I was always the good boy growing up. If someone was kind to me, I followed their lead. When Meredith walked away from her family’s multi-billion-dollar empire and said, "Let's get married," I said, "Okay." When she repeatedly shielded her eccentric young assistant after the wedding, saying, "He's just young and foolish, let it go," I said, "Okay." Only much later did I realize that the person who needed to be best to me was myself. So, I decided to start listening only to my own voice. … The morning I received my job offer from a school two thousand miles away, Meredith was getting ready to head out. She looked at me casually and said, "Zack said your soup was great. Make some more tomorrow." "Hell no," I said. Meredith paused, her fingers freezing on the silver thread of her sleeve. "What?" I looked up, keeping my voice gentle. "I said, I know." She frowned slightly, then looked back down to finish adjusting her diamond cufflinks, which caught the morning light. "Don't overthink it," she added, her voice flat. "My stomach was acting up yesterday, and I didn't want the soup to go to waste, so I let him have it. It wasn't some deliberate provocation. He's too simple-minded for those kinds of games." I nodded. "Right. Okay." Meredith looked at me, a faint, mocking smile playing at the edge of her lips. "They call you Mr. Putty, and honestly, they aren't wrong." Mr. Putty. That was the nickname her assistant, Zack, had given me. How did I find out? Once, I went to the office to bring her lunch. Zack stopped me at the door, saying he needed to announce me first. The office door wasn't fully closed, and his loud, careless voice drifted out: "Hey, Miss Harrington, Mr. Putty is here to see you." Meredith asked, "Who's Mr. Putty?" "You know, the guy you can mold, stretch, and bend however you want, and he never snaps. Hahaha..." I stood outside, waiting for her to reprimand him. But she only let out a soft, helpless laugh, her tone full of indulgence. "Stop it." Zack was a "different" kind of assistant. He refused to wear suits, claiming that only loose clothing allowed the brain to breathe, while stiff collars made people stupid. Once, when they were stuck in traffic on the way to a charity gala, he leaped out of the car, rented a Lime scooter, and forced Meredith—in her thousands-of-dollars designer gown—to sit on the back while he threaded through the congested city streets. During a high-level board meeting, he replaced the premium loose-leaf Oolong tea with McDonald's sweet tea. When the exasperated director told him that the boardroom had always served imported tea, Zack tilted his head, genuinely curious: "Just because it's always been done that way, does that make it right?" The Harrington Group had always been strict about rules and hierarchy. I once asked Meredith why she didn't replace him. Meredith was adjusting her hair in the mirror, her eyes distant. "Don't you find him refreshing? He's like a wild, energetic little animal, tearing down all those stuffy, hypocritical rules." I shut my mouth. Because I knew that among those "stuffy, hypocritical rules," she probably included me. Meredith descended the stairs with an effortless, casual grace. I followed silently behind her. This was a Harrington tradition: the husband must personally see the wife off to work every morning. At the bottom of the stairs, the butler and housekeepers were already waiting, holding trays piled with both hot American and continental breakfasts. Meredith hated eating breakfast. Her father had tried everything to fix this, ordering the staff to present it to her just as she was leaving, hoping she might take a bite or grab a cup on her way out. But Meredith didn't even look. She kept her long stride steady, walking straight out into the courtyard. A black town car idled by the fountain. The rear window rolled down, revealing Zack sitting in the back seat. He wore a cheap, oversized hoodie, his hair a messy bedhead. He held a greasy breakfast taco in one hand and a paper cup of orange juice in the other, his mouth full as he chewed. Everyone knew Meredith was a neat freak who despised anyone eating in her car. But Zack clearly didn't care. He saw me and waved casually. "Morning." I smiled. "Morning." Meredith slid into the car next to him, immediately scolding, "Zack, are you seriously eating breakfast in my car again? This is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle. If you spill, can you even afford to clean it?" Zack retorted with mock irritation, "Well, you're the one who insisted your assistant drive to pick you up. How are we working-class stiffs supposed to find time for breakfast?" I stood outside, quietly watching the scene. The morning sun filtered through the maple leaves, casting shadows across my shoulders, but I felt no warmth from