Because I got together with my stepbrother, I lost my right to inherit our family’s billionaire estate. He was beaten until he went completely deaf in one ear. We were both cast out, abandoned by everyone we knew. We swore to each other that we would at least love each other forever, just to make that tragic price worth it. But by the seventh year, we had morphed into a resentful couple with zero communication outside of angry sex. Every day, I would hysterically ask him for reassurance: "Do you still love me?" "Do you still love me?" "Do you still love me?" And he always chose to answer my questions with silence, turning his deaf ear toward me. On a beautifully sunny afternoon, I tracked him to a corner café. I watched him flash a soft, shallow smile at a pretty boy, his brow completely relaxed. Suddenly, I felt at peace. Aside from my memories, I took nothing with me when I left. No matter how many times that question is asked, my answer will always be the same: I still love you. So, I am letting you go. 01 From the moment I received the location pin from the private investigator to the moment I arrived. It only took me twelve minutes. I ran a red light. I didn't need to be this anxious. I had looked up the café on Yelp on the way over, and the top review caught my eye—Great spot for a romantic date. This was not a place to discuss business. I slammed my foot on the gas. I parked right outside the café. The very next second, my eyes locked onto the two of them. One was dressed in a tailored suit, the other in a cream-colored hoodie. My boyfriend, Tristan, and the shameless home-wrecker trying to seduce him. The two of them weren't even trying to hide it. They were sitting openly at a table on the sidewalk patio. They had ordered two slices of some ridiculously unhealthy cake, both placed right in front of hoodie-boy. The anger burned so hot it made my optic nerves ache. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the door handle with one hand and snatched my iced Americano from the cup holder with the other. It was full. Lots of ice. If I threw it, that manipulative, innocent-looking hoodie would be instantly ruined. But I didn't pull the door handle. Because I saw Tristan smile. My movements froze in place. Like a machine suffering from years of neglect, I could practically hear the rusty grinding of my own joints. Through the tinted car window, the sunlight was blinding. Tristan wore a faint, shallow smile. He looked completely relaxed, the tension gone from his forehead. He was so beautiful, like an oil painting in warm tones. Quiet, peaceful, bathed in soft sunlight. I don't know what the boy said to him, but Tristan's smile deepened. He even leaned forward, as if trying to hear him more clearly. I slowly opened my eyes. I was a voyeur hiding in the dark, peeking at Tristan's joy from the shadows of my car. My boyfriend was being thoroughly entertained by someone else. How long had it been since I saw him like this? Looking so happy and at ease. In a daze, I felt like I was seven years old again. My father was holding a strange woman's hand, and that woman was holding Tristan's hand. He was wearing a black-and-white striped sweater. You could tell at a glance he was a gentle, polite kid. My father said to me, "Call him your brother." At the time, I had a huge piece of candy in my mouth, so I mumbled, "Bubba." He smiled at me, just like he was smiling today. Soft and shallow. He corrected me with a grin: "It's brother." A freezing drop of condensation slid down the plastic cup and dripped onto my thigh, soaking a dark patch into my jeans. The hand holding the coffee had gone completely numb. I stared down at it blankly. Strange. It was just a few drops of water. So why did it feel like I was drowning? 02 It was midnight by the time Tristan came home. When he turned on the lights, he saw me sitting on the couch, hugging my knees. He paused for a fraction of a second, then ignored me. He took off his shoes and casually dropped his watch into the valet tray. He was too lazy to even ask why I was sitting in the dark. He walked over to the dining table, poured a glass of water, and drank it slowly. The bobbing of his Adam's apple was incredibly sexy. "Tristan." I took the initiative to break the silence. He didn't reply. He just gave me a side-eye. "How long has it been since we slept together?" His Adam's apple stopped moving. He set the glass down, hooked a long index finger into his collar, and loosened his tie impatiently. "I'm tired." An unsurprising answer. Lately, this was exactly how he rejected me every single time. I nodded. "Okay, new question." "I'm seriously exhausted. What is it..." "How long has it been since you smiled at me?" Tristan's voice cut off abruptly. He turned his head to look at me. I smiled. "What, are you too tired to even lift the corners of your mouth? Do I need to turn into a college kid in a hoodie for you to smile?" He stared blankly for a second. Then, very quickly, his face darkened. "How many times do I have to tell you? Stop stalking me!" "Yeah. I won't do it anymore." "Heh," Tristan sneered. "I won't believe a single word you promise." Saying that, he picked up the coat he had just taken off and turned toward the door. "I'm staying at the Chelsea penthouse tonight." Over the past two years, Tristan's company had exploded in value. We had long since escaped our initial poverty and desperation. We bought condos and villas, one after another. The days of getting kicked out and sleeping under bridges were never coming back. At first, I complained. It's just the two of us, how could we possibly live in all these places? He said every property