Noah Thorne asked me if I wanted to marry him. A one-year contract marriage. The pay: one million dollars, with all daily expenses covered. I accepted with giddy excitement. But one year turned into another, and then another. Ten years passed, and he never once mentioned a divorce. Just when I started to think he might have actually fallen in love with me, he left me seventy million dollars and died. I was flooded with relief. Finally, I could live my dream life: rich, no husband, and no kids. Later, I received a box of Noah’s belongings. Inside was an AI robot dog. As a joke, I named it Noah. It said: "Karina, I'm sorry that I love you." 1 On our tenth wedding anniversary, Noah died. Just before he passed, he asked me, "Karina, is there anything you want to say to me?" I paused for a moment, then blurted out, "Don't forget to transfer this year's million-dollar payment." A man can die, but he can't skip out on his final paycheck. When it comes to money, I'm relentless. Noah was silent for a long moment, then he suddenly smiled, a spark igniting in his clouded eyes. "Karina," he whispered, "I love that about you. It's good." I tried to smile back, to joke with him like I always did. But Noah had already closed his eyes, and no matter how many times I called his name, he wouldn't wake up. The smile froze on my face. "Goodbye, Noah." I watched, impassive, as they wheeled him into the morgue. I went through the motions of the funeral, a perfect, grieving widow, without shedding a single tear. It was only when Noah’s younger brother, Ethan, handed me a box that my composure cracked. Inside was a debit card with a seventy-million-dollar balance and a small robot dog. My calm expression shattered, not from grief, but from pure, unadulterated joy. Noah had already paid me for the full ten years. Why would he leave me another seventy million? "All of this... for me?" Ethan nodded. "That's what his will said." He added, with well-meaning sympathy, "Karina, he's gone. Try not to be too sad." Sad? Why would I be sad? I was ecstatic! I could barely contain my laughter. I didn't know why Noah had left me so much money. Maybe it was guilt, or pity. He was, after all, a deeply kind man. Ten years ago, I had held a knife to him and demanded money. He had just looked at me with his gentle eyes and asked, "Are you in desperate need of money? If so, I can offer you a job." The job was to marry him. He promised he would never force me to do anything I didn't want to. He just needed a wife in name only, to fend off his parents' incessant matchmaking. I agreed. I didn't care about marriage; I only cared about the money. But Noah was always apologizing. He said he was holding me back, wasting my life. He was a soft-hearted man. It made perfect sense that a man like him would leave me seventy million dollars. And since only a fool would turn down free money, I took it without a second thought. Lost in the euphoria of my newfound wealth, I completely forgot about the unassuming robot dog. Sitting alone in the vast, empty living room, I stared at my bank balance on my phone and, out of habit, asked, "Noah, what am I supposed to do with seventy million dollars?" The room was silent. And then I remembered. Noah was gone. And it was wonderful. No one to nag me anymore. No one to disapprove of my bad habits. When I first married Noah, I went on a spending spree. I'd take one bite of a cake and throw the rest away. I bought the gaudiest jewelry, the most expensive, brand-name dresses and shoes. Everyone mocked my lack of taste, and I became a source of constant embarrassment for him. But Noah never got angry. He would just check on me, his voice full of concern. "Did you eat too much? Are you feeling bloated? Do your ears hurt from those heavy earrings? Are your feet blistered from those heels?" He would gently place my feet in his lap and dab iodine on the sores. "Karina," he'd say softly, "you have to understand. Money is for making yourself comfortable, not for making yourself miserable." After that, he started planning my days, from my studies to my entertainment, from my diet to my exercise. He meticulously sculpted me, transforming me from a wild weed into a cultivated rose. Everyone thought he was madly in love with me, that I had won the lottery of a lifetime by marrying him. But I knew the truth. He didn't love me. He just needed a suitable wife. And now that he was gone, I didn't have to be Mrs. Thorne anymore. I could do whatever I wanted. 2 I went to the one place Noah hated most: a grimy, chaotic nightclub. I booked the best table, ordered the most expensive champagne, and watched the sweaty, muscular men in the boxing ring. To be honest, Noah was never my type. He was too refined, too fragile. A little exercise would leave him red-faced and gasping for breath. I preferred my men sunny and strong. I used to tease him about it all the time. "Noah, you need to work out. You need to live a long, long life." "You want me to live a long life?" he’d ask, a strange light in his eyes. "Of course! You're my meal ticket." In that moment, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something in his beautiful, almond-shaped eyes—a mixture of resignation and relief. After that, he started jogging and going to the gym with me. But he seemed to be naturally frail. No matter how hard he tried, he remained alarmingly thin. Now, I realize it was because he was sick. "Bored, beautiful? I can keep you company." A young boxer, fresh from a win, sauntered over to my table, flexing his glistening muscles. I forced the image of Noah from my mind. He was gone. I didn't have to adhere to the moral code of a married woman anymore. It was time to enjoy myself. I smiled and downed my drink in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat was punctuated by the whistles and catcalls from the