid-length wool coat, and a pair of snow boots. My entire outfit screamed "plain and simple." I was miles away from fashionable, a perfect match for the internet's stereotype of a "wife material" girl. I thought of my best friend Maya's assessment of me: "You're too quiet, too straight-laced. You'll never be the kind of bad girl who can wrap a man around her finger." "You're a bookworm who can't think outside the box. The best you can hope for is to land a safe government job. You'll never be some high-flying career woman." "If you ever want to change your life, your only shot is to play the 'good woman' card. While you're still young and have the looks, find a rich man." "A rich heir is fine, a self-made millionaire works too. Be his comfort, cater to his every need. But most importantly, you have to be gracious. You have to be virtuous." "But you need to hurry. A woman's prime years are fleeting. Once you're older, it won't matter how gentle or considerate or gracious you are; no rich man will give you a second look." Thinking of this, I looked down at the ring on my middle finger and sighed. My only hope now was that nothing else went wrong before the wedding. Once I was married to Marty, I could accept a secret son or daughter. But sometimes, the thing you fear the most is exactly what comes to find you. 3 Just before the end of the workday, I got a message from Marty. He sent me an address, telling me to come over. A get-together with friends; he wanted to introduce me. This had never happened before. There were certain things Marty and I both understood without ever saying them aloud. We weren't from the same world. Our lifestyles were completely different. Marty kept his world split into two distinct halves. When he wanted to play, he partied with his childhood friends, bringing along this girl or that one, living life on his own terms. When he was tired of playing, he came back to me, to enjoy my devoted care. Did he love me? Of course not. But he couldn't leave me. That's why, even though my background was average and I didn't know how to dress, there were moments he would impulsively want to marry me. But that was all it was. He would never introduce me to his friends, never let me into his circle. Because in his eyes, I wasn't presentable. And I was always smart enough never to ask to meet them. After all, while I was fully aware that I was reaching above my station with Marty and had accepted my subordinate role, I had no desire to become the subject of their gossip, to give them the chance to look down on me to my face. On this point, Marty and I had always had a tacit understanding. But today, he broke it. 4 I rushed to the restaurant. The heating was cranked up high, so I had to take off my coat and scarf, draping them over my arm as I followed the waiter through a maze of corridors. We finally stopped outside a private room. I stood at the door, took a deep breath, and mentally prepared myself before pushing it open. It turned out, my mental preparation was not nearly enough. The room was buzzing with a crowd of young men and women. The first person I saw wasn't my boyfriend, Marty. It was Jaxon, standing at the center of it all. My first love. He was as devastatingly handsome as I remembered, a single diamond stud in his left ear, radiating an aura of untamed rebellion. Jaxon. Jaxon. I mouthed his name twice, a silent, ghost of a word on my lips, then calmly tore my gaze away to find Marty. He was in a corner booth, laughing and talking with a woman. In the middle of their playful banter, she reached up and tapped Marty's forehead with her knuckles. It was intimate. Sweet. I knew who she was. Marty's childhood best friend. They'd grown up together, their bond incredibly close. If I had to describe it, it was more than friends, but not quite lovers. I understood. Sometimes you know someone too well to cross that line, afraid you might lose the friendship altogether. I was rather glad they never got together. Otherwise, where would there be room for me in this game of love? I stood by the door for a long moment, completely ignored. A familiar sense of helplessness began to creep up from my bones. I felt like I was eighteen again, excitedly going to a bar to find Jaxon, only to be hit with a wave of alienation and despair the moment I opened the door to his private room. I was hit with the profound realization that I was not, and had never been, a part of their world. Back then, I forced myself not to care because I loved Jaxon. Now, I forced myself not to care because I loved money. I quietly made my way to Marty's side and tapped him on the shoulder. His eyes landed on me. I saw the smile in them fade just a little. I put on a gentle, serene smile of my own, brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and said in a soft voice, "Sorry, I had to work late." He finally snapped out of it, taking my hand in his and rubbing it. He frowned slightly. "Is the heat not on high enough? Why are your hands so cold?" "It's probably just the temperature difference. My body hasn't adjusted. Are you cold?" I said, trying to pull my hand back. Marty instinctively tightened his grip. "I'm worried you'll catch a chill." The noisy room had somehow quieted down. The atmosphere hung thick and strange for a few seconds before someone spoke up, their voice dripping with amusement. "Marty, is this your mythical girlfriend we never get to see? Now that she's finally graced us with her presence, aren't you going to introduce her?" I followed the voice to its source. The speaker was a guy in a flashy baseball jacket, slouched next to Jaxon, looking every bit the troublemaker. Jaxon was leaning back lazily, fiddling with a lighter in his hand. Click, flick. Click, flick. His signature move when he was annoyed. Marty stood up, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me toward the group. "Alright, everyone, this is Clara. My girlfriend." "Girlfriend? She's wearing a ring. When are we getting an invitation to the wedding?" someone with sharp eyes pointed out, laughing. My hand