In the sixth year of our marriage, my husband—a man who had always been the epitome of quiet predictability—started acting strange. He began spending an hour getting ready each morning, two hours at the gym, and three hours of his workday to personally deliver my lunch, his eyes scanning every young man who walked past my office with a wary intensity. I didn't understand what was happening to him. Not until I found his journal. “She left the house without her wedding ring today. Was it an oversight or a threat? I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t have the courage to ask. I think I’m going crazy…” “She liked that intern’s post again. Is she trying to kill me? It’s his fault, that goddamn kid has no sense of decency…” “The man in the mirror is getting older. He’s decaying, turning ugly. No. I have to make this vessel more perfect. Then she won’t leave me.” “I feel so helpless, so hopeless. I’m five years older than her. I’m not young anymore. My looks will fade, and when they do, her love will too. This is how it ends for me…” 1 Ethan and I had been married for six years, and we’d never had a single fight. To everyone else, he was the perfect husband. Handsome, successful, gentle, and unfailingly respectful. A walking template for a flawless partner. But only I knew the suffocating pressure hidden beneath that perfection. During my lunch break, my coworker, Sarah, leaned against the counter in the breakroom, complaining with dramatic flair about getting home late last night. She painted a vivid picture of her husband’s silent treatment, the elaborate apology she’d had to perform, and how, in the end, her “short skirt privileges” had been revoked for the week. She finished her story and turned to me, a glint of challenge in her eyes. "Ava, Mr. Sterling is so buttoned-up at the office. I bet he's the super possessive, jealous type behind closed doors, right?" I offered a small, noncommittal smile, looking down at my tea. A bitter taste filled my mouth. It was the exact opposite. For six years, Ethan had been as stoic and placid as a programmed machine. He never got jealous. He never asked who I was with or what time I’d be home. He’d never once so much as glanced at my phone. Sarah always said that love and possessiveness were two sides of the same coin. If there was no possessiveness, there was no love. So maybe… Ethan had never loved me at all. Was I the only one who had fallen in this marriage? My fingers tightened unconsciously around the warm glass in my hand. It was the ginger tea Ethan had made for me before he left this morning. He’d placed it silently in my tote bag before disappearing into our walk-in closet. Lately, he’d been paying an almost obsessive amount of attention to his appearance, even starting to wear cologne—something he used to hate. Thinking about it sent a prickle of unease through me. An unwelcome thought began to form. On a dark impulse, I opened the security camera app for our apartment on my phone. On the screen, Ethan was working out, positioned perfectly in front of the living room camera. He was shirtless, his throat moving as he swallowed. The clean lines of his muscles were carved by the afternoon sun, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his abdomen, rippling with every movement. His low-slung athletic shorts hung precariously on his hip bones, slipping slightly with each motion before he’d casually hook a thumb and pull them back up. Every gesture felt like a dangerous invitation, charged with a raw, magnetic pull. My throat went dry. My thumb hovered over the zoom button for a long moment before I finally pressed it. The next second, the screen flickered and my boss’s face popped up in a sudden video call. The spell was shattered. I slammed my laptop shut, my fingers digging into the edge of the desk, nearly crushing the mouse in my hand. 2 My boss was calling to announce a last-minute team dinner. My mind immediately went to Ethan. I instinctively reached for the wedding ring on my left hand, but my finger met only bare skin. My heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered messing around with him the other night. I’d been afraid of scratching him, so I’d taken the ring off and left it on the nightstand. I’d forgotten to put it back on for two days straight. As soon as the call ended, my colleagues started making their calls home, clearing their schedules for the night. After a moment of hesitation, I stepped into the hallway and dialed Ethan’s number. He answered on the first ring, as he always did. His voice was a low, sexy hum that seemed to vibrate through the phone. "Ava." A strange heat bloomed in my cheeks. "Ethan, I have a team dinner tonight. I might be home late." Silence. The other end of the line went completely dead. Ethan said nothing. It felt like he’d stopped breathing. I sensed something was wrong. "Ethan?" I asked softly. "I'm here." He sounded like his throat was full of gravel, the single word