After witnessing the agony my mother endured when she severed ties with my father, who had an affair, she taught me one undeniable lesson—never trust a man. That all changed when Damien appeared. To claim me, Damien gave me his liver. He became my mate, and for a time, our life was bliss. He poured everything into our family. But everything shattered the day I discovered something on his computer. I experienced the searing pain of breaking bonds with my mate. Years later, I returned, opening a café. Every morning, a letter quietly awaited me at the door. I picked it up, read nothing, and tossed it into the trash. Damien—my former mate—your late love means nothing now. Wasn’t that what you taught me, too? Once, Damien and I were the perfect mates in everyone’s eyes. We met in college when we were both dirt poor, scraping by on part-time jobs and late-night instant noodles. My parents divorced when I was seven. My mother tried to shield me from the truth, but I knew. That day is seared into my memory. She had come home early from a business trip, her heels clicking rhythmically on the tiles as she stepped through the door. She paused at the bedroom door—her breath catching as the unmistakable sounds of laughter drifted down the hallway. And then… she saw it. My father, strong and imposing, wrapped in the arms of his secretary—her perfume sickly sweet, mingling with the scent of betrayal that filled the room. Their bodies tangled beneath the sheets—his sheets—the ones my mother had slept in for over a decade,. His lips on her neck, her hands on him. My mother stood there in the doorway, her heart breaking in real-time. She didn’t scream. She didn’t yell. She simply… fell. She quietly wove the threads of the mate bond they shared—threads that had once been strong enough to tie them together for life—into the fabric of her past. In those first few hours, while he was still fumbling through his apologies, my mother quietly arranged the dissolution of everything he thought he had a claim to. The house, the money, the family name—all became hers. “You are no longer my mate. ” “Leave,” she commanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air of the room. “And never return.” I watched, hidden in the shadows, as my father left. The door clicked shut. Then, silence. I saw my mother crumble. Her wolf, once fierce, collapsed, its spirit torn from her. Her knees hit the floor, her body folding like a broken animal. She gasped, her shoulders shaking, arms clinging to herself as if to hold her soul together. In that moment, I understood—breaking mate bonds was as painful as tearing a wolf apart. That year, I was seven. She always thought I didn’t know. But the truth was as clear to me as the scars on my heart. Years passed, and my mother, ever strong, raised me alone. By the time I was in my second year of college, the burden had taken its toll. My mother, once vibrant and full of life, began to fade. Her wolf grew weaker with every passing day. She was always tired, always lost in the weight of her own thoughts. And then, one cold winter evening, she stepped into the street, unaware of the oncoming car. It hit her hard, sending her flying. She never woke up. At twenty years old, I was left alone. My mother was gone. It was also the year I met Damien. We crossed paths at a student council event. He was the host, tall and commanding, with a presence that made the room go still. I couldn’t help but glance at him more than once. And those brief moments of eye contact were enough for him to notice me. From that day on, he pursued me relentlessly. Damien was persistent, his charm undeniable. He’d appear at my side in class, offering help with assignments, his dark eyes always watching me, his every move calculated to draw me in. Because of my past, I’d built walls around my heart. when he asked me to be his mate, I rejected him without a second thought. “I can’t be your mate. I won’t be.” I thought he would eventually take the hint and give up, after all, that’s what all my previous suitors did. But he didn’t. From sophomore year to senior year, and even after I started my internship, he never stopped pursuing me. I couldn’t help but feel a little touched by his persistence. But the more kind he was to me, the less confidence I had. Because, back then, my father had treated my mother just as well.
Although my mother has passed away, as a strong and independent woman, she left me a substantial inheritance. This money is enough to cover my tuition, living expenses, and even if I wanted to study abroad, it would be more than sufficient. Having suffered because of men, my mother feared I would repeat the same mistakes. So, she entrusted the money to a trustee. Every year, I could withdraw a portion, but I wouldn’t be able to access the full amount until my monthly income exceeded the average withdrawal amount she left for me, and remained stable for two years. I understand why she did this. When my mother married my father, it was purely a downward marriage. My grandparents were so furious that they severed ties with her. My stubborn mother packed a suitcase and left with my father without a backward glance. Then, using her years of pocket money, she bought a house. From that point on, she never contacted her parents again. When I was little, I asked her, “Mom, don’t you miss your parents?” At that moment, my mother’s face grew pale, and she fell silent for a long time before replying, “Your grandmother and grandfather can’t look at me anymore. ” Then, holding me close, she said, “Elly, all men in this world are untrustworthy. I don’t want you to suffer like I did. I hope you’ll have the chance to regret your choices.” This money, it was my mother’s way of giving me the chance to regret. So, even after I married Damien, I never told him about the money. I knew that this money was my mother’s way of ensuring my security, so I silently made a decision: unless absolutely necessary, I would try not to touch it. At the time when Damien met me, I was living on a tight budget. When I didn’t have classes, I would go out and take part-time jobs to earn my living expenses. Because of this, he always believed my financial situation was the same as his. Looking back now, I wonder—if Damien had known that I wasn’t actually struggling financially, perhaps he wouldn’t have pursued me. What he wanted wasn’t someone with an independent personality, but rather someone who needed to cling to him like a parasite. But at the time, I hadn’t realized that. He chased me for three years, confessed to me forty times. At first, I rejected him outright. Then, I couldn’t bear to keep saying no, so I allowed those around us to say we were a couple without correcting them. I craved the feeling of being chosen, of being wanted that badly. The forty-first time he confessed, I said yes. Why? Because that year, I fell ill. And Damien, without hesitation, donated his liver to save me. Lying in that hospital bed, he confessed again. I looked at his pale face and thought, This man, who’s willing to give up so much for me, can’t be as heartless as my father. I decided to trust him. When I gave him my answer, he held me and cried like a child. But inside, I thought, Fate really is cruel. I’ve always feared love because of what my father did, yet it’s because of his mistakes that I ended up choosing someone to be my mate. Yes, my illness was the result of my father’s affair years ago. He contracted hepatitis B and passed it on to me. By the time we discovered it, it was too late. Even though my mother tried every treatment possible, the damage had already been done after years of living with the disease. The pressure of graduating finally broke me, and my body collapsed. The only option left was a liver transplant. At the time, all I could feel was the bitter irony. I never stopped to think that I was gambling with my happiness because of the pain my father caused me. And in that moment, I realized, this was a doomed start from the very beginning.
After I was discharged from the hospital, we moved in together. Every day was filled with the mundane—cooking, cleaning, the rhythm of simple happiness. I had to admit, Damien was an incredible partner. Stable, positive, never once raising his voice. In the year we lived together, we didn’t even have a single major fight. And then, one day, he proposed. In a room he’d carefully decorated, he knelt before me and held out a diamond ring. I thought about it for a long time, then agreed. I had no reason to say no. He truly was a great lover. Over the past year, he’d worked tirelessly, putting in overtime just to earn extra money. The money he earned—after paying off his family’s debts—was spent on things I loved. I could see it—the ring was the best he could afford, after paying off his family’s medical bills. It was his last sacrifice, and it was all for me. I thought, I’ve found my happiness. Two orphans, both having lost our parents, decided to marry, and so everything moved quickly. A month later, at our wedding, Damien confessed to me once more, his voice full of emotion. The audience—our classmates, our friends, those who had witnessed our journey—watched us in anticipation. The air was full of excitement and laughter. And then I turned to Damien, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. “Damien, I will try my best to be a good wife, but if you ever lie to me, I’ll vanish from your world without a trace.” I don’t know if he truly understood, and honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was my line—my final boundary. Of course, there was also the money. I never intended to tell him about it. Marriage was blissful at first, but as time passed, cracks began to form. We started arguing. He wanted children, but I didn’t. Damien didn’t force me. He simply held me close, let out a soft sigh, and said, “If you don’t want one, we don’t have to. We’ll wait until you’re ready.” I nodded quietly, noncommittally. Seeing I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, he kissed my cheek and turned to sleep with his back to me. After that, Damien would bring up having children every now and then, probably hoping to influence me, just like he did with his constant confessions. He wanted me to gradually accept it. But what he didn’t know was that wanting a child meant something entirely different for me. I couldn’t take the gamble. I couldn’t gamble on him being a good father. I couldn’t gamble on him continuing to treat me well, as he had. I didn’t want there to be another woman like my mother—and another me—stuck in that cycle. As the days passed, Damien brought it up more frequently, his patience wearing thin. Finally, one day, we fought. In the end, Damien stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I will never forget the deafening sound of the door hitting the frame that night. But that night, I didn’t chase after him. I simply got out of bed, closed the door, and went back to sleep, lying on my side of the bed. The next morning, Damien was back. He had made breakfast, and as if nothing had happened, he called me to eat. After breakfast, he kissed me goodbye as usual and left for work. In that moment, I suddenly thought, Maybe having a child wouldn’t be so bad. After all, Damien grew up in a pack that valued lineage and tradition so much. The fact that he could accept my decision to not have children made me feel… maybe he was someone I could trust. But then I remembered what my mother had always said: “Never trust any man.”
In our third year of marriage, Damien started his own business. He founded a tech company, and with the clients he had accumulated from his previous job, the company took off. Suddenly, our life became luxurious. We moved into a new villa, bought a million-dollar car, and everything we wore and used was top-tier. But at the same time, he came home later and later, sometimes not coming home at all. I would sometimes wait for him, sometimes not. Damien still treated me well, except for one thing—he insisted that I quit my job. He said he had earned enough money for both of us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, and he didn’t want me to work anymore. I knew the real reason. He felt embarrassed by my low income compared to the wives of his business partners and friends. Most of them were either daughters of well-established families or women as successful as their husbands, while I was working a job that paid only slightly above the average wage. Damien was a man of pride, so he asked me to stop working and become a full-time housewife. I agreed. Just as I hadn’t told him about the money my mother left for me, I also didn’t tell him that the company I worked for was one I had started with my best friend during our senior year. The startup had been exhausting, and that’s when my liver disease relapsed, requiring a transplant to survive. My best friend had been terrified when she saw my condition. She cried and swore never to let me overwork myself again. She had hoped I could stay home and just wait for the dividends, but I couldn’t sit idle, so I took a part-time job to pass the time. Truth be told, I had already achieved financial freedom long before Damien. But I understood him. He didn’t want me to be too successful or independent, so I never told him the full truth. Since he wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, I did as he wished. I quit my job and spent my days reading books and tending to the flowers. I read a lot of books on marriage. They all said that women shouldn’t be too dominant; that’s the key to a lasting marriage. I thought I was doing well. On our third wedding anniversary, Damien gave me a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. Holding me close, he said, “Baby, thank you for everything these years.” He removed the small diamond ring he gave me when we got married, saying, “I didn’t have money back then, so I could only give you a small diamond ring. But I promised myself, once I had money, I’d buy you the biggest one.” He threw the small diamond ring into the trash can and slid the large diamond ring onto my finger. “Baby, I’ve made it.” The ring was beautiful, but it was too big, uncomfortable, and a bit inconvenient. I still preferred the small diamond ring. But I knew I couldn’t pick it up from the trash. He wouldn’t like it, and we’d argue. Yes, as Damien made more money, his temper grew worse. Even the smallest issues could set him off, and after we fought, he would apologize and tell me it was just the pressure from work. I understood him. After all, my father had been the same way. Perhaps all men were like this. Suddenly, Damien kissed me wildly, his kisses more intense and urgent than usual. Before, he was always tender and affectionate. As he kissed me, he mumbled, “Baby, let’s have a child.” “I have money now.” I didn’t directly refuse him. His excitement made me feel uneasy, but I didn’t speak up, and he carried me to bed. Damien, you still don’t know. It’s not because you don’t have money that I don’t want a child. Later that night, Damien slept deeply, and I stared at his handsome face, just like it was back in college. The pigeon egg-sized ring was so large that it was causing the fingers next to it to turn slightly red. I got out of bed to take a shower, found a box, and carefully placed the large diamond ring inside. Then, I picked up the small diamond ring from the trash. But I also found a receipt for a necklace. It was dated a month ago. I was certain he hadn’t given me a necklace. I glanced at Damien’s phone, which was resting by the pillow. I knew the password, and he knew mine. I thought about checking, but in the end, I didn’t. I felt a little scared. Was history about to repeat itself?
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