it. The next moment, Meredith reached over, snatched the remaining half of the taco from his hand, and stuffed it into her own mouth. As the car pulled away, I could hear Zack's dramatic wailing through the open window. "Hey! Give me back my taco!" "I want a raise!" The butler approached, saying Mr. Harrington wanted to see me. I looked up at the bright, clear sky, turned, and walked toward the east wing. Soft classical music drifted through the air. Mr. Harrington sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, elegantly preparing an expensive tea set. The leaves had been flown in that morning, still damp with dew. I greeted him respectfully. He didn't look at me, using a bamboo tong to shift a few leaves. "When I agreed to let you move into the estate, I did so hoping you'd be able to anchor Meredith's heart. It seems I overcalculated your abilities... You started as an assistant yourself. How is it that you're being outshone by a street pup?" I kept my head slightly bowed, just as I always did. Quiet, obedient, offering no defense. He set the tongs down and finally turned his gaze toward me. "Still, your behavior over these past three years has been acceptable. You passed the test. I spoke with some of the family elders a couple of days ago. The second of next month is a good date. Go get your marriage license registered." "After that, settle down, focus on what matters, and help Meredith carry the weight of the family enterprise." My eyes remained fixed on the discarded tea leaves on the table. They were fresh, green, and had barely begun to unfurl before being pushed aside. What a waste, I thought. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over me. Four years ago— Meredith had a massive blowout with her father, packed her bags, and started her own small boutique agency out of spite. I had just graduated from college and stumbled into an assistant role there through a job board. She was pampered, cynical, and spent her time either sleeping in or drag racing. I was green, eager to please, and knew absolutely nothing. We were two of a kind. We nearly burned down the office kitchen, broke the copy machine, lost crucial client files, and spent an entire afternoon searching through a dumpster to find them. Once, we accidentally took a wrong turn into a dark, rural cemetery at night; we were so terrified we huddled together in the car, too scared to step outside. Having always been the obedient child, I had never caused so much trouble in my life. My face would constantly flush red with panic. She, on the other hand, was always nonchalant. Whenever she saw me on the verge of tears, she'd tease me mercilessly, only offering a "raise" to stop my crying. In less than a year, she gave me fifteen raises. Then, imperceptibly, the way she looked at me changed. Her eyes would dart away when our gazes met. She'd flinch if our hands brushed while passing paperwork, and she began taking the long way around the office just to avoid my desk. I honestly thought I was about to be fired. Instead, Meredith confessed her feelings to me. I was so shocked that I turned her down. Seeing her usually carefree expression freeze, I felt terrible. I gently explained that my ideal partner was a mature, grounded woman—someone very different from her. So, she fired me. I went home and cried my eyes out, considering my salary had reached an impressive monthly sum by then. Fortunately, I soon landed a job at a larger firm. Just as I was preparing to restart my life, I was walking home late after overtime and ran into a group of local thugs. Out of nowhere, Meredith appeared, throwing herself into the fray with her fists flying. It was a brutal fight. Everyone ended up in the emergency room, and Meredith remained unconscious for several days. When she finally woke, I was sitting by her bedside, sobbing uncontrollably. She stared at me, her voice hoarse and dry. "Ian, if I pay you ten times your old salary, will you come back to me?" I nodded desperately. Her eyes brightened slightly, and she whispered, so softly I could barely hear, "I'll try to be more mature... Will you be my boyfriend... please?" Through tears and laughter, I replied, "Okay." I had always been the obedient boy. I listened to my parents at home, and my teachers at school. I knew they wanted what was best for me, and I never felt trapped or suffocated by it. Because of my compliance, my life had been smooth sailing. And Meredith had nearly risked her life for me. She was so good to me. What reason did I have to ever say no to her? Shortly after we started dating, she brought me to the Harrington estate. That was when I realized the staggering scale of her family's wealth. Unsurprisingly, her entire family opposed our relationship. But Meredith was unyielding. When her father threatened to