frayed with a tremor I almost missed. "Do you… have to go?" I was about to say yes, but he cut me off, his voice trembling. "Will you… still come home? Ava, are you coming home tonight?" I frowned, confused by the bizarre question. "Of course I'm coming home." "You—you are?!" His volume shot up before he clamped down on it, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing in my ear. "No, I—I just mean, I'll wait up for you. Come home whenever you want. As long as you come home. I'll always be here, waiting for you…" Something was definitely off. "Just leave a light on for me," I said, trying to sound normal. This time, he didn't hesitate. He answered so quickly it was as if he was afraid I'd change my mind. "Okay." 3 Our boss was a notorious penny-pincher. The team dinner was at a crowded, greasy dive bar on the edge of town. By the time we were finally done, my exposed neck, my calves, and my wrists were covered in red, itching mosquito bites. Gritting my teeth against the discomfort, I played designated driver, dropping off a few of my drunker coworkers one by one. It was past ten by the time I finally pushed open the door to our apartment. A light rain was falling outside. The motion-sensor light in the entryway flickered on, illuminating an empty living room. Ethan wasn't home. I pulled out my phone to check the time, about to call him, when the door swung open behind me. And there he was, drenched from head to toe. Rainwater dripped from the messy ends of his hair, pooling on the hardwood floor. His usually crisp white shirt was plastered to his body, outlining the lean muscle of his torso. His suit jacket and tie were gone. The poised, elegant man I knew had vanished, replaced by someone who looked like a lost, broken dog left out in the storm. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he spoke, his tone so calm it was almost eerie. "You're home." I nodded, rushing to pull him inside. "Where were you? You're soaked. Get in here…" Ethan moved stiffly, his eyes tracing every inch of my face—my eyebrows, my nose, my lips. Finally, his gaze landed on my neck. He froze. I caught a familiar smell on him, a mix of rain and fried food. It smelled exactly like the dive bar we’d just left. "Ethan, were you there to pick me up? I'm so sorry, you must have missed me because I was busy—" "I don't want to know!" he snapped, his voice sharp and ragged. He looked away, flustered. "I mean, I wasn't there to pick you up. I was just… out for a walk." I licked my lips, the awkwardness thick between us. "Right. Well, okay. Ethan, tonight I—" His eyelashes fluttered wildly. "Stop. I—I'm tired. I need a shower. I'm going to take a shower…" Without another word, he bolted for the bathroom, his retreat so hasty it felt like a panicked escape. 4 I stood in the living room, stunned, for a long moment. I could hear it clearly. Over the sound of the running water, there was another sound coming from the bathroom. The quiet, desperate sound of someone trying to swallow their sobs. A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. I walked over and knocked gently on the door. "Ethan, what's wrong? Are you crying? Are you not feeling well?" A beat of dead silence, then his voice, unnaturally steady. "You heard wrong. I'm fine." Hearing him say he was fine, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and went back to the couch to watch some TV. When Ethan finally came out, he stood silently in front of the full-length mirror, a short distance from me, meticulously choosing a tie and knotting it. I glanced up from my show. "You're off tomorrow, right? Why are you bothering with a tie? It's such a hassle…" At my words, his hands froze mid-knot, his knuckles turning a stark white. I rubbed my eyes. "That tie looks a little dated, anyway. I'll pick out some new ones for you this weekend." Ethan didn’t say anything. He slowly lowered his hands, and the tie slipped from his fingers, falling silently to the floor. "Is it… just the tie that's dated?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I leaned closer, catching the fresh, clean scent from his shower. "What did you say, Ethan?" He suddenly spun around, the movement of his bathrobe stirring the air. I flinched, startled. I could see it all now: the raw red of his eyes, the way he was biting his lower lip so hard it had to hurt, and the outfit he was wearing underneath the robe. It was the set of risqué lace pajamas I’d bought for him as a joke right after we got married. He had refused, mortified, to ever wear them. But now… Just as I’d imagined, it was shockingly effective on a man who was usually so reserved. My breath hitched. I forced myself to look away, my voice strained. "Haha, well… you've still got it, huh…" The words hit him like a physical blow. He flinched violently. "Got… it?" My face was burning. I nodded, reaching out to take his hand. "Well, it's getting late. We should…" Ethan stared at me for a few seconds, then snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. He bit his lip, his voice choked with emotion. "I—I have some work to do in the study. You should get some sleep." 