clenched into a fist, then quickly relaxed. Marty's body tensed for a second before he recovered. "As soon as you guys have your wedding gifts ready, I'm ready to get married." Someone was about to tease us more, but Marty stepped in to defend me. "She's shy. You can joke with me all you want, but leave her out of it." This, of course, only made them louder. Marty was pulled away by his friends for a round of drinks. With nothing to do, I sat quietly in the corner, playing on my phone. Though there wasn't much to play. I didn't watch reality TV, didn't play games, didn't read novels, and didn't scroll through short videos. I liked to just zone out, but in such a lively atmosphere, it felt inappropriate. So I started to eat. Slowly, in small bites, I ate the pastries from the coffee table. I hadn't had dinner yet, and I was actually a little hungry. I sat in that room for two hours and nineteen minutes. I ate a plate of green bean cakes, three cherry tomatoes, and drank two glasses of juice. The entire time, a pair of eyes were fixed on my back. But I never once turned around. 5 It was past midnight when the party finally broke up. Marty had been forced to drink too much and was stumbling. Several girls tried to help him, but Marty waved them away, finally choosing his childhood best friend to support him. As for me, I was in charge of his coat and car keys, ready to be the perfect designated driver. Halfway to the door, Marty turned back dazedly and called my name. "Clara..." I answered softly, "I'm here." When we reached the parking garage, I opened the back door of the car and watched his friend struggle to get him inside. I said my goodbyes to the others. Once I was in the driver's seat, ready to start the engine, my eyes happened to glance at the two coats on the passenger seat. I realized I'd forgotten my scarf. But his friend had already closed her door and was waiting for me to drive. Whatever. It wasn't anything valuable. If it was gone, it was gone. Before leaving, I couldn't resist one last look in the rearview mirror. Jaxon was standing with his side to me, his head bowed as he lit a cigarette, a cold, unapproachable aura surrounding him. I pulled my eyes away and gave a small, silent smirk. A mockery of the naive girl I used to be. 6 The car pulled into the garage of Marty's family home. I had planned to stay and take care of him, but the house had plenty of staff. There was really no need for me. His friend also gently implied that Marty's parents preferred a sensible, discreet girl. Since Marty hadn't officially brought me home to meet them yet, I should know my place. So at two in the morning, I discreetly stood outside the gates of the luxurious gated community, freezing for half an hour until my rideshare finally arrived. God bless big cities, you can even get a ride in the middle of the night. But forgetting my scarf was a disaster. The winter wind was biting, and I was nearly frozen solid. It was three a.m. by the time I got back to my apartment building. I dragged my exhausted body to my door. As the elevator doors opened, I fumbled for my keys. A thick smell of smoke hit my nose. My tired brain sluggishly wondered if someone's apartment was on fire. Then I saw him. A tall man standing in front of my door. The floor around his feet was littered with cigarette butts. A red ember glowed between his long fingers. In his other hand, he was holding my lost scarf. 7 I never really imagined what it would be like to see Jaxon again. When I was younger, I thought he had broken my heart. It's no exaggeration to say my world had ended. I was a zombie, with no will to live. But time passes, and you realize it was just a small thing, a simple case of "I love you, you don't love me." In the grand scheme of things—money, career, health—what isn't more important than love? Besides, I was exhausted today. Once you pass a certain age, your body just starts to give out. These days, if I go to bed after eleven, my brain turns to mush. I can't think straight. So I just numbly unlocked my door, numbly changed into my slippers, and numbly turned to close the door in his face. Jaxon's hand shot out, blocking it. "We had something, you know. Not even a 'hello'? That's pretty rude." His voice was hoarse, probably from all the smoking. Sometimes I think I'm just too conservative. I can't understand this modern way of living, where people stay on good terms with their exes, message them privately, and even have a "relapse" when the mood is right. I once discussed this with Maya. As someone who had definitely slept with an ex again, she assured me it was perfectly normal. She said it was nostalgia. Like a toy you loved as a child. You grow out of it, but that doesn't stop you from picking it up and looking at it with fond memories when you see it again. I couldn't understand it at the time. "But shouldn't people be faithful in a relationship?" Maya laughed at my naivety. "This era has a new definition for faithfulness. We call people who are hopelessly devoted to one person 'love-sick fools.' And someone like you, who gave everything to Jaxon with a sincerity that was almost laughable, we call that a 'simp.'" Back then, to understand Jaxon's mindset, I diligently followed Maya around for a while. She took me to all sorts of places, introduced me to all sorts of people. Unfortunately, I was never a quick learner. I could never grasp their way of life. In the end, I had to accept the truth: Jaxon and I were from different worlds. He would never slow down for me. He didn't love me. Not one bit. In fact, he probably only got with me in the first place for a good laugh. I had clumsily followed him around, racking my brain for ways to make him happy, going to absurd lengths to be good to him. I once took a two-hour bus ride from one end of the city to the other just because he casually mentioned he was craving pork ribs, so I immediately cooked them and brought them to him. In Jaxon's eyes, all my efforts were probably just cheap and pathetic. But what could I do? I was just an ordinary girl