had a different vibe, and we could rotate them. But from beginning to end, I only ever stayed in this first apartment. It was a bit small, but it was crammed full of our shared belongings. It was cozy. All those other properties just became convenient places for him to escape me. Watching him unhesitatingly put his clothes back on, I knew he was dead set on leaving tonight. But just as his hand gripped the doorknob, I opened my mouth. "Tristan." He would stop. I knew it. This was my ultimate weapon. Sure enough, Tristan stopped. He didn't turn around, waiting in absolute silence for what I had to say. "Let's do it." I heard him scoff softly. He twisted the doorknob to open it. "Please, Tristan." I added that, swallowing the second half of my sentence—After all, this is the last time. This time, he responded. He turned around, taking long strides toward me. He pressed a heavy hand against the back of my neck, forcing me face-down into the couch cushions. The crisp sound of a belt buckle unfastening echoed behind me, but in that exact moment, my mind started to wander. Would he be this rough with that boy? No, he would probably be incredibly gentle, carefully listening to his needs. My brain masochistically replayed the scene from this afternoon. Every frame was filled with Tristan's tenderness and care. I was violently yanked back to reality by a tearing pain. No foreplay. No affection. I kicked my legs in pain, but he just let out a cold laugh. "Isn't this what you wanted, Rowan? Are you satisfied now?" A strange thrill of pleasure bloomed within the pain. I buried my face in the sofa cushion, gasping for air as I stammered, "Tristan... do you still love me?" My answer was only a continuation of his rough movements. I gritted my teeth, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the fabric of the couch. "Do you remember... we promised to love each other into the next life." Tristan remained completely silent. "Tristan..." My voice trembled uncontrollably. "Being with me... do you regret it?" Tristan finished his task in silence, pulling away without a single ounce of lingering affection. "I know you heard me. Answer me." He straightened his clothes and coldly spat out a single word. "Boring." Hearing the front door slam shut, the tears I had suppressed the entire time finally fell. If Tristan had just glanced into the bedroom, he would have seen the large suitcase I had already packed. But now, I didn't want to take any luggage with me at all. I was taking the eighteen years of love, resentment, and history that I shared with Tristan. People say that if you just throw away all your yesterdays, your footsteps will become lighter. Tristan will definitely feel lighter now. I wish him well. 03 I wandered around aimlessly by myself. During this time, my text thread with Tristan was dead silent. Not a single message. On a whim, I booked a group tour to Iceland. This was supposed to be my 18th birthday trip. I had originally planned to elope and get a marriage license with Tristan on the way. But our family found out about our relationship, so we never went. Later, we were too broke to go. And after that, we had money but no time. Everyone says traveling clears the mind, but I just ended up thinking about Tristan the entire trip. Thinking about exactly how we ended up where we are today. Maybe when you fall into the mud, your most precious dignity becomes the cheapest thing you own. We went from never looking at price tags to bitterly calculating every single penny. Or maybe it was the holidays. Everyone else had big, loud, happy family reunions, while we only had each other in a cold, quiet room. These tiny, insignificant details slowly eroded the love I thought would never shake. I started getting paranoid, anxious, terrified that Tristan would regret it. I was the one who seduced him. I was the one who turned him gay. I was the one who dragged him down into this mess. I was the one who hysterically demanded he prove his love every day. I was the one who bomb-dialed him if he didn't text back within seconds. At first, Tristan would patiently coax me. I will always love you. Slowly, he started giving me silence. Tristan was deaf in his right ear. My enraged father had punched him so hard he destroyed it. Whenever Tristan didn't want to respond to me, he would turn his right side to me and pretend he couldn't hear. I could read his brush-offs perfectly. The more panicked I got, the harder I pushed him. And so, the tension between us grew. It got so tense that he needed to go to someone else just to relax, just to catch a breath of air. "So, you're going through a breakup, huh?" The recent college grad on my tour group suddenly asked me this one day. He claimed his roommates bailed on him, so he was on his graduation trip alone. Seeing that I was also alone, he unilaterally declared us travel buddies. He stuck to my side, buzzing in my ear non-stop. I really wanted to find his battery compartment and rip the batteries out. That's what I was thinking, completely annoyed, when he asked the question. We were nearing the end of the trip, and he had pretty much worn down whatever temper I had left. "Yeah." "Why did you guys break up?" I thought about it and gave my conclusion: "I pushed him too hard. I suffocated him." "Why'd you push him?" "Because... I loved him too much." The college grad thought for a second. "Sounds like unrequited love to me. That doesn't count as a breakup." I stopped walking. For the first time in days, a massive wave of emotion hit me. Standing in the freezing, sleet-filled air, my chest heaved violently, my face flushing red. I scared him. He frantically