The power went out on the very first night I was alone with my arranged live-in fiancé. In the pitch black, I kicked him. "I want to take a bath." After he drew the bathwater, I lazily tugged on his sleeve: "...Don't leave. I'm afraid of the dark." 1 I woke up and realized I was eighteen again. My future husband-of-convenience was helping me grade my practice SATs. Staring at the page full of red Xs, he frowned deeply. "...You really think you're going to get into Stanford like this?" Ignoring the Stanford comment, I tilted my head, leaned in close, and asked curiously, "Mason, do you have a crush on me?" Scratch— His pen drew a long, harsh line across the paper. Mason stared at me, a mix of shock and embarrassment tumbling in his eyes. After a long moment, he scoffed, "And what if I do?" Tsk. Nineteen-year-old Mason was still too young to hide his emotions properly. I let out a soft "Oh," buried my head back in my scratch paper, and pretended nothing had happened. As I absentmindedly counted my wrong answers, Mason's low, strained voice sounded next to my ear, like he had been holding it in for ages. "Stella." He gritted his teeth, his eyes fierce. "...Stop messing with me." Hearing this, I turned to look at him, my expression unusually serious. "Mason—" He gripped his pen tightly. Me: "I'm hungry." Mason stood up abruptly, shot me an icy glare, and then—marched into the kitchen. I couldn't hold it in; I laughed out loud. 2 The year my dad brought him home, Mason was only fourteen. He was scrawny, wearing a faded, oversized button-down and dirty sneakers. He stood in our living room, pressing his lips together, trying desperately to hide the awkward anxiety in his eyes. I stood at the top of the stairs. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he was the first to look away. Gloomy, sensitive, fiercely proud yet deeply insecure. That was my first impression of him. When it came to his arrival, I wasn't exactly welcoming, but I didn't reject him either. As long as he wasn't my dad's illegitimate son, everything was fine. Mason was only a year older than me. He should have already started college, but because of me, he held back and repeated his senior year. After we got married, Mason became a man of few words, always busy with work, but incredible in bed. Aside from the lack of romance, you could say we had the perfect marriage. In the tenth year of our marriage of convenience... I accidentally discovered that he had been secretly in love with me for a very, very long time. The day after I found out, I woke up and found myself back in the summer after my high school graduation. So what now? Looking at Mason carrying a slice of cake over to me—standing tall, his profile sharp and handsome—I decided I didn't want a different husband. I kicked off my slippers and used my toes to hook around his waist. "I'm so tired." I lounged back in my chair, opening my mouth. "...Feed it to me." Mason's eyes were ice cold. We stared at each other for a long time, and he was the first to concede. Halfway through feeding me the cake, Mason jolted, grabbing my wandering foot. His voice was fierce and cold, laced with a heavy warning. "Stella. You better behave." Fine. I shrugged and pulled my foot back. Mason took a moment to compose himself, then with a stony face, continued feeding me the cake. I pushed his hand away and tilted my head at him. "You eat some too." Mason paused. His long, strong fingers gripped the fork as he took a bite of the remaining cake. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a tiny dab of frosting stuck to the corner of his mouth. Looks delicious. And I wasn't talking about the cake. Smiling wickedly, I looked at him with feigned curiosity. "Mason, you just used my fork... Does that count as an indirect kiss?" Mason gripped the handle of the fork, his face full of restraint. "Stella." I didn't let him finish, continuing on my own. "No, it doesn't." I leaned over, licked the frosting right off the corner of his mouth, and nodded in satisfaction. "...That is an indirect kiss." Mason's spine went completely rigid. A flash of intense embarrassment crossed his handsome face. His self-control was truly impressive. Even after all that, his eyes just got fiercer, but he didn't react physically. Oh, wait. Actually, there was a reaction. I decided to rein it in a bit, switching to verbal teasing instead of physical. "You're so mean, Mason." "You clearly liked it, didn't you?" Mason's jaw clenched tightly. "...Is this how you treat me?" "Stella." His expression