It was the fifth year of my marriage when I met my eighteen-year-old husband. He sized me up, a puzzled frown on his face. “Why would I marry you ten years from now?” I asked him what he wanted to do. The young man, with an air of complete conviction, replied: “Get a divorce. The sooner, the better. I can’t let my future self marry someone I don’t love.” I nodded, agreeing to his terms, and began to subtly distance myself from Matt. Until one day, I left work early and heard a violent brawl erupting from inside the house. “Spreading rumors about me? You little punk, you think a thirty-three-year-old me can’t see through your eighteen-year-old schemes?” A younger voice roared back, “You’re ancient! Why do you get to eat so well?” “Hate your future self, just die!!” My response: ? 1 The first time I saw Matt, I knew something was off. He was so... young. Too young. None of the effortless poise, none of the deep, unfathomable cunning I was accustomed to. He sat sprawled on the couch like a mere kid, his face still holding a touch of youthful plumpness that softened his otherwise sharp features, making them less intimidating. His first words stunned me. “Who are you?” “Laura,” I replied. Matt wore a casual hoodie and designer sneakers. The arrogance on his face seemed genuine, not a pretense. It was obvious. Either my husband of five years had de-aged, or this was his identical twin brother. I pondered for a moment, then pointed directly to our huge wedding portrait. “As you can see, I’m married to you.” Matt exploded. He shot to his feet, already showing the subtle bearing of someone used to authority. “Married?” “To you?” His tone dripped with disdain, his words laced with shock, his expression pure disgust. I subtly pulled my gaze away, calmly stating, “It’s my turn to ask questions.” Matt seemed taken aback by my composure, visibly pausing. His eyes lingered on my face a little too long before he cleared his throat, rubbing his nose and looking away. “Uh… go on, ask.” Three minutes later, I understood. The person before me was an eighteen-year-old Matt. No wonder he was so arrogant. I couldn’t help but stare intently at this younger version of my husband. It was, honestly, a fascinating experience. Matt rarely spoke of his past, and all I knew of him came from our married life. Perhaps my gaze was too open, too undisguised, because the Matt on the couch grew visibly flustered. He awkwardly drew in his long legs, trying to focus on the faint music playing in the background. After several attempts, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, can you stop staring at me?” I peered down at his face. His fair skin was flushed with pink, even his earlobes were red. As he wished, I turned away expressionlessly to get fruit from the fridge. Despite the shock, I was adapting well. Still, I found it hard to imagine what would happen if the two Matts ever met. Lost in my thoughts, the young Matt suddenly spoke. “Why would my future self marry you?” I was speechless for a moment. The boy’s gaze was direct, even somewhat scrutinizing. Before I could answer, Matt continued, “Knowing myself, my future self wouldn’t like someone like you.” I instinctively retorted, “What ‘like me’?” Matt’s next words caught in his throat. His lips parted, then closed again. I watched as his face reddened and his eyes darted away. Finally, unable to articulate anything coherent, Matt gave up, throwing caution to the wind. “Just… your kind of flashy!” Flashy? Me, flashy!? I had braced myself for him to call me ugly, or old, but flashy? Maybe I had been a little headstrong and bold in my youth, but ever since marrying Matt, I’d transformed into the perfect daughter-in-law, a pillar of refined grace. “Flashy” was the last word anyone would use to describe me now. My expression soured, and my pleasant tone vanished. “So, what exactly do you want?” Matt, seemingly oblivious to my change in mood, didn’t miss a beat. At my question, he jumped to his feet, a strange mix of excitement and joy in his voice. “Divorce, of course!” Then, he added, almost as an afterthought, “The sooner, the better. I can’t bear the thought of my future self marrying a woman he doesn’t love.” 2 I pretended to agree. The main thing was to stabilize this eighteen-year-old Matt first. I settled him in a small villa I owned, handing him a phone. “You can reach me anytime, but you must not show yourself to the other Matt.” The young Matt visibly scoffed. “You care about him that much?” I blinked. “…” It wasn’t a matter of caring. It was a matter of two identical people existing in the same reality. Anyone