Adrian hasn’t touched me in the three years we’ve been married. I put on a lace nightgown, faked some kiss marks, and sent him a sleeping selfie from his perspective. “Dude, she smells amazing. Why don’t you divorce her and let me have her?” I guessed Adrian would be disgusted and angry when he received this anonymous message, and would throw me away like trash, the sister who was just a replacement. I thought that this time, I’d finally be able to divorce him. Natalie was on vacation in Europe, celebrating her third wedding anniversary. She asked me what gift I wanted, and I asked for an anonymous international phone card. Holding the phone card, standing in the empty hotel room, I let out a tired sigh. Then I put on the sheer lace nightgown I had bought specifically for this plan. In front of the mirror, I created fake kiss marks on my collarbone and neck. The marks were scattered, as if left by a man consumed by desire, forceful and domineering. One strap of the nightgown was “torn” by the “man”. Finally, I carefully smudged my lipstick in front of the mirror. Then I sat on the bed, making the other side look as if someone had slept there. I closed my eyes. The camera was set on a timer from his perspective. Three, two, one. In the photo, the woman seemed to have just fallen asleep after an intimate moment, completely defenseless. I stared at it for a long time. I couldn’t help but think of Adrian’s notorious reputation in the business world. The smiling tiger. The capitalist who devours without spitting out bones. But what I was most familiar with was his perpetually cold and emotionless face. Although handsome, all his affection was only for my sister. I prepared for the worst. Even if Adrian had no feelings for me, a man should find it hard to tolerate a woman’s betrayal. He might seek revenge. But in the end, he would disgustedly and angrily abandon me and divorce me. As long as I could get a divorce, that’s all I wanted. I closed my eyes and pressed send. On the phone screen, that casually worded text message— “Dude, she smells amazing. Why don’t you divorce her and let me have her?” Along with that photo. Sent successfully.
In less than two seconds. I received a reply. Adrian: “Who are you?” I changed clothes slowly. Almost mischievously prolonging the response time. Was he about to explode with anger, desperately wanting to tear the anonymous sender apart? He, who had always been heaven’s favorite, perfect from childhood to adulthood, was now having his emotions controlled by someone else, and by someone like me who he had always held in the palm of his hand. Three years of depression and pain, finally getting a moment of satisfaction today. I changed into my regular clothes, and during this interval, Adrian sent two more messages. “Don’t use such poor AI face-swapping. Tell me your purpose.” “I advise you to come clean yourself, and I might leave you in one piece.” I chuckled. “Mr. Shaw, why don’t you ask your wife if it’s AI face-swapping? You’ll know then.” “The kiss marks on my baby’s neck won’t fade that quickly (＾ｖ＾).” I dared to say this because I knew Adrian was abroad negotiating an important deal. He couldn’t come back for at least half a month. The next moment, my own phone suddenly rang. I was startled. The phone kept ringing furiously, it was Adrian calling. I pursed my lips, staring at the phone until the call ended. But soon, the screen lit up again, Adrian was persistently calling me. I understood that this time, he was really angry. My heart was pounding, feeling like I was walking a tightrope, playing an absolutely dangerous game. I sent: “Mr. Shaw, stop calling. We did it five times, your wife is exhausted and asleep.” The phone finally stopped ringing. My phone fell into dead silence. I sent from the anonymous phone card: “I didn’t mean to break you up, Mr. Shaw. Your wife and I are truly in love. Be magnanimous and divorce her soon, give her to me. Otherwise, if word gets out about you being cheated on, you’ll lose face.” Adrian didn’t reply anymore. I nervously threw the torn lace nightgown into the trash, checked out of the hotel, and returned to the mansion. The housekeepers were cleaning. Everything was perfectly normal, as quiet as if nothing had happened. Wash up, sleep. At dawn, when the sky was turning white, I vaguely heard the roar of an engine and the sharp sound of tires braking outside the window. When I realized and opened my eyes in panic, the bedroom door was knocked at the same time. “Aria, open the door.” That voice was cold, the tone forcibly controlled to be steady, only faintly revealing a hint of anxiety and unease. I was wide awake now, as if cold water had been poured over me, my whole body cold. It was Adrian.