disinherit her if she didn't break up with me, she signed the forfeiture papers without a single second of hesitation. I was terrified, unable to comprehend how a simple romance had dragged me into a high-stakes family war. But back in our cramped rented apartment, when Meredith held me tight and swore that I was the only one she would ever love, I couldn't help but weep with gratitude. Eventually, the Harringtons relented. They allowed Meredith to marry me and agreed to host a lavish wedding, but on one condition: we had to wait three years before signing the legal marriage certificate. I knew they doubted her judgment and wanted to test me. Back then, I thought: As long as we love each other, what does a piece of paper matter? I am marrying Meredith, not her family. Meredith didn't come home until past midnight, smelling faintly of whiskey. I got up to run her a bath, but she suddenly threw her weight against me. Her hot breath brushed my ear as she blindly bit down on my earlobe. Wincing from the sharp pain, I pushed her off. She stared at me through the darkness for a couple of seconds, then leaned back in, pinning my arms down, her breathing ragged. "Meredith, your dad mentioned you're still on your medication. He reminded me several times. We shouldn't," I said softly, but firmly, turning my face away. She froze. After a tense silence, she rolled off me. A moment later, a quiet, bitter scoff cut through the dark room. "You really are the good boy, Ian." I said nothing, quietly getting up to go to the bathroom. Her mocking voice followed me. "But being too good... gets incredibly boring." There was a time when she would hold me in this very room, her skin hot against mine, whispering "I love you" over and over. Now, she found me boring. It felt almost comedic. When I finished preparing the bath and stepped out, Meredith was leaning against the headboard, her collar half-open, casually chatting on the phone. In the quiet of the night, every word from the receiver was crystal clear. "Stupid corporate greed! I'm suffering over here, having to listen to my boss yell at me in the middle of the night!" Zack's loud, vibrant voice crackled on the other end, full of life. Meredith's chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. I kept my voice neutral. "The bath is ready. You should go wash up." Without looking at me, she took the phone into the bathroom, switching it to speakerphone. The sound of running water mixed with the young man's animated complaints, echoing through the heavy silence of the mansion. Once the Harringtons accepted me, they threw us a spectacular wedding that was the talk of the town. People whispered that a commoner had struck gold. During the three years that followed, I did everything to be the perfect son-in-law. I studied high society etiquette, learned to appreciate art and tea, figured out how to smile politely at charity galas, and kept her parents happy. Everyone assumed I was desperate to pass their three-year trial, clawing to stay in this golden cage. Their looks were filled with mockery, condescension, and pity. I didn't care. I believed that if I did everything right, just like I had my whole life, I would earn their approval and save Meredith from being caught in the middle. But I never expected Meredith to think the same way. About a year ago, the way she looked at me changed. Her gaze grew heavy, weighed down by a complex, conflicting suspicion. One night, when she was drunk, she stared at me with bloodshot eyes and asked, "Ian, did you only agree to be with me in the hospital because you found out who my family was?" I told her no, I hadn't known then. She let out a self-deprecating laugh and dropped the subject. But after that night, she drifted further and further away. She began staying out, accompanied by a rotating door of male "friends," all of whom she dismissed as just pals. I was miserable. I asked her, tears in my eyes, if she had stopped loving me. She only looked at me with cold irony. "And you, Ian? Do you love me?" Her male companions changed constantly, none lasting more than a month. Until Zack arrived. He was her assistant, but after getting into a massive argument with one of her male friends, he quit in a fit of rage—only for Meredith to offer him a massive raise to bring him back. Since then, Zack was the only one who remained by her side. Laughter echoed from the bathroom again. Whatever Zack said, it had Meredith laughing out loud. I closed my eyes. It’s okay, Ian, I whispered to myself. It will all be over soon. When I woke the next morning, Meredith was already gone. My phone buzzed with a transaction alert. Meredith had sent me $50,000. The memo read: Household expenses. No matter how cold she grew, her monthly transfers were never late. She was always incredibly generous