tried to backtrack: "Whoa, okay, I mean you loved each other! You loved each other, but feelings change as people grow. There's nothing you can do about it. Just gotta look forward, right?" Tristan must have loved me. If he didn't, then everything we went through over the years was nothing but a massive joke. When I got back to the hotel and plugged my phone in, there were still no new messages from Tristan. I swiped the screen with a blank expression and saw a text from an unknown number. [Your father is on his deathbed. If you have a shred of conscience left, come back and see him one last time.] 04 I hadn't seen my dad in seven years. He looked so terrible I almost didn't recognize him. His face was ashen, the color of wet cement. When he saw me, his dry, cracked lips trembled slightly, and his pupils shook. "Dad." I walked over and held his hand. My cousin was right behind me, not giving me an inch of space. Letting me see him one last time was definitely not my cousin's idea. He wasn't that kind. I rubbed my thumb over my dad's broad, calloused hand. This was the same hand that dragged me out of Tristan's bed. The same hand that beat Tristan deaf. Back then, Tristan's mother had already passed away. My dad was raising his stepson purely out of the goodness of his heart. He never expected that the reward for his kindness would be catching his two sons tangled in the same bed. He wanted to throw Tristan out. I refused to let him. So, I was thrown out right alongside him. Goaded on by my uncle's manipulations, my father drafted a new will in a fit of absolute rage, leaving the entire family estate to my cousin. He used to be so imposing, so powerful. How did he end up looking like this after just a few years? I wanted to ask him if he regretted it. "Dad..." The moment I opened my mouth, my throat seized up. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The past seven years felt like a dream. The stark white fluorescent lights above poured down on me, chilling me to the bone. I heard my own voice say, "...I regret it." Before I could even see my dad's reaction, my cousin hurriedly grabbed my shoulder. "Alright, that's enough. Don't disturb his rest." I was dragged out of the hospital room. The moment the door clicked shut, my cousin's expression turned ice-cold. He sneered at me. "The dust is already settled. Regretting it now won't do you any good." I hadn't even tried to contest the will, but he was already on the defensive. "It's hilarious, really. Weren't you acting all tough back then? It's barely been a few years and you guys broke up? I heard you even brought your new toy. Everyone knows how you people are—a month together is considered a golden anniversary..." I followed his gaze to the "new toy" he was talking about. The college grad was standing by the stairs, guarding my two large suitcases. Even though he had told me his name several times, I still couldn't remember it. He was supposed to have a layover in my city, but when he heard I had a family emergency, he insisted on tagging along. I walked up to him. He was intensely focused on scrolling through hotel apps. "Let's go to my house." I pulled out my phone to hail a ride. "If you don't stay there now, you'll completely lose the chance in a few days." 05 The old family estate was piled high with moving boxes. Clearly, someone was very impatient to move in. The college grad gasped, "Wow, you're a rich kid?" He paused, then delivered a brutal blow with a totally innocent face: "Then why couldn't you even bear to order the lobster soup in Iceland? You only ate noodles." I was too lazy to explain. He didn't understand. People who have actually starved develop a sick, obsessive attachment to cheap, high-calorie carbs. Was my attachment to Tristan a sickness like that too? My chest felt hollow. The boy's attention was quickly drawn to something else. He stood by the window, pointing down at the backyard gardens. "This is beautiful! Why is no one maintaining it?" I looked down. The Endless Summer hydrangeas were overgrown and drooping. The climbing trellises for the roses had collapsed, and the layered anemones were all dead. The first time I met Tristan, he was standing in front of a massive patch of anemones. I stumbled after him as we grew up, developing feelings I shouldn't have. I took this untouchable flower on a pedestal and dragged him, inch by inch, into a web woven of agony and ecstasy. What I called him changed over time. From "brother" to "husband," to "Tristan," and finally, back to "brother." After a fiercely passionate, burning love, we ended up just like this garden. A ruined mess. "Do you mind if I prune them tomorrow? Honestly, my childhood dream was to be a gardener." "I don't mind, but you'd be wasting your time." I let out a yawn and pulled back the bedcovers. "This place is changing hands immediately. The new owner hates this flashy Victorian style. He'll probably bulldoze it and rebuild." The college grad didn't care at all. He looked totally pumped. "That's fine, I just want to do it for fun." Unfortunately, he never got to have his fun. My father died that very night. He left in an incredible hurry. Maybe if I hadn't said that sentence, he could have lived a few days longer. I really am a jinx. 06 The college grad attended the funeral with me. He nudged me and whispered, "Why does it feel like everyone is staring at us?" I looked down and straightened the flower pinned to my chest. "Because I'm the unfilial son who didn't get a single penny. They're terrified I'm going to snap and make a scene." "Why didn't you get a penny?" I seriously tried to remember his name. But my brain was just screaming