I panicked. How could he be back? To him, I was just an insignificant replacement tool. The knocking sounded again, still three knocks, extremely restrained. He spoke a bit faster: “Aria, I want to see you.” I sat up, trying not to panic, not to give myself away. I took a deep breath and said sleepily but pretending to be calm: “Mr. Shaw, I… need to use the bathroom and take a shower. Please wait a moment.” I quickly ran into the bathroom, turned on the shower, then stared at the kiss marks on my neck. These were marks I had made myself yesterday by pinching with a bottle cap. For the sake of realism, I had been rough, and now they were so obvious that even foundation couldn’t cover them! But I couldn’t not cover them either. Because the first reaction of someone who’s cheating would definitely be to lie and cover up. Adrian was shrewd; I had to play my part thoroughly. I wet my hair to look like I had just showered, then changed into a high-necked black dress that covered everything, including my arms. I carefully covered the half-visible kiss mark at the neckline with a band-aid. I looked in the mirror, practicing an expression of guilt poorly hidden beneath forced calmness. Disgusting enough, right? Adrian would surely be repulsed and immediately propose divorce, telling me to get lost. I opened the door. Adrian was sitting on the sofa, brows furrowed, eyes closed as if resting. His face was a bit pale, with a faint shadow of stubble on his chin. He had forgotten to wear his watch, and the cufflinks that matched his suit were missing. One hand tightly gripped his phone, the other hung on the sofa armrest, with four deep wounds on the knuckles. As if he had hit something hard, more than once. But he didn’t seem to care, not even bothering with a band-aid. “Mr. Shaw, why are you back?” Adrian opened his eyes and looked at me, his pupils dark and deep. He stood up from the sofa, the man who had been so anxious just now suddenly moving very slowly as he walked up to me. I instinctively stepped back, but Adrian grabbed my arm and pulled me back. He lowered his eyes to look at my neck, his pupils contracting. I forced a smile and said, “Did something happen?” He didn’t answer, just used his cold fingers, two fingers together, slowly hovering over the band-aid, as if he would roughly tear it off the next second, along with all my lies, and then angrily, humiliated, tear up our fake marriage contract. My body started to tremble, I closed my eyes waiting to be exposed. But his index and middle fingers just lightly touched the band-aid. Adrian calmly asked, “How did you get this?” I deliberately avoided his gaze, “Just… just accidentally got scratched by a book page yesterday.” “Book page…” Adrian blinked very slowly, “What were you doing last night?” His fingertips explored into my collar, just a little more force and he could see the kiss marks hidden under the fabric. I swallowed, “I went out for a hair treatment last night.” Adrian’s breathing became heavy. He looked at me expressionlessly, for a moment, I had the illusion that he would devour me whole. His fingers tightened on my collar, I stumbled along with that force, almost falling into his arms, I quickly extended my arms to block his chest. His palm encircled my lower back, like an iron hoop, tightening bit by bit, that restrained anger seemed to be venting in this way. I couldn’t match his strength, my resisting arms began to soften. Adrian approached me inch by inch. “Mr. Shaw, don’t,” I said trembling, though I didn’t know what he intended to do, but instinct told me it would be dangerous. My mind went blank, my voice shaking, I begged incoherently. After three or four seconds. He actually slowly withdrew his fingers, clenched them into a fist, his face turning iron-gray, his lips tightly pursed. I realized what I had been saying — “I’m scared, don’t touch me, please.” “I’ll assign you two personal bodyguards. They’ll follow you when you go out from now on to ensure your safety,” Adrian announced flatly. Then he turned and left without hesitation. When I heard the familiar engine sound from outside, I finally came to my senses— He’s not pursuing it? How could this be?!