5 It was happening again. That same look. The panic and avoidance in his eyes were so thick you could taste them. It was as if I wasn't his wife of six years, but some kind of contagious disease he couldn't bear to touch. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting back the surge of anger. I didn't have the energy to chase after him and demand to know what this whole wounded-little-bird act was about. I had my quarterly presentation tomorrow. My promotion depended on it. I couldn't afford to get into a fight with him tonight. I fell into a restless sleep alone, only to be woken sometime in the middle of the night by a sudden cold sensation on my neck. I pried my eyes open. Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed. The moonlight spilling through the window carved a silver edge along his clenched jaw. His lashes were downcast as he stiffly applied something to my neck. I caught his wrist. "Ethan, what are you putting on me?" He pressed his lips together, his voice a low rasp. "An anti-inflammatory cream." He paused, then added, "You have your presentation in front of the whole company tomorrow. This… people might talk." He had a point. My skin has always been sensitive. Mosquito bites left angry red marks that took forever to fade. Showing up to a major presentation looking like that wouldn't be a good look. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes again, mumbling, "You're right. Thanks, honey. You should get some sleep, too…" Ethan didn't answer. His breathing grew shaky. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. I was too lost in the fog of sleep to make out his next words. "I won't blame you for changing your mind about me. I won't question you or accuse you. That wouldn't be the kind of supportive husband I'm legally obligated to be." "And I know it's not your fault. It's that shameless bastard at your office who's seducing you. I'll take care of him." "Our marriage will get back on track. Divorce is something that only exists in other people's fantasies. It will never, ever happen to us." In the final moments before I slipped back into sleep, I thought I heard a pained, muffled sob. The kind of sound a heartbroken husband, abandoned by his wife, might make. Then, a single warm drop landed on the corner of my mouth. 6 The next morning, Ethan was in the kitchen early. He was wearing nothing but a pink apron, boldly displaying the results of his recent, rigorous workout routine. The apron strings dug deep into the small of his back, and the muscles of his back and abdomen flexed with his every move. I had no idea when my once-stoic, uninteresting husband had become so… forward. A breakfast view like this was enough to make me forget all about the frustration he'd put me through last night. I ducked my head, trying to hide the smile threatening to take over my face. "You know, Ethan, cooking like that is a good way to get a couple of nasty burns. That'll teach you." Ethan went still. The atmosphere felt… strange. I peeked up at him and saw the dark circles under his eyes. "Didn't you sleep well last night?" He paused, then said without missing a beat, "No. I slept great." I walked over and sat down across from him. "Oh, by the way, that new intern at the office invited me out for dinner tonight. I might be late. I might not even come home, actually. There are a few things I need to take care of…" The hand Ethan was using to ladle porridge trembled, and the ceramic spoon clattered against the side of the bowl. After a long silence, he forced a tight, brittle smile. He squeezed the words out from between his teeth. "Okay. You… you should take care of yourself. Don't… don't stay out too late." He agreed so readily. He didn't ask a single question. It was like he didn't care who I was going with or what I was doing. My suspicions from yesterday, his bizarre, timid behavior—it all came rushing back. A familiar ache tightened in my chest. I grabbed a couple of slices of toast and headed for the door. Just as I reached it, I remembered something and turned back. Ethan’s back went ramrod straight. His eyes lit up, and he looked at me, his face full of hopeful expectation. I didn't even look at him. I slipped the ring off my finger and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. "I won't be wearing this today. It's… inconvenient." The small clink of metal against wood made Ethan’s pupils constrict. He pressed his lips into a thin, white line, his gaze fixed on the ring. His knuckles were white, and a vein pulsed in his neck. I swept the files from the table into my briefcase and turned to leave. Just before the door clicked shut, some impulse made me glance back. Ethan was standing in the same spot, frozen, watching me go. His eyes were so dark they looked like black holes, as if he were trying to contain a violent storm. Even after I was halfway down the hall, I could still feel his gaze locked on my back. 7 I ran through the rain to the parking garage, my heart pounding with a frustration I couldn't name. I slid into the driver's seat and my phone buzzed with a string of messages from Sarah. The seven-year itch… A marriage of convenience… The words stung my eyes. Furious, I started firing off texts to Ethan. 