would find it absurd. Besides, Matt was currently preoccupied with a crucial international partnership. I didn’t want to disrupt his work or burden him with this sudden, bewildering appearance of his younger self. Thankfully, young Matt agreed. But he had one condition. I was shocked. “You want to hug me??” Matt, as if stating the obvious, said, “What’s the big deal? You hug him all the time, don’t you?” I was a bit slow to react, struggling to keep up with a teenager’s logic. But young Matt didn’t wait. He simply pulled me into his arms. His hand on my waist felt incredibly warm. I squirmed uncomfortably, but Matt held me tighter. He seemed to take a deep breath, then slowly said: “He’s thirty-three now, isn’t he? Does he smell like an old man? I bet I smell pretty good, right?” He? Oh, older Matt. “...He’s only thirty-three, not fifty-three,” I murmured. Before I left, Matt frowned, reiterating, “Remember, divorce him quickly.” I nodded dismissively, thinking to myself: He is you, you know. 3 When I rushed home, older Matt had just finished showering. He stood leaning against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his waist, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he tilted his head at me. “Busy day?” I nodded subtly, fabricating a quick excuse. “My studio just landed a big project. It’s been quite hectic.” A simple exchange. After that, we both fell into a comfortable silence, a habit of ours. Matt looked down at me, lost in thought. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask. This had been the norm for our five years of marriage. People often said the honeymoon phase faded after three years, and a couple’s relationship would gradually morph into a familial bond, with communication dropping off a cliff. But Matt and I had been like this since the start of our marriage. To put it nicely, we were respectful partners. To put it less so, we were glorified roommates. Our routine was a symbolic check-in, then we’d each go about our own business. After I came out of the bathroom, I noticed Matt was lost in thought. I raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. He was usually a master of time management, always maximizing every moment. It was unusual to see him simply daydreaming. I slipped into bed. Matt, as was his custom, turned off the lights. My mind was a whirlwind. One moment, I was thinking of the eighteen-year-old Matt. The next, a headache brewed at the thought of the word “divorce.” Did I really want a divorce? 4 Matt and I met five years ago. I had just graduated a year prior and, with startup funds from my family, established my design studio. Attending a gala to expand my client base, Matt approached me, complimenting the necklace I wore. At the time, Matt was known for his extensive romantic history and numerous rumored conquests. A man with many companions naturally purchased a lot of jewelry. I, harboring intentions to profit from him, exchanged contact information. But strangely, for a full six months, Matt never bought a single piece of jewelry from my studio. I felt all those dinners with him had been a waste. So, I stopped initiating contact and silently labeled him a cheapskate. About three months after our last contact, my studio ran into financial trouble. My pride wouldn’t allow me to ask my family for money. While scrambling for investors, I bumped into Matt at a dinner party. I pretended not to know him, playing along with the charade. Matt, too, followed my lead. After the party, I squatted by the roadside, sobering up. Matt’s car pulled up beside me. He got out and squatted down with me, his voice gentle. “Miss Laura, I’ve always wanted to ask, what did I do wrong for you to block my number?” I ignored him. Matt, despite being brushed off, didn’t seem annoyed. “Alright, then let’s say it was my fault. May I have the honor of driving you home?” I agreed. In the car, Matt and I discussed my studio’s operations. Though I considered him stingy, his insights into my problems were remarkably sharp. I listened, mesmerized, my eyes unconsciously drawn to his profile. Frankly, Matt had every right to be considered the most eligible bachelor in high society. I wondered who would finally make this playboy settle down. Perhaps my gaze was too obvious; Matt chuckled softly. “Laura, reel in your stare. I’m driving.” My face flushed, and I looked away, belatedly embarrassed. I intended to doze off, but Matt suddenly asked, “What were you thinking about just now?” Perhaps I was truly drunk. I actually blurted out my honest thoughts. “I was wondering who you’d marry.” Matt abruptly pulled the car to the side of the road. I looked at him, puzzled, then heard him say, “Laura, if it were possible, I’d really like to marry you.” At that moment, I must have lost my mind. Without thinking, I asked, “What are the benefits of marrying you?