with money. I tapped accept. The butler informed me she had left early for a five-day business trip. I let out a long, slow breath. The sheer relief that washed over me was so sudden it felt almost absurd. Yesterday, the dealership had called to let me know the paperwork for my car was complete. By the time she returned in five days, I would already be driving toward that quiet, rainy town on the Oregon coast. We didn't need a formal goodbye. This was better. That night, the old burn scar on my right leg began to ache, a dull throb brought on by the damp weather. I crept downstairs in the dark to grab an ice pack from the kitchen. The house was dead silent; everyone had gone to sleep. I switched on a single floor lamp in the living room, sat on the sofa, and rolled up my pajama pant leg, slowly pressing the ice pack against the aching skin. A sudden rustle behind me made me jump, and the ice pack slipped from my grip, rolling onto the floor. Standing in the dim entryway was a tall, elegant silhouette. "It's just me," a calm, even voice murmured. I blinked. It was Victoria Harrington, Meredith’s older half-sister. Victoria's late mother had been the sole heiress to an even wealthier dynasty. Today, Victoria's personal assets dwarfed the entire Harrington Group several times over. Her father was terrified of her. He often complained to me that Victoria lived abroad permanently, expressing paranoid fears about why she had started returning to the country so frequently over the past year, convinced she was planning to usurp Meredith's inheritance. Right now, Victoria was holding a small leather duffel bag. She had clearly just arrived from the airport. She walked over with measured, quiet steps, bent down, picked up the ice pack, and handed it to me. Her eyes swept briefly over my bare leg. I pulled my pant leg down, stood up, and asked politely, "Welcome home, Victoria. Should I wake the butler?" "No need," she replied softly. I had always kept my distance from Meredith's formidable older sister. When the family opposed our marriage, she had been part of that front. I would never forget standing nervously in her grand, imposing study years ago. She had sat in a high-backed leather chair, looking at me as if I were a piece of cheap furniture. "I've seen plenty of men like you," she had said, her voice freezing. "Meredith has been spoiled her whole life; the more we object, the harder she'll cling to you. I hope you know what you're doing, because the consequences are not something you can handle." The air conditioning in her office had been blasting that day. I was so cold my entire body shook, and it took everything I had to keep my hands from trembling. Since then, I avoided her whenever possible. We had barely spoken more than a handful of words, save for two unusual encounters. The first was when I first moved into the estate. I used to go to the back garden every morning to pick fresh flowers for Mr. Harrington. It was the only place where no one bothered me, the only time I could breathe and be myself. Only much later did I learn that the window overlooking that quiet corner belonged to Victoria's private suite. She had been recovering from a minor leg injury at the time, spending her days in that room. The second was a year ago, when Meredith took me on a trip to England and we stopped by her sister’s estate. Victoria lived in a historic castle with a small army of staff—a world entirely alien to me. One night, Meredith and I had too much to drink and ended up stumbling into the wrong wing of the castle. After a messy, passionate hour, I stepped out onto the balcony to catch my breath, only to find Victoria sitting quietly in the dark of the adjoining balcony, sipping whiskey. I had turned red, slipped back inside, and pretended I hadn't seen her. Now, in the semi-darkness of the Harrington mansion, Victoria stood silent. I didn't know what she wanted. But since neither she nor Meredith would be part of my future anymore, I felt the weight of my usual caution slip away. "Goodnight," I said simply. She gave a small nod. "Goodnight." I turned and walked upstairs without looking back. Three days later, as I was driving through a highway toll booth, my phone buzzed with a text from Meredith. I'll be back tomorrow at noon. Pick me up at the airport. We'll go register the marriage in the afternoon. A second later, another text arrived, dripping with sarcasm. Your dream is finally coming true, Ian. Are you happy? I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and pressed down on the gas pedal. The open highway stretched out before me, the asphalt gleaming under the bright afternoon sun. The Harrington estate, the family, the rules... I was leaving it all behind. I was incredibly happy.
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