【Ethan, if this isn't working, we should just get a divorce.】 【Honestly, do you even love me? If you do, then say it. If you don't, then there's no point in dragging this out.】 【Let's just cut our losses. Stop wasting my time. You're getting in the way of me finding someone young and fun.】 After sending the messages, I frantically deleted the conversation thread and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I had no way of knowing that, because of the poor signal in the garage, only the first and third messages had gone through. The minutes ticked by. I waited in the car for a full twenty minutes. No reply from Ethan. My heart sank. The last bit of hope fizzled out. With a dull ache in my chest, I called my assistant and told her to draft a divorce agreement and have it couriered to our apartment. 8 The moment I got to the office, all thoughts of Ethan vanished. I threw myself into my work. After a successful and productive morning, I was in a great mood. I bought bubble tea for the whole team to celebrate. Leo, the new intern, was the first one to rush over, taking the drink from my hand. As he did, he lightly brushed his fingers against my palm. "Congratulations, Ava. This one tastes extra sweet today…" I pulled my hand back, uncomfortable. I frowned, about to say something, but my eyes were drawn to a figure outside the glass wall of our office. It was Ethan. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he stood silently in the shadows of the hallway, holding a thermal lunch box. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Seeing him was a shock. "E-Ethan? What are you doing here?" His gaze shifted from Leo to me. He slowly pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile that sent a chill down my spine. "I came to bring my wife her lunch." He enunciated the word "wife" with a loud, deliberate precision. The sound echoed through the quiet office, causing a stir among my colleagues. My breath caught in my throat. That word, from him, was usually reserved for the soft, hazy light of our bedroom. In those moments, he would press his face into the curve of my neck, his eyes flushed with passion, his damp hair brushing against my chin. His breaths would come in ragged gasps, and only then would that single, husky word escape his lips. But today, he was shouting it in public, a place he’d always avoided any show of affection. A jolt, like a tiny electric current, shot through me. My heart hammered against my ribs. This Ethan was different. Leo raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, Mr. Sterling. Ava mentions you to me all the time." Ethan’s smile didn’t falter. "Is that so? Funny. Ava has never once mentioned you to me." The smirk vanished from Leo’s face. He looked like a kid who’d just been put in his place, powerless in the face of Ethan’s quiet authority. Ethan ignored his reaction, looking down at the young man with a detached amusement, as if observing something utterly insignificant. "But thank you for taking care of my wife. Cigarette?" As he spoke, Ethan reached into his jacket pocket. I was wondering when he’d started smoking. But what he pulled out wasn't a pack of cigarettes. It was a small, official-looking red booklet. Our marriage certificate. After six years, he had kept it in pristine condition, like it was brand new. Only the corners were slightly faded, as if from being held and rubbed in someone's hands for a very long time. Ethan angled his hand slightly, and the certificate spun in a perfect arc, the gold-embossed seal catching the light as it faced Leo. His tone was one of manufactured annoyance. "My apologies. Wrong pocket. Accidentally pulled out our legal documentation…" "…" Leo’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something, but one look at the cold darkness in Ethan's eyes and he deflated. He stiffly turned away, his breathing shallow. It was clear that whatever anger he felt would have to be swallowed. My face had been burning since the moment Ethan produced the certificate. I quickly stepped in front of him, snatched it out of his hand, and shoved it deep into a hidden pocket of my bag. "Ethan, what are you doing with this? Let's not stand here and make a scene. Come to my office." The moment I spoke, the look of cool composure on his face shattered. His hand remained suspended in the air. He looked down at me, his eyes a swirling mix of despair, resentment, and defeat. Looking at his face, drained of all color, a single phrase popped into my head, unbidden: a man undone. 