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt I sounded too mercenary. I was about to explain, but Matt, after a serious pause, spoke. “Money, resources, social standing — I can give you all of it.” “And if that’s not enough, I’m willing to let you step on everything I have to get what you desire.” 5 Perhaps it was my father’s constant belittling during my childhood that made me so desperate to prove myself. Or perhaps Matt’s charm truly was captivating. I agreed. He seemed afraid I’d change my mind and, the very next day, took me to get our marriage license. I was absently reliving the events of five years ago. I didn’t even notice when Matt had moved closer until his hand suddenly closed around my thigh, jolting me back to reality. His lips brushed my neck. “The collaboration is wrapping up. It’s been a while since we… you know.” “A while?” Was he referring to four days? That seemed like a perfectly normal frequency to me. In the past, I might have readily agreed. But today, with the eighteen-year-old Matt occupying my thoughts, I was worried he might suddenly cause some trouble. So, I stopped his hand from moving further down. “I’m so tired.” Matt’s movements paused. After a few seconds of silence, he pulled my nightgown back down. “Alright. How about we go on a vacation once I’m done with work?” I neither agreed nor refused, instead falling back on my usual noncommittal reply: “We’ll see.” 6 Laura slept. But Matt couldn’t. He had always possessed a keen sense of smell. The moment Laura returned, he’d detected the scent of another man’s cologne on his wife. If it had been a women’s fragrance, he might have dismissed it. But it was distinctly male cologne. Usually, men’s fragrances weren’t overpowering, yet the scent on Laura lingered even after she’d come home. Had they shaken hands? Or embraced? A long-dormant surge of possessiveness stirred within Matt. He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, then carefully slipped out from under the covers. On the cologne shelf in his walk-in closet sat a familiar bottle. It was a scent he’d favored in his wilder youth. Without a second thought, Matt tossed it into the trash. “Disgusting.” “Appalling taste.” Having finally disposed of the offensive cologne, Matt returned to the bedroom. He gently pulled Laura into his arms. His wife. His wife. He took a deep breath. It’s fine, Matt reassured himself. Laura loves him. She’d actively sought his contact information the first time they met. Later, she’d initiated invitations multiple times. Even after their initial misunderstanding, she always showed up at events where he was present. Laura had even been willing to marry him. If this wasn’t love, then Matt’s perception was as reliable as an old, worn-out shoe. So, what he needed to do was be patient. Give Laura enough time to resolve whatever trouble was threatening their marriage. This cologne was a blatant provocation from the outsider. If Matt were to confront Laura over a mere scent, he would be falling right into the third party’s trap. He wasn’t that foolish. But if his wife truly became entangled in external chaos, Matt wouldn’t hesitate to use less than savory methods to teach that presumptuous kid a lesson. 7 The next morning, Matt had already left for work. I slowly went through my morning routine, eating breakfast. When I finally picked up my phone, it was bursting with notifications. Assuming it was urgent client matters, I quickly checked, then couldn’t help but roll my eyes. From the moment I’d arrived home last night until now, young Matt had sent hundreds of messages, non-stop. At first, they were normal, asking a variety of random things. But as time went on, they grew increasingly peculiar. I even suspected he was trying to pry into every detail of my life. Just before I fell asleep, the messages had peaked. [Are you asleep? Are you with him? Are you sharing a bed?] [Why aren’t you replying, Laura? What are you doing?] [You need to remember you’re getting a divorce. Be modest and proper, got it?] [LAURA!!!] ... It was too much. My eyes stung from scrolling. I skimmed through them, finally letting out a soft scoff. “Childish,” I mumbled. 