My fiancé thinks I’m the easiest girl in the world to make cry. He’s not wrong. I cry when my fiancé comes home late. I cry when he refuses to kiss me. I cry even harder when he kisses me too much. Tonight his phone lights up with an emergency call from the office. My lips start to tremble. Tears pool before I can stop them— And then I remember the post. The anonymous one. The one I’d stumbled across on the gossip forum a few days ago. Some user claiming to know a stranger’s entire future. Normally, I’d scroll past. But the details were too specific. The arranged marriage into old money. The crybaby fiancée who couldn’t stop clinging. The fiancé who tolerated her out of obligation. It was me. Every single line. I told myself it was nonsense. I kept scrolling. ＞Cry all day. That’s all she does. You can see how sick of it the male lead is. ＞He hates clingy vines like her. She only got this arranged marriage because his family owes hers a debt. ＞Relax. He’s about to meet the real female lead at the office. They’ll fall for each other on sight. The crybaby side character will lose her mind with jealousy, get hit by a truck, and her family goes bankrupt. Happy ending. I freeze mid-sob. That comments loop in my head, loud and impossible to ignore. I scramble off him. “Hey. Go ahead. The company’s more important.” Lucas Langford stares up at me. His breathing is uneven. His face is smudged with my lipstick. His wrists are still cuffed—the leather ones I’d cried for half an hour to talk him into wearing. The first time I handed him that see-through V-neck and those cuffs, his face went so dark it looked homicidal. I’d cried for those, too. I told him my best friend’s husband wore exactly that to bed every night. “It makes his pecs look insane. Some girls have all the luck.” Lucas’s face got even worse. But he put them on. Now his voice comes out low and rough. “You sure you want me to go?” His eyes search mine. Probing. I nod and I can feel the tears threatening. “Then unlock me.” His tone goes cold. I scramble for the cuffs. My fingers shake. I keep thinking about the comments. About how I’m supposed to die because I prevented his destined marriage. I can’t get the cuffs off. The more I panic, the closer I am to tears. He sighs. His voice softens. “Jen. If you don’t want me to go, you can tell me—” “It’s open.” The cuff is off. I shove the shirt at him, swallowing the sob. “I’ll be fine. Drive safe.” Lucas pauses. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he really does hate me. When he takes the shirt, his fingers avoid mine. He’s dressed in seconds. The tailored suit transforms him—wide shoulders, narrow waist, silver-rimmed glasses catching the light. “Don’t wait up.” I smile. “Go.” His jaw tightens. He opens the door and leaves without a word. The slam echoes harder than usual. Every tear I’d been holding back comes crashing down. I call my mother. My voice cracks on the first syllable. “Mom… I want a different fiancé.” “What happened, sweetheart?” I can’t tell her the truth. Can’t tell her Lucas is going to fall in love with someone else. That I’ll get hit by a truck. That he’ll bankrupt our family afterward. Not exactly something I can say out loud — Mom, I read it on a gossip forum. “He doesn’t like me,” I mumble. She goes quiet. “Okay, baby. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll talk to your father. Don’t cry, okay?” “Okay.” I wipe my eyes. The bed is cold beside me. The forum’s not wrong. My family is new money. Dad won the lottery when I was seven, made some smart investments, and suddenly we were running in the same circles as Kingsfield’s old-money families. Before that, I drooled over cheap sausages from street carts. The Langfords are old money. One of the oldest in Kingsfield. Their connections run through every old name in the city. Lucas is the eldest grandson of the main branch. Groomed as heir since birth. Composed. Decisive. Ruthless. He took over the family business while most people his age were still figuring out their majors. They say my family did the Langfords some favor. A debt of gratitude. No one ever told me what it was. I don’t even remember meeting Lucas before he showed up at our house a month ago and proposed. At first I spent thirty seconds wondering if it was a romance scam. Every doubt I had melted the second I saw his face. *Sign me the hell up.* And we have a one-month trial period. If I wasn’t happy, I could walk away. No strings. Back then I thought he was being sweet. Now I know the truth. He doesn’t like me. He just wanted to help his family pay off a debt. Three days left until I can leave without breaking the agreement. I don’t want to be a side character in someone else’s love story. So I won’t cry anymore. I’ll walk away first.
To rewrite my fate, I’m on my best behavior all night. No whiny texts. No “do you miss me yet.” No blowing up his phone. Not a single message. In the morning, figuring Lucas won’t be home, I head downstairs without a bra. “Why aren’t you sleeping in?” That familiar low voice. I look up. Lucas is on the sofa. His gaze lifts. Drags down my body. His eyes darken for half a second. My face catches fire. He’s not supposed to be here. I have no idea how to play this. I pull up the forum on my phone out of habit. The thread has new comments. > LOL is she seriously acting shy? > The vicious side character throwing herself into the ML’s arms and crying about something stupid AGAIN. She’s a grown woman — drop the baby-wife act. > The ML is exhausted from work and has to come home to someone he doesn’t love. I’d be dead inside too. > Just wait till he meets the FL. He’s gonna fall for her energy so hard. Double strong leads ftw. I dig my nails into my palm. *Don’t cry.* I crush the impulse to throw myself at him and force a casual smile. “Couldn’t sleep. You’re home early. Have you eaten?” Lucas sets down the financial report. A faