I knew I was a character in a book, but by the time I was born, the story was already over. The brilliant second female lead had retired to a quiet life in the country, while the hero and heroine were set to take over the world. I was the throwaway character, the one with a terminal illness, fated to die young. And yet, somehow, I was the one who married her. For three years, I knew she still loved the hero. I knew I was living on borrowed time. But in those three years, her care was absolute. She promised me I’d live to be a hundred. And I started to believe her. I started to believe she might have finally fallen in love with me. Then, the hero was poisoned. She rushed to the city to save him, forgetting that today was the day my own illness would flare, the day I needed her most. *** The pain hit like a tidal wave. I bit down hard on the corner of the duvet, my hair plastered to my forehead with cold sweat. The woman who was always by my side during these episodes was gone. My caretaker, Sam, was wiping my face with a damp cloth, his eyes red with frustration. “She’s never forgotten this date, not once in three years. Where could she be?” I hadn’t felt a pain this raw, this untamed, in so long. The young staffer I’d sent to find her returned, trembling, and handed a single sheet of paper to Sam. Sam snatched it and read aloud, his voice tight with disbelief. “*Alexander Vance has been poisoned. The President’s own detail requested my help. My husband, please take care of yourself…*” The ink was still slightly damp. She’d written it in a hurry. Sam’s jaw clenched. “When did she leave?” “This morning, sir,” the boy whispered. He didn’t dare lie. Everyone on the estate knew what today was. “Leave us,” I managed to rasp. Sam closed the door, and another spasm wracked my body, forcing a tear from the corner of my eye. Alexander Vance. The hero of the story. The moment I heard his name, I knew I had lost. “Sir, I’m calling Dr. Chen,” Sam said, turning to leave. He stopped, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Aris Thorne *was* the genius doctor. My condition was something only she could manage. In this sprawling medical sanctuary she called a home, there was no second-in-command. I knew her history. I knew she was the second female lead who had loved the hero with a fierce, unrequited passion. But I never thought she would do this to me. My chest was a knot of fire. Every breath was an agony. I’ve known I was in a book since before I was born. For years, I just thought I was a normal person in a normal world, albeit one with a rare and fatal genetic condition. It wasn’t until I met Aris that the pieces clicked into place. My father, desperate after exhausting every conventional medical option, heard rumors of a reclusive medical prodigy named Aris Thorne. He found her, and she laid out her terms. She would treat me, but I had to marry her. I wanted to refuse, but seeing the raw hope in my father’s eyes, I agreed. For the first year, I kept my guard up. I remembered the book’s plot. *She loves the hero.* I told myself not to fall for her, no matter how brilliant or kind she was. But a heart isn’t made of stone. For three years, she was my world. Every night, she performed meticulous treatments with fine needles and rare herbs, drawing the sickness from my body. On the days of my attacks, she never left my side. Every doctor had told me I wouldn’t see my sixteenth birthday. Aris was the only one who looked me in the eye and said, “With me here, you’ll live to be a hundred.” I’m eighteen now. I survived. The book’s story was over. The hero and heroine were building their empire. The second female lead was supposed to be living in quiet solitude. I thought her being with me meant she had broken free of the narrative. I thought she had chosen me. Her affection was a warm, constant sun, and I couldn’t hide from it forever. The locks around my heart rusted and broke. But the moment I finally let myself believe, fate played its cruelest joke. This was supposed to be my last major attack. Aris had said that after today’s treatment, the final traces of the illness would be gone for good. Without it, the disease would come roaring back, stronger than ever. She knew the stakes. Just last night, she had whispered against my ear, her breath warm, “Eli, after you’re well… can we finally be truly married?” My face had burned, and I’d answered her with a kiss. And today, for the man she truly loved, she had left me to suffer, without a second thought. The presidential palace has a whole team of doctors. Why did they need her? *** My vision swam. When it cleared, a hand was on my wrist, taking my pulse. A spark of warmth ignited in my chest. I turned my head. The hope died just as quickly. The name *Aris* dissolved on my tongue. “Sir, I got Dr. Chen from the city. You’re going to be okay,” Sam soothed. But I knew it was useless. Sure enough, Dr. Chen withdrew his hand, his expression grim. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.” “But you’re the best there is!” Sam’s voice cracked with a desperate anger. “You can’t even ease the pain?” I squeezed his arm, giving the old doctor an apologetic look. Thankfully, he understood. “I’ll find someone else,” Sam insisted, but I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s just a few hours. I can bear it.” No one else could treat me. That’s why my death at sixteen had been a foregone conclusion. Aris had pulled me back from the brink. And now, she had pushed me right back over the edge. If she was always going to choose him, why did she ever bother saving me? Days passed. My body regressed. I was back to the fragile creature I’d once been, coughing at the slightest exertion, growing dizzy after just a few steps. I was resting in a lounge chair on the veranda, my face pale, a dull ache radiating from my chest. The sun was warm, but I couldn't feel it. Then, one of the staff announced that Aris was back. My heart leaped. I lifted my head, my eyes searching. I saw her walking up the main path. She was supporting a man in an impeccably tailored navy suit. She didn't even glance in my direction. “Sir, how could she…” Sam started, his voice thick with outrage. I grabbed his sleeve, stopping him from charging after them. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I forced myself up and had Sam help me back inside before I collapsed. He might not have recognized the man, but I did. In the novel, Alexander Vance was famous for one thing besides his ruthless ambition: he only ever wore navy blue suits. It was his armor, his uniform. Back in my rooms, I couldn't hold it in any longer. I coughed, a spray of red dotting the white handkerchief in my hand. Sam’s eyes widened in panic. “I’m getting her!” “Sam, no,” I said, gripping his arm with what little strength I had. “Don’t go. And she’s not your mistress anymore.” Her actions made it painfully clear. Why would I subject myself to more humiliation? “But she cared for you, sir. I saw it. She truly cared.” He was right. She did. But that care was conditional. It only existed in a world where Alexander Vance was healthy and out of reach. Now, compared to him, I was nothing. I still remembered the slow burn of our courtship. The first time we truly met was on our wedding night. After I’d lifted the veil, I told her plainly that our marriage would be in name only. She would be my doctor, and I would be her patient. She had just smiled, her fingers gently finding the pulse on my wrist. “We’re husband and wife now,” she’d said, her voice like silk. “How could it be in name only?” When I told her I wouldn’t live past sixteen, her smile had only widened. After that, she rarely spoke of it, but my symptoms began to fade one by one. I tried to pay her with gold, with jewels, anything to repay the debt. She returned it all, and instead brought me gifts—a hand-carved jade pendant, a sachet of calming herbs, pastries from the city, strange and fascinating little gadgets. She was trying to win my heart. And when I realized it was working, I panicked. I pulled away. I avoided her. Then came the storm. She stood in the pouring rain, calling my name, “Eli! Eli!” clutching a box of my favorite cakes, shielding it from the downpour with her own body. My resolve shattered. The story was over, I told myself. She was here. With me. I opened the door. She’d thrown her arms around me, her eyes red, and solemnly promised me a lifetime. The love in her gaze had been a tidal wave, and I’d thought, in that moment, that we could truly have it all. I was wrong. *** “Sir… should we go home?” Sam asked softly, his anger replaced by a quiet sadness. “I miss my father,” I whispered, wiping the blood from my lips. I asked him to bring me a pen and paper. I wouldn't fight for her. I wouldn't beg. A throwaway character versus the hero of the story? It was no contest. When we arrived at Aris’s private wing of the estate, two men in dark suits stood guard at her door. The small, stylized ‘V’ embroidered on their collars told me everything I needed to know. They were Alexander Vance’s men. Before I could even speak, a sharp, metallic object pressed against my throat. A thin line of blood beaded on my skin. “Sir!” Sam lunged forward, but I held him back. “Aris Thorne is my wife,” I stated, my voice steady. The pressure on my neck eased, but the guards didn’t move. “Dr. Thorne has given orders not to be disturbed,” one of them said, his voice flat and cold. “By anyone.” I stood frozen, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Her rooms… I’d always had free access. She’d treated royalty, billionaires, politicians—all with their own security details. But she had always given one standing order: “My husband is never to be stopped.” Anytime, anywhere, she’d said. If I wanted her, I could come to her. But now, she’d said *anyone*. And that included me. Three years. The intimacy we’d built, the quiet depth of our connection… it all felt like a lie. The whiplash of it was a physical blow, my heart clenching painfully in my chest. I met the guard’s indifferent gaze, blinked back the threatening tears, and took a step back. “My apologies for the disturbance.” Sam knew me well enough to understand. Though his hands were clenched into fists, he stood by my side, waiting. The sun beat down, and the world began to tilt. I felt myself sway, but I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I was afraid if I left now, I’d lose my nerve. I don’t know how long we waited. The sun was setting when she finally appeared. She walked toward me, backlit by the golden light, her beautiful face etched with fatigue. Her normally bright eyes were clouded with weariness. The only time I’d ever seen her look this drained was after pulling an all-nighter to care for me during an attack. I had thought that vulnerability was reserved for me. The irony was a bitter pill. All her whispers of devotion, all her promises… they were all conditional. “Eli? Why are you waiting out here? Have you had dinner?” She seemed surprised to see me and moved to take my hand, just as she always did. I sidestepped her touch. A fresh trickle of blood escaped my lips. The cut on my neck had scabbed over, but now it burned. “Who hurt you?” Her eyes widened, seeing the blood, seeing the sickly pallor that had returned to my face. For a moment, she looked lost. “You’re… bleeding…” I didn’t answer. I just held out the folded paper. She took it, her brow furrowing. As she read it, the color drained from her face. “Eli… you want a divorce?” Her voice was a shocked whisper. Those calm, confident eyes were suddenly dark with something I couldn’t decipher. “Yes,” I said, calmly wiping my mouth. I kept a firm grip on Sam, who looked ready to explode. A clean break. That was my way. Wallowing in self-pity over a woman was a fool's game. There were other trees in the forest. I refused to hang myself from this one. “Why? You promised…” She trailed off, the realization dawning on her. The night I had promised her everything was the night before she left. The day she left was the day of my attack. “I’m sorry, Eli,” she said, her gaze intense, full of a love that felt like a lie. “Alexander’s life was on the line. I had no choice.” I looked away. “Just sign it. Let’s go our separate ways.” She was the second female lead. Of course she was capable of deep, profound love. I just had to accept that love was never meant for me. *** “Sign it,” I repeated. My legs were starting to shake. I didn’t want to hear her excuses. “Eli, don’t be childish,” she sighed, her expression shifting to one of gentle reprimand. “Your body can’t handle this kind of stress. This was my fault, I admit it. But I promise, I will find a way to make you well again.” She was apologizing, but her words were hollow. I didn’t want them. “Aris Thorne,” I said again, my voice so cold it surprised even me. She stared, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Eli, let me check your pulse. Let me help you, please?” She reached for me again. I took another step back, the world starting to go grey at the edges. Her expression changed to alarm. She moved to catch me, but a voice from inside her rooms, weak but laced with steel, cut through the air. “Aris… the pain is back.” In an instant, she spun around and rushed back inside, leaving me behind without a second thought. “Where does it hurt? Let me change the dressing.” I heard her gentle, worried voice as she fussed over him. I looked up and my eyes met his. Alexander Vance. His expression was placid, but his eyes were sharp as knives. The hero of a political thriller, indeed. His gaze flickered over me, filled with a faint, dismissive hostility. The look said it all: *When it comes to her, you will always lose to me.* Sam didn’t shout. He didn’t make a scene. He just picked up the divorce papers I had dropped, quickly scrawled *Aris Thorne* on the signature line, and took my arm. “Sir,” he said, his voice a low growl. “We’re going home.” He led me away, his pace measured to match my own faltering steps. A small, humorless laugh escaped my lips. I suddenly felt lighter. I should have known. The second female lead always loves the hero. The story might have ended, but the characters hadn't changed. Loving a woman tied to the hero’s narrative was a fool’s errand. If I didn’t get out now, I’d be destroyed. “Do you need to pack anything, sir?” Sam asked as we reached the main gate of the estate. I pulled him through it, out into the real world. There was nothing in that place worth keeping. It was dark by the time we arrived at my family’s home. My father, having been alerted of our arrival, rushed out to meet us, his eyes red-rimmed. “Why are you back?” he asked, his voice thick with worry. Then he saw my face, the deathly pallor, and his words died in his throat. He hadn’t seen me this sick in years. “Let’s get you inside,” he choked out, turning away to hide his tears. My own heart ached for him. My father had been my rock, raising a fragile, dying son on his own. He had moved heaven and earth to keep me alive. He’d wanted this marriage for me, wanted me to have a chance at a normal, healthy life. And now I was back, broken. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. “Father, you should get some rest,” I said, as he led me to my old wing. I saw that my rooms had been kept pristine, cleaned daily, as if they were waiting for my return. Looking at the pain in his eyes, my own self-pity began to fade. Aris’s heart was not mine to control, but my father’s love was absolute, unconditional, and entirely mine. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Rest now, son. Your father is here.” At his words, all the grief and betrayal I had been holding back threatened to overwhelm me. I just nodded, fighting back tears, and went inside. I was a man now. I couldn't let him worry anymore than he already was. Only when the door was closed did I let the tears fall, a silent, burning stream. My chest heaved, a cough rattling my ribs. Somehow, I slept. But when I opened my eyes the next morning, Sam was standing by my bed, his face grim. “Sir,” he said. “Dr. Thorne is here.”
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