with no special qualities, nothing to make me stand out. The only thing I had was my heart. I reverently cut it out and offered it to Jaxon. He took it, looked it over, examined it from all angles, found it boring, and tossed it aside. And so my heart shattered. Later, I gathered the pieces and realized I had been using the wrong method. A true heart can't be exchanged for another true heart. But it can be exchanged for money. Marty gave me plenty of feedback. Every time he found a new "friend," he gave me an expensive gift. From jewelry to handbags. His guilt was very valuable. For example, the fact that I had to take a taxi home alone tonight would probably earn me another new handbag once Marty sobered up tomorrow. All I wanted was the handbag. I didn't want anything to do with an ex who had hurt me so deeply. So I held the doorknob and stared at Jaxon for a long time. His expression was obscured by the haze of smoke, or maybe the light was just too dim. I couldn't really see his face. I asked him, "Are you here to return my scarf?" He said, "No." I nodded and carefully pushed his arm out of the doorway. This time, I was able to close the door. And lock it. 8 Marty started calling me out to hang with his friends more frequently. And, of course, Jaxon was always there. After a while, Marty would inevitably start talking about his friends. That's how I finally learned who Jaxon was now. A hotshot rookie race car driver. The long-lost heir to the Vance family fortune. It was surreal. The Jaxon I knew was a defiant teenager who lived with his grandmother. He did love cars, but back then, he could only afford a beat-up old motorcycle to cruise around on. In our short-lived romance, the most memorable moment was probably him putting a heavy helmet on my head, telling me to wrap my arms around his waist as I sat behind him on the motorcycle, and saying he was going to take me far away. Back then, I really believed him. 9 In front of Marty's friends, I never shied away from showing my meticulous care for him. At first, they would tease us, but after seeing it enough times, they got used to it. Whether they were secretly scornful or envious, I didn't care to know. As for Marty's pregnant "friend," I don't know how he handled it. But his attitude toward me remained the same, which put me somewhat at ease. Still, a subtle anxiety began to grow inside me. Maybe it was the almost predatory way Jaxon's eyes were always on me, or maybe it was Marty's lack of enthusiasm for our wedding plans. I was always worried something would change. And, of course, something did. During a weekend camping trip, Marty suddenly got a phone call. His face immediately soured. He just said he'd deal with it when he got home. A little while later, Marty announced he had an emergency and had to leave. Instantly, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. I had come in Marty's car. If he was leaving, and I didn't know anyone else well, I would have to go with him. But Marty was clearly in no mood to drive me home. I was thinking of just catching a ride down the mountain with him and then getting a cab from there, when I heard Jaxon speak up. "Marty, go take care of your business. I'll give your girlfriend a ride home later." The moment the words left his mouth, Marty casually nodded. "Alright, thanks, man." Clearly, Marty didn't care if I stayed or left. My movement to stand up froze, and I slowly sat back down. Before he left, Marty gave me a long, deep look. I had a strong feeling that this was it. Once he drove away, we were probably over. For the first time ever, I broke our unspoken rule and made a request. "Marty, I want to go with you." "Be good. Listen to me," Marty frowned, stepped on the gas, and drove off. I stood there, frozen. My phone vibrated twice. A new message. I looked down. It was from the "friend," who had been silent for a while. She told me she had gone to see Marty's parents, and they had agreed to let her marry him. A warm body pressed against my back. Jaxon shamelessly leaned over my shoulder to look at my phone screen and let out a lazy laugh. "She moves fast." My eyelashes fluttered. I looked up at him. "Clara, she has a good family, a beautiful face, and now she's carrying Marty's child. What do you have to compete with?" "I thought you would have backed down after you two met at the coffee shop." "You didn't really think that just by endlessly pandering to Marty, he would actually marry you, did you?" 10 Of course Marty would marry me. If Jaxon hadn't interfered. But now that his parents were involved, the chances of him marrying me were slim to none. I was disappointed, but there was also a sense of resigned finality. From the day I saw Jaxon again, I knew my plans wouldn't go smoothly. I silently put my phone away, ready to pack my things and call a cab. This campsite was remote; it wouldn't be easy to get a ride. But it didn't matter. I would rather walk for two hours down the mountain than get into Jaxon's passenger seat. Charging cable, water bottle, sunglasses—I shoved them all into my bag. Jaxon followed behind me, a thunderous look on his face, watching my every move. Finally, he snapped. He snatched my bag and threw it. The contents spilled everywhere. The clearing fell silent. Curious eyes darted between me and Jaxon. I glanced at the bag. A bit of a shame. It was expensive. If Jaxon hadn't been here today, I probably would have scurried over to pick everything up. But right now, I just felt drained. "Sorry, you guys have fun. I'm heading back," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. But turning and walking away empty-handed just made me look pathetic. Jaxon's body was tense. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight. I stopped, raised my hand, and slapped him. Hard. I could hear gasps from the people around us. Jaxon's head snapped to the side from the force, but his hand on my arm didn't loosen. "Feel better? If not, want to do the other side?" he asked, pointing to his other cheek.
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