9 I took his arm and pulled him toward my office. Every person we passed on the way made me want to bury my head in my collar. Ethan followed silently behind me, his gaze dimming with every step I took to hide us away. The second I pushed open my office door and we were inside, Ethan let out a ragged breath. The tight leash he’d been holding on his control finally snapped. He grabbed my wrist. I cried out as he yanked me into his arms, pushing me hard against the floor-to-ceiling window. My face was pressed against the cold glass. My back was flush against Ethan’s scorching, solid chest. The collision of hot and cold was dizzying. I bit my lip, my body suspended in a state of shock and anticipation. "Ethan, you—!" We were sixty-seven floors up. Outside, a storm was brewing. A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, so close it felt like it had exploded right in front of my eyes. The next second, I felt a faint sensation at the small of my back. Ethan was using his teeth to pull down the zipper of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth separating echoed in the silent office. His cold hand slipped under the fabric, his palm greedily cupping the sensitive skin of my lower back. A shiver racked my body. My toes curled and uncurled reflexively. The heel of my shoe ground against his leather loafer. Ethan moved from a crouch to his knees. He was kneeling behind me, pressing desperate, frantic kisses to the curve of my spine. His voice was a raw, obsessive whisper. "You're five years younger than me. It's normal for someone so young to be dazzled by the world." "I told you, I can tolerate whatever you do out there. Whatever mistakes you make, I will forgive you…" "Because I know it's not you. It's those shameless bastards seducing you. You're just confused. You'll come back to our family in the end." "And even if you're thinking about divorce, I know it's because they put the idea in your head. Those little pricks. I'll deal with them. I'll fix everything…" Another bolt of lightning illuminated the terrifying, possessive hunger in his scarlet-rimmed eyes. He murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But you should never have actually brought up divorce. To say it so casually… Even with all my tolerance, Ava, you need to be punished." 10 I had never seen Ethan like this. So out of control. I didn't understand what he was talking about, and a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. "What are you saying? Seducing me? What are you talking about?" "No! Stop it! Ethan! This is my office! Let go of me!" "You bastard! If you don't stop, I mean it, I'm going to divorce you! I want a divorce—" Ethan froze for a second. But my threat seemed to fuel his frenzy. He threw me onto the sofa. I tried to sit up, to fight back, but his mouth was on mine. He pinned my chin with one hand and tore off his shirt with the other. The kiss was deep and punishing, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, almost reaching my throat. I had never been treated so roughly by him. My body trembled as I arched my back, my nails digging fiercely into the flawless skin of his back. He didn't even flinch at the sharp pain. It was in that moment that I realized something terrifying. If he wasn't willingly, consciously choosing to be gentle and tolerant with me, I was nothing more than a baby chick in his hands. One squeeze, and he could snap my neck. I bit down hard on his shoulder, tears of pain and shock springing to my eyes as I writhed beneath him. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the temperature skyrocketed. My sanity was crumbling, and the situation was spiraling toward something I couldn't control. … Knock, knock, knock. A sharp rap on the door, followed by my secretary's apologetic voice. "I'm sorry, Director, but… it's time for the meeting." The sound seemed to jolt Ethan back to reality. He pulled back, panting, the dark tide in his eyes slowly receding, replaced by a wave of regret and self-loathing. I felt like I was falling from a great height. I lay there, gasping for air, my eyes unfocused, my lips numb, my clothes a complete mess. Ethan stared at me for a long time. Then he got up and knelt by the sofa. With trembling hands, he zipped up my dress and tried to smooth my hair, his eyes filling with a guilty sheen. "Ava, I'm sorry. I—I…" He turned his head away sharply, letting out a pained whimper. He stood up abruptly and started for the door. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't let him run away again. I scrambled to my feet to stop him, but I stumbled, knocking into the edge of my desk. The stack of files I’d brought from home this morning, the ones I hadn’t had time to organize, went flying, scattering across the floor in a cascade of white. And there, amidst the chaos— A small, black object slid out from between the pages and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.
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