looked pained. "I am not your toy." Tsk. Nineteen-year-old Mason was so fun to tease. I just couldn't help myself. "Of course you aren't a toy." I dropped the playful smile and looked at him seriously. "You're... my live-in fiancé, obviously." Perfect. That successfully pissed him off enough to make him storm out. Watching his slightly stiff, awkward gait as he walked away, I finally felt a little better. Honestly, I was still mad. He loved me, yet he never told me. Watching his retreating back, I let out a cold scoff. Fine. Keep holding it in, then. 3 Actually, Mason didn't need to worry. My SAT scores weren't as low as he expected; I could absolutely get into Stanford. Having lived through this once, I didn't change my major either. In my past life, he stubbornly insisted on going to Stanford with me to prove his worth to my parents. But now, I suddenly understood. Maybe he just purely wanted to keep me by his side? On the third day after submitting our college applications, Mason planned to return to his hometown. After all, he had been away for five years and it was time for a visit. Our memories overlapped. But what was different this time was that he had a plus-one. We crossed the country, and I shamelessly tagged along with him to a place called Oakhaven. It was an old, rustic little town. It didn't have the neon lights or the glitz and glamour of the city. It just had a few narrow roads and dim streetlights. Mason grabbed his luggage and stopped in front of an old house. The house was old but spacious. I knew it belonged to his late grandmother. Because his closest relatives had passed away too early, he was kicked around like a soccer ball when he was little, begging for scraps at other people's houses. That was why he looked so ragged the first time we met. Mason bustled around, cleaning the old house until it was spotless. I lay on a wicker chair, rocking back and forth, staring at the wooden carvings on the ceiling beams. I, Stella Sterling, had never done a day of hard labor in my life. But Mason was the epitome of a kid who had to grow up too fast. The old house hadn't been lived in for a long time, which I expected. What I didn't expect was that the power would go out on the very first night we were alone together. In the pitch black, I couldn't help but kick him. "I want to take a bath." Mason knew my habits. I bathed every single day, and a power outage wasn't going to stop me. He found some candles, lit them, and silently went to heat up water for me. After he prepared the bathwater, he turned to leave. I lazily tugged on his sleeve: "...Don't leave. I'm afraid of the dark." Mason's back, illuminated by the candle he was holding, went stiff. It was incredibly quiet, and faintly, I could hear the sound of him grinding his teeth. "...Stella, do you have any idea what you're saying?" "I do." I slipped off my pleated skirt and casually tossed it into the wooden hamper nearby. "...I said I'm afraid of the dark." The sound of fabric brushing against skin echoed softly. Mason's breathing noticeably quickened. When he spoke again, his voice carried a heavy warning. "Stella!" Tsk. I hear you, I hear you. Both ears work fine. Yelling so fiercely, yet standing there with his back to me, not daring to move an inch. I gathered my hair up, paying him no mind. I scooped up some water and poured it over my shoulders. Setting everything else aside, Mason was incredibly good at getting the bathwater to the perfect temperature. But hearing the splashing water, he was probably going crazy. Hehe. He probably never expected me to actually go through with it. 4 I admit, I had been bullying Mason quite frequently these past few days. He seemed to be angry every single day. But I was used to it. After dealing with him for so many years, Mason had never smiled at me. Whether it was before or after we got married, he always called me by my full name, "Stella Sterling." It was genuinely irritating. In the backyard, Mason was sitting by the oak tree, washing clothes by hand. The muscles in his arms were defined but not overly bulky. The soapy suds sticking to his skin inexplicably gave off a domestic, husband-material vibe. He looked healthy, his skin slightly tanned, radiating youthful energy, yet his eyes remained fierce and brooding. The Mason from ten years in the future? I definitely couldn't outplay him. But the Mason right in front of me was only nineteen. Fresh, green, and radiating awkward youth. He was as stubborn as a wild mustang, and aside from bucking, he didn't know what else to do. If I were actually the eighteen-year-old Stella, I really wouldn't have known how to handle him. But I wasn't. Taking my time, I strolled toward the oak tree. I stopped right behind him and then shamelessly hopped onto his back. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I couldn't help but complain in his ear: "...Mason, I really, really hate it when you call me by my full name." I looked distressed. "Why don't you call me 'Babe'? Or 'Sweetheart'? That works too." Mason's back was as rigid as a steel board. His right hand tightly gripped a wad of fabric, the veins bulging on the back of his hand. Taking a deep breath, he stood up. "Stella!" Here we go again. I ignored it, dangling off his back and swaying. Nuzzling his cheek, I kept teasing him: "...Mason, call me 'Honey,' please? I'll buy you candy." Mason didn't dare touch my legs; he only dared to issue verbal warnings. "Stella, don't push it!" Stella, stop messing with me. Stella, you better behave. Stella, don't push it. Those were the only three phrases he ever used with me, recycled over and over again. But I always turned a deaf ear. Hugging his neck, I was relentless. "Mason, you're not allowed to be so mean to me! I don't like it!" Mason didn't respond. See? He was mad again. Mason didn't even reach back to support me; he just let me dangle there as he marched straight into the house. He pried my hands off with one hand and tossed me onto the bed. Zero chivalry. Dissatisfied, I rolled around on the bed twice. I hooked my finger through the strap of a flimsy piece of fabric on the edge of the bed and tossed it at his chest, my tone entirely entitled. "...Wash this too." Mason instinctively caught it. Looking at the fabric in his hands, his face turned a chaotic mix of red and pale green. I looked the picture of innocence. "I can't touch cold water, you know that." He held it in, and held it in again. Finally, he turned around and obediently walked back out to the yard. "Mason." I picked up a book from the nightstand and called out to him. Flipping to the page I had dog-eared last night, I didn't forget to remind him: "...That thing in your left hand. Don't wash it with my clothes." I crinkled my nose, looking incredibly serious. "Ugh... the smell of your 'alone time' is way too strong. I hate it." "Stella!" Mason spun around in shock, his neck flushing bright red as he looked at me in disbelief. "Do you have absolutely no shame?!" Oh? Is he embarrassed and angry now? I tilted my head, looking at the bundle of light blue fabric in his left hand. "Actually— "I prefer you in tight briefs." Even though that style would probably be a bit uncomfortable for him. But what did that have to do with me... right? 5 Mason had been ignoring me for three days. Even though he still acted like a devoted caretaker, willingly bringing me food and water, the moment I opened my mouth, he would turn and walk away. Standing in the yard, he looked as rigid as a small pine tree. After having so many deep, intimate conversations with him in the future, I obviously knew that briefs were definitely uncomfortable for him. Thinking about it, I licked my lips. I was kind of craving him. So I called out, "Mason." Mason turned and walked away. This time, he walked straight out the front gate. I pouted, slowly walked to the door, and took a look outside. He was nowhere to be seen. I didn't turn back. Instead, I headed to the yard next door. The little girl with pigtails was doing her homework on a stool. When she looked up and saw me, her eyes instantly lit up. "Stella!" Mason definitely wouldn't have guessed that if he wouldn't play with me, I could find someone else. In the few short days he refused to acknowledge me, I had built a deep friendship with the little girl next door. Daisy was adorable, and she loved coming over to play with me. Of course. Only when Mason wasn't around. It was scorching hot lately, but Oakhaven was near the water and densely wooded, making it much cooler than the city. Daisy was almost done with her homework. She had made plans with her friends to go catching frogs and picking wild blackberries by the creek that afternoon. Seeing that I was bored, she loyally invited me along. Catching frogs? Sounded fun. I accepted the invitation and happily tagged along. I spent the entire afternoon with the kids. We flipped over every rock in the shallows, caught a whole bucket of tadpoles, and picked a massive basket of blackberries, having the time of our lives. When I got home at dusk, I was met with