8 I’d initially assumed young Matt’s behavior was merely due to his sudden displacement in time. But I was wrong. Later that afternoon, I finished a meeting. Walking into my office, I found Matt sprawled on my single sofa. He’d changed clothes today, opting for a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, the top two buttons undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. I paused. That face, paired with this attire, made him look almost exactly like older Matt. Except for his eyes. Older Matt’s eyes held a restrained depth, a quiet wisdom forged by years and experience. Young Matt’s eyes, however, were wide open, like a raging fire, making one feel disoriented. Noticing my unwavering gaze, he grumbled, “What are you staring at?” “Never seen a young man before?” Okay. Still arrogant as ever. “...What are you doing here?” I asked, exasperated. “You dumped me in that rundown villa for a day and a night, didn’t even reply to a single message.” Young Matt strolled over to me, then casually plopped himself onto my desk, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m here to supervise your divorce progress.” My temple throbbed. “Get down.” “No.” “Get down.” “Won’t.” I took a deep breath, reaching out to pull him. But he used the momentum, pulling me into his lap. The familiar scent of cologne filled my nostrils—a youthful aroma, a burning body heat, and a thumping heartbeat. I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine. “Laura,” he murmured against my hair, his voice muffled, “you smell like him.” I struggled to get up. “Of course, we live together.” “No.” Young Matt’s arms tightened, holding me in a vice-like grip. “I forbid you from smelling like him.” I let out a mirthless laugh. “Matt, are you out of your mind?” Perhaps it was truly ill-advised to speak ill of someone behind their back. The moment I cursed him, Matt’s phone rang. I shot young Matt a warning glare, then answered. “Should I pick you up today? I booked a restaurant, heard the view is quite nice.” I was about to answer when I felt a sudden chill at my waist. My eyes darted down. I saw a mischievous, playful grin on young Matt’s face. In his hand, he held my fountain pen. The icy touch made me instinctively flinch, but the boy didn’t stop. As my heart hammered in my chest, the pen slid down my side. My breath hitched. I stared at young Matt in disbelief. He, however, calmly mouthed a command: “Reject him.” Then, the pen poked me threateningly. “...My appetite hasn’t been great lately. You should go eat by yourself.” A long silence stretched on the other end. Finally, Matt simply said, “Alright.” 9 After finally coaxing young Matt back to the villa, I prepared to collapse onto my bed at home. Opening the door, the house was dark. Matt must have gone to that restaurant alone. A strange pang of guilt pricked at my heart. I sighed heavily. As I made my way towards the stairs, passing the sofa, Matt’s voice suddenly startled me. “Laura.” “Your assistant said you left at six, but it’s nine now.” A cold sweat broke out. I quickly explained, “Had dinner with a client.” My tone was even, my excuse perfect. He shouldn’t suspect anything… right? Matt didn’t say anything, just nodded faintly. My heart pounding, I went to shower. Halfway through, the door suddenly opened. My response: ? Matt walked directly in, standing by my side, staring at me. His gaze made my scalp tingle. I tried to find a topic to ease the tense atmosphere. “Cough, cough… Did you eat?” Matt’s reply was concise. “No.” I was speechless. I was about to suggest he get something to eat, but the next second, Matt pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my wet neck. “Didn’t eat, but I want something else.” ... I was eventually carried out of the bathroom. Matt seemed to be in a slightly better mood, but not by much. I lay sprawled on the bed, watching him move about. The phone on the table suddenly buzzed. Before I could reach for it, a large hand picked it up ahead of me. Matt’s voice, cool and indifferent, resonated through the room. “Young Matt? New friend?” 10 My already muddled brain immediately froze. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Just as Matt waited for me to speak, the call disconnected. I let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, my relief was premature. I opened my mouth, about to explain, when the phone buzzed again. A message popped up on the screen. [Laura, I can’t sleep. Are you asleep?] Matt’s gaze fell on the screen. Silence. A deathly silence. My heart stopped. An inexplicable sense of guilt and remorse washed over me. I tried to explain, but Matt suddenly interrupted. “Should I reply?” He didn’t even give me a chance to answer. “Your new friend seems to need some melatonin. I don’t mind ordering him some delivery.” My response: “…” Damn it. If Matt saw the delivery address was my villa, that would be disastrous. So, I calmly said, “It’s fine. Just a casual friend. I’ll reply tomorrow.” Matt’s expression remained placid, showing no emotion. But his next move sent a shiver down my spine. “Wait!” “Didn’t you say just once?!” 11 The next morning, Matt was already dressed in a suit. I looked at him, puzzled. Matt smiled gently. “I’m going on a business trip, about a week.” A business trip? A week? Although Matt often had impromptu business trips, this one seemed unusually sudden. Besides, hadn’t he just finished a major international collaboration? A sense of unease settled in my stomach, but seeing Matt’s refined profile, I didn’t say anything. I simply whispered, “Take care of yourself, don’t overwork.” As soon as I spoke, I realized how hoarse my voice was. I winced. Matt finished tying his tie and walked towards me, inexplicably caressing my collarbone. “I will. You rest up.” Matt left. I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. After a while, I checked my phone. Surprisingly, young Matt hadn’t sent any messages since the one last night. He’d been completely silent. I considered it, then typed a reply: [I fell asleep very early last night, didn’t see your message.] Just as I sent it, the doorbell rang. Opening the door, Matt stood outside, dressed in a suit. I was a little surprised. “Why are you back? Did you forget something?” The Matt at the door stared intently at me, his gaze slowly moving from my face down to my neck and collarbone. I looked at him, bewildered. Matt’s jawline was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. He suddenly reached out, tracing a path from my neckline to the hollow of my throat, then lightly pressed on the hickey there. His voice was chillingly quiet. “Laura, is this what you meant by divorce?” 12 The moment the words left his mouth, I realized the person before me wasn’t older Matt. But why… Why was he wearing a suit!? Perhaps sensing the shock in my eyes, Matt slowly withdrew his hand. “Oh, just a suit I bought randomly.” I couldn’t help but marvel: They really are the same person; even their taste in suits is identical! Matt seized on the flaw in my words, his tone casual. “He left?” I stepped aside to let him in, softly humming in affirmation. As soon as I closed the door, Matt pulled me into his arms, his palm pressing hard against my lower back, kneading it meaningfully. His voice was deep. “You’re so unwilling to divorce him? What exactly do you see in him, huh?” I suddenly had a headache because of this kid. Before I could think of a suitable excuse, Matt unleashed his sharp tongue. “Do you like him because he’s old? Because his legs aren’t nimble anymore? Because in a few years, his birthday cake will be replaced with a longevity bun? Or because he gets foam at the corners of his mouth if he talks too much?” My response: “…” What a poisonous tongue. Who talks about themselves like that? Seeing my silence, Matt’s pretense of composure finally crumbled. “You like him that much?!” Like? I couldn’t help but fall into contemplation. From the very beginning, our marriage wasn’t built on love. Yet, over these five years, Matt had given me all the prestige of being Mrs. Thorne. I’d climbed step by step, using him as a stepping stone, achieving everything I desired. But, as they say, marriage is where novelty goes to die. Even without love, I’d grown tired. Tired of the mundane, day-in, day-out routine. Matt suddenly bit me, jolting me back to attention. He snarled, “Laura, do you know the flower language of sweet pea?” I rubbed my aching cheek, instinctively asking, “What?” Matt enunciated each word: “Too old to keep.” It wasn’t until the young man’s ardent, clumsy kiss descended that I fully grasped Matt’s intentions. Oh. He was stealing from his own home. I stared at the handsome young face so close to mine, feeling a momentary disorientation. Was this the arrogance and aggressiveness of Matt in his youth? I was in a daze. I suddenly recalled the rumors before our marriage: charming, passionate, untamed. But the Matt before me now was pure, childish, and petty. This stark contrast was strangely intoxicating. Unconsciously, I ran my hand through his soft hair, giving his earlobe an encouraging squeeze. To be honest, I didn’t have a preference for virgins. But if I could choose, who wouldn’t prefer a blank slate? Besides, this was still Matt, just from a different timeline. Essentially, the same person. I thought, I need to add something new to my dull life.
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