I was monitored very strictly, with almost no chance to take out that phone to make contact. Adrian, who was supposed to be abroad, somehow finished his business trip in just five days this time and hurried back. After he returned, the surveillance on me loosened a bit, and I finally had the chance to pick up the phone again. I sent a message using that anonymous phone card. “Dude, you can’t take it like a man? Even if she cheated, why not just divorce? Why lock your wife up?” Adrian replied quickly: “She didn’t cheat. I trust her. Aria isn’t the kind of person who would do such things.” I stared at this text message in a daze. What does he mean? Although I indeed didn’t have the courage to actually find a man to cheat with, which is why I resorted to this plan. But how could Adrian understand so well what kind of person I am? He had always been so cold to me. I pushed on, disregarding everything else, adding fuel to the fire: “Mr. Shaw, you don’t know your wife better than I do.” “She has three moles, on her ribs, near her belly button, and… Every time I trace them with my finger, connecting the dots, she trembles uncontrollably from the stimulation.” “But you’re her husband, married for three years, you must have known this long ago, right?” The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm, because in these three years, Adrian had never touched me. “Bang!” Just as I sent it, suddenly a huge crashing sound came from upstairs. The sound came from Adrian’s study. I trembled, nervously hurrying to hide the backup phone. The crashing sound rang out a few more times. Then, I heard Adrian coming downstairs. He tiredly instructed the housekeeper: “Find someone to clean up, the computer needs to be replaced.” Footsteps approached. I was so scared I was shaking, vaguely feeling that I would be the next thing he tore apart. I escaped into the blankets, pretending to be asleep. The lock on my door had mysteriously broken since he returned. Adrian gently turned the handle, seeing the bedroom was dark, he didn’t say anything. In the dead silence, his heavy, uneven breathing and unsettled heartbeat were extremely obvious, so much so that I wondered if Adrian could hear my own racing heart. He came closer and closer. I kept my eyes tightly shut. Adrian didn’t shake me awake, didn’t furiously grab my neck demanding an explanation. He stood by my bed. Even though I didn’t open my eyes, I could still feel a sharp, burning gaze deeply fixed on my lower abdomen, as if hesitating whether to check. Don’t shake, keep breathing steady, keep acting! I didn’t move. Suddenly I felt the mattress sink down beside me. Adrian slowly lay down next to me. That icy yet burning gaze still focused on me. I gritted my teeth, no gain without pain. I gave him more fuel! As if lost in a sweet dream, I murmured and turned towards him, nuzzling my head into his embrace. Adrian paused for a moment, that fierce, burning gaze suddenly softened. “Honey…” I mumbled. Adrian stiffened for an instant. I persistently wrapped my arms around him, using the sweetest voice I could muster, “Honey, hug me.” I thought he would get angry, even wake me up with a slap. Because I had never called him honey before, he knew I was calling someone else. But— He stared at me hard, gripping my arms tightly, trembling with anger, but the next moment, hearing my muffled whimper, he forced himself to loosen his grip. Adrian held the back of my head, letting me hug him tighter. He kissed my hair. Then he stroked my back from top to bottom with his palm, in a clumsy yet gentle soothing gesture. He said softly, “Mm, honey’s hugging you.” I froze. This kind of eerily calm reaction was utterly insane. Adrian was an exceptionally intelligent person. He should have understood I was cheating from the first text message he received. To avoid a scandal, he should have quickly drafted divorce papers and forced me to leave with nothing. But instead, he denied it again and again, frantically, obsessively insisting that I hadn’t slept with someone else. Even now, he was almost self-hypnotizing, snatching away the pet names meant for someone else. What on earth was he doing? Adrian thought I had stopped sleep-talking and fallen into a deeper slumber. He silently lifted the blanket, his finger resting on my ribs, then lightly sliding down along the direction of that mole. A light touch, his fingertip cool. So quick, I didn’t even have time to react before I suddenly curled up, shaking uncontrollably. That text was something I had made up, I didn’t even know myself that being touched on the moles would cause such an electrifying stimulation! I trembled pathetically, unable to keep up the act any longer, immediately wanting to turn away and hide. Adrian stopped his caressing motion and completely enveloped me in his arms, forcing me to face him chest to chest. Forceful, secure, like interlocking hearts, so tight that I could feel his heartbeat from beneath his ribcage against my chest. Chaotic, frenzied, powerful. He whispered softly: “You are mine, I am yours.” He had truly gone mad. He had completely abandoned all rational, cool logic and weighing of pros and cons, becoming a wild beast. Savage, direct, possessive without compromise. As if I had been carried into his lair, and could only belong to him. Adrian had objectified me, objectified himself. We were not humans with fragile shells and sensitive souls, but two lifeless iron locks. With a “click”, locked together. He could stubbornly believe, I am his, he is mine. He had truly gone mad. I opened my eyes in the darkness, looking at Adrian’s sleeping face with complex emotions, between his burning chest and arms. Until my eyelids grew heavy and I fell into a dream. In the dream, three years ago, I cried and begged Adrian to let me go. He looked at me coldly. Until I shouted: “I don’t owe you anything, you have no reason to lock me up!” Only then did he take a step back, silent for a full minute before looking up, “You do owe me. Your sister ran away and ruined the engagement, so you have to pay me back for life. I won’t let you go.” At that time, I collapsed on the ground, touching the face so similar to my sister’s, finally understanding that he would never let me go because he saw me as a replacement for my sister. Three years passed like this, bitter and unbearable. When I opened my eyes, Adrian was already gone. The bed beside me was neat and clean, as if no one had ever been there.
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