Mason's wrath. He stood in the doorway, his face ashen, looking like he wanted to eat me alive. "Stella!" Holding two lotus flowers I had picked, I brushed past him, letting my skirt intentionally graze his calf. I carefully placed the flowers in a water basin, my tone careless. "...What?" Mason's expression instantly darkened even more, but his tone leveled out. "Why did you run off without saying anything? Do you know I've been looking for you all afternoon?" Why didn't I say anything? Because you ran away! If you run, I run. I gave a dismissive "Oh" and kept arranging my flowers. Mason suddenly exploded. Before I could even put the last flower in the water, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the house. Stumbling into the bedroom, I was thrown onto the bed. Looking at Mason's face, my eye twitched, and I didn't hesitate to scramble toward the corner of the bed. But Mason was faster. He reached out, grabbed my ankle, and pulled me back. Pinning both my wrists with one hand and pressing his knee against my legs, his voice was thick with fury. "...Stella, do you know how high and deep the mountains are out here? Do you know what happens if you get taken by human traffickers?! Do you want to be chained up in a basement and turned into an incubator?!" I squirmed, realizing I was completely pinned and couldn't break free. I was going to reasonably explain, "I'm an adult, I have my own judgment," but what actually came out of my mouth was, "None of your business." Mason let out an exasperated laugh, nodding continuously. "...Stella, you're really something." My vision was forcefully spun around. Mason aggressively flipped me onto my stomach before I could even react. Smack— A sharp sting radiated from my backside straight to my brain. One after another. This was the first time in my life I had ever been spanked. I never expected the person to do it would be Mason. He was too strong; I couldn't break free. I clamped my mouth shut, stubbornly refusing to beg for mercy. His hand was fast and ruthless, refusing to stop. Until finally, it hurt too much to bear, and I cried out his name: "Mason... it really hurts." My voice was already breaking with tears. I didn't actually want to cry. But it hurt so much, I couldn't help it. Mason's hand stopped. His grip loosened, and I could finally move again. My backside was burning. With my eyes closed, I slowly reached back, my trembling fingers brushing against it. A wave of intense pain shot straight to my brain. Tears dripped steadily onto the bedsheets. Mason didn't say a word. Furious and terrified, I pulled the blanket over myself, refusing to look at him. "...Get out. I don't want to see you right now!" My voice was muffled and completely lacked any threat. But Mason actually left. He walked out without saying a single word. An overwhelming wave of grievance washed over me, and I cried even harder. Once I started sobbing out loud, I finally felt a little better. I hadn't eaten dinner tonight. But I was so exhausted that, crying as I was, I didn't even realize when I fell asleep. 6 When I woke up the next day, it was broad daylight. I sniffed myself—a faint smell of sweat mixed with a heavy scent of medicinal ointment. I smelled terrible. Frowning in disgust, I grabbed my clothes and headed to the rustic bathroom. Mason wasn't there, but the bathwater was already prepared. I didn't refuse. After all, in his eyes, I, Stella Sterling, would never mistreat myself for anyone's sake. And I couldn't deny it; it was the truth. The pain was still stubbornly there. I managed to finish my bath with a grimace, finally feeling much better. As I stepped out drying my hair, breakfast was already laid out on the table, but Mason was still nowhere to be seen. I let out a cold laugh. Tsk. Trying to play the silent, devoted house-elf? If Mason thought he could get my forgiveness this easily, he was dead wrong. My parents were business people; they were master calculators. I was their flesh and blood. Did he think I'd take a loss? While I was showering, I had thought it through. Yes, I had taken the joke too far yesterday, but Mason hitting me was crossing a line, and he had to pay for it. Thinking about it, a surge of resentment welled up inside me. How dare Mason spank me—and in such a humiliating spot, too! Continuing to dry my hair, pretending I hadn't seen the food, I marched angrily into my room and slammed the door shut. Here was my strategy: refusing to eat his food was my declaration of war. For the next two days, I used the bathwater