Why? Why? Why? over and over again. He was way too curious. I decided to just shut him up. "Because I'm gay. I fucked my stepbrother. When we got caught, we were literally inside each other in the exact room you slept in last night." It was wonderful. The world instantly went quiet. I looked over at my cousin's family. They wore expressions of deep sorrow, but their eyes were dancing with joy. My chaotic heart slowly settled, turning into a completely still, dead lake. But the college grad wouldn't stop throwing rocks into it. He leaned in close. "Is that him?" I shook my head. "I could never stoop that low." "No, man, I don't mean the cousin." My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, stiffly, I raised my head inch by inch until I met a gaze from across the lawn. I should have known. He would come. Tristan was holding a black umbrella, standing beneath a pine tree. He stood tall and straight, exuding a cold, distant aura that screamed stay away from me. Some of the nosier guests were already staring openly and whispering to each other. Tristan completely ignored them, staring directly at me. Even after half a month apart, I still couldn't control myself. My hands started shaking involuntarily, and soon my whole body was trembling. "Hey, are you okay?" I couldn't give an answer. Watching Tristan take a step toward us, I panicked and asked the boy like I was pleading for help: "Can I hold your hand?" "Hold hands?" He tilted his head. A second later, realization dawned on him. "Ohhh. You want to make him jealous." My freezing fingers were enveloped by a large, warm palm. A second later, Tristan stopped right in front of me. His eyes were dark and heavy. He stared straight ahead, completely ignoring the boy next to me as if he didn't even exist. The buzzing whispers around us swarmed in like flies. The boy must have felt awkward. He gave a gentle tug to pull his hand away. I gripped it tighter and looked Tristan right in the eye. "Tristan. I saw Dad one last time." Tristan gave a slight nod. "Did you speak to him?" "Two sentences." "That's good." His face remained entirely devoid of emotion, like we were discussing something completely trivial. I wanted to remind him that he had called my dad 'Father' for ten years too. The words reached my lips, but I swallowed them down. Tristan probably hated our family. Hated us, one by one, for making his life so difficult. But I still couldn't help asking, "Aren't you curious about what I said?" He replied, "As long as you said what you needed to say. No regrets." How could there be no regrets? My entire life was tightly bound by regrets I couldn't escape. The biggest regret of all was that right now, at this exact moment, there was no one left to stop us from loving each other. Our relationship was no longer at the mercy of anyone else's control. But one person had stopped loving. And the other had no choice but to let go. Tristan looked away, staring off into the distance, before bringing his eyes back to me. "When you're done playing around, come home." I froze. His tone made me feel like I was dreaming of our childhood. When I secretly followed my classmates to the arcade after school and played until the sun went down, Tristan would find me. He never scolded me, never rushed me. He just sat next to me and quietly did his homework. The second I showed the slightest hint of boredom, he would pack his bag, hold out his hand, and say calmly, "When you're done playing, let's go home." Then we would hold hands and walk home, stepping on our shadows under the streetlights, while our driver slowly trailed behind us in the car. When we got home, the housekeeper would have hot soup waiting, and Dad would have brought back snacks from his business trips. The road ahead was long, but we could see where we were going. But now. I lowered my head and smiled bitterly. "I don't have a home anymore." 07 After the college grad finished blow-drying his hair, he asked if I wanted to visit his city for a while. "Grad school doesn't start for a bit anyway. I'm just sitting around doing nothing, I can be your tour guide." "You're a really nice guy." I stared at the smoke detector on the hotel ceiling, trying to sound casual. "I don't get why your roommates bailed on you." He instantly looked aggrieved. "I didn't find out until after graduation that all three of them were gay! They didn't want to bring me along. And then I come out here and meet you, and you are too. Seriously... what is my luck?" "I don't get you guys. Are guys' lips softer or something? Why does every guy..." Muttering under his breath, he slid under the covers. The nightstand between our beds was narrow. The draft from him pulling up his blanket brushed across my cheek, rustling my hair. When the lights went out, my vision plunged into absolute darkness. During the day, the guy distracted me enough that the agonizing pain wasn't as overwhelming. But once it was quiet, my nerves were stretched and sliced open again. The noise in my chest was deafening. Too many mouths. Too many voices. That drowning sensation slowly crept up from my chest to my throat, suffocating my mouth and nose... I shot up in bed. "What's wrong?" The bedside lamp clicked on. I looked at his sleep-tousled face, and my heart slowly dropped back into my chest. "Nightmare?" I shook my head. "Then... should I leave the light on? Can you sleep?" I shook my head again. "Ah... do you want to talk? I can order some coffee and hang out with you..." "Do you want to try it?" Cut off completely out of nowhere, the boy blinked in confusion. "Try what?" "Guys' lips."
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