surrounding crowd. It was a familiar symphony of chaos, vulgarity, and darkness. I was getting drunk. I pulled the young boxer down to sit beside me, my eyes hazy. "Tell me, handsome, how much for a night?" He couldn't suppress a greedy smile, but he still feigned propriety. "I'm not like that, beautiful. I just like you." Like. The word instantly killed my mood. I knew, with absolute certainty, that no one could ever truly like me. My mother, unable to bear our poverty, had left us. As she held me tight, her tears soaking my shoulder, she had sobbed, "Karina, my sweet Karina, as soon as Mommy has money, I'll come back for you." After she left, my father unleashed all his bitterness and rage on me. He rented me out to an underground boxing ring. "This girl of mine," he'd boast, "she's tough. You can hit her as hard as you want, she won't break. A real bargain!" I became a human punching bag for two hundred dollars a session. There wasn't a single inch of my body that wasn't bruised or broken. The only time my father showed me any affection was when he collected his payment, when he would "generously" buy me a small cupcake. That's when I understood. My father didn't love me. He loved money. And to earn his love, I had to earn him a lot of it. After I married Noah, he was so generous with me that I had to ask. "Noah, are you giving me all this money because you want me to like you?" He had just stroked my hair and corrected me gently. "Karina, remember this: love isn't something that can be bought or sustained with money." I looked into his clear, honest eyes and mumbled, "I know." And I did know. Noah Thorne didn't want my affection. He was always so kind, so gentle. His rejection was just as soft, but it was a rejection nonetheless. I should have known better. Who would ever want the love of someone so broken? When I turned eighteen, my body had blossomed into a woman's curves, and the looks from the men at the gym changed. Their gazes became lewd, their touches exploratory and disgusting. I begged my father to take me away, but he was too busy counting his money. I tried to run, but the owner of the gym caught me. His face was a mask of lust as he lunged at me. 3 He was overconfident. He forgot that being able to take a punch meant I also knew how to throw one. As he tore at my pants, I delivered a crippling blow to his groin. I ran to the police station and reported him. He was sentenced to three years in prison. But my reputation was ruined. I was kicked out of the gym. With no more liquor money coming in, my father's abuse escalated. "You're a slut, just like your mother!" he'd scream. "It's your fault for having a body like that! You're a shameless whore, seducing married men!" Even my own father said it. So, of course, everyone else believed it. They spat on me, beat me, drove me out of town. I had no education, no skills, and a body covered in hideous scars. No one would hire me. So I found work as a bouncer at a nightclub. I thought time and distance could bury the ugliness of my past. So when a coworker confessed his feelings, promising me a home, a normal life with marriage and children, I gambled. I gave him all my savings, believing he was sincere. He took the money and left, running away with the girl he truly loved. I overheard him later, talking to a friend. "That freak? Being liked by her is disgusting. If it wasn't for her money, I wouldn't have even bothered to pretend." That's when I finally understood. No one wanted my heart. Not my father. Not my coworker. And not Noah. I hate the word "like." I smashed my glass on the floor. The young boxer at my side went pale. "This is so boring," I muttered. I stumbled out of the club and into a taxi. The moment I got home, I went straight to the bathroom to wash off the stench of smoke and alcohol. Otherwise, Noah would find out and start nagging me again. He was like an old man, always gently but relentlessly trying to correct my bad habits. I realized I had forgotten to grab a change of clothes. "Noah," I called out automatically, "can you bring me my pajamas?" Silence. I froze, the washcloth still in my hand. How could I have forgotten again? He was gone. The first time I came home drunk after we were married, I was a complete mess. I had thrown up all over myself. It was Noah who cleaned me up. When I realized what was happening, I instinctively tried to cover myself. "Noah... is it ugly?" I whispered. I knew how hideous my body was. The scars disgusted even me. But Noah just gently touched the scar on my brow, then pulled me into his arms. He bathed me with a tenderness I had never known, dried me off, and helped me into my pajamas. "Karina," he said softly, "your body isn't a test to be graded. Do you understand?" I looked at him, confused. "It belongs to you. You can use it to feel the warmth of the sun, to enjoy the thrill of running, to taste delicious food... Karina, don't ever judge yourself through someone else's eyes." It was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me. It was the first time someone had looked at my body without a trace of disgust. On impulse, I leaned in and kissed him. It was quick, light as a feather, almost a mistake. But to Noah, it was a grave error. For the first time, I saw anger and frustration on his gentle face, mixed with an emotion I couldn't decipher. In that instant, the warmth that had been blooming in my chest turned to ice. How could I have forgotten? He didn't want my love. But he was so kind, so gentle, that he was constantly, unintentionally, pulling me in. This was wrong. I pretended it had been an accident, a slip. "This tub is so slippery," I joked. "I almost chipped a tooth. You're going to have to pay me extra for this." Noah, ever the good sport, just nodded. "Okay. Whatever you say."
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