he prepared and wore the clothes he washed, but I absolutely refused to eat the food he cooked, and I refused to speak to him. This wasn't just throwing a tantrum. This was psychological warfare. Dealing with someone like Mason required extreme measures. Push him into a corner so he had nowhere to run, then give him the cold shoulder, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It was a battle of wills. My confidence stemmed from the fact that Mason cared about me. Sure, my stomach would suffer a bit, but obviously, the results would be highly effective. Mason was the first to break. On the evening of the second day of my hunger strike, he finally appeared before me. "Stella." He stood there holding a bowl of porridge, suppressing his anger. "...Are you trying to starve yourself to death?" I turned my back to him, lying on my side on the bed, treating his words like wind passing my ears. The room fell silent, leaving only the sound of our breathing—one steady, one erratic. After a long time, Mason's voice broke the silence again. "Stella." His voice was very soft, and I heard him say, "...You win, Stella." I rolled over and lay flat on my back. I gave him a response, but not much of one. Seeing my attitude, Mason simply gave up struggling. He asked in defeat, "Stella, what exactly do you want?" I hid my secret delight, my expression flat. "...Will you give me whatever I want?" After a moment of silence, Mason gave a difficult nod. "Yes. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you." I rolled over again, leaning over the edge of the bed, my tone fierce: "Apologize to me!" Mason: "...I'm sorry." I was somewhat satisfied. My shoulders instantly slumped, my voice weak. "Hurry up and feed me. I don't even have the strength to hold the bowl." This was completely different from the scenario I had envisioned. I originally wanted to string him along a bit more and negotiate terms, but I was just too hungry to maintain the aloof facade. No choice. Food is life. Starving for two whole days was already my absolute limit. Mason pressed his lips together tightly, holding back his temper as he fed me. "...Didn't you even know how to sneak into the kitchen for a snack?!" "I would never!" I swallowed a large mouthful of porridge, my tone aggrieved yet defiant. "Even if I starved to death, I, Stella Sterling, would never bow down for a bowl of rice!" Thinking about the brutal beating I had endured, seeing Mason made me angry all over again. "...I'm still mad, Mason. How could you be so mean to me!" "You were the one not listening first." Mason wiped my mouth for me. "And your attitude wasn't right either." "Then you still shouldn't have spanked me!" I emphasized repeatedly, my tone firm. "I am an adult. No one is allowed to treat me like that, and neither are you!" Thinking for a moment, I added, "...Of course, if it's a little kink while we're sleeping together, that's fine, but to be fair, I get to hit you back." "Stella!" Mason was embarrassed and furious once again. "Shut up!" So boring. I was just making a joke. Mason has absolutely zero sense of humor. Full and satisfied, Mason went to wash the dishes. His movements were fast. By the time I finished showering and came out, he had already cleaned up. At this point, I had regained my usual calm rationality. Lying on my stomach on the bed, I called out without hesitation: "Mason!" He walked over, his tone unhappy: "What?" "Oh, nothing." I casually lifted the hem of my nightgown, bossing him around with complete entitlement. "Hurry up and apply my ointment." Mason snapped his eyes shut with lightning speed, veins popping on his forehead. "Stel-la, Ster-ling!" He gritted out my name through clenched teeth, his voice full of anger and warning. Tsk, playing the prude. He didn't even know how many times he had touched me over the last two days, yet here he was acting all innocent. But I decided not to push him any further. After all, he was only nineteen. Getting mad all the time is bad for your health. "Okay, okay, no ointment then." Adjusting my dress, I sat up straight, looking as proper as could be. "...Could my man please dry my hair for me?" Mason finally lowered his hands. Perhaps because the title was a bit embarrassing, he looked a little flushed with frustration. "Stella." He grabbed the hairdryer and walked over to me, plugging it in while muttering, "You need to dial it back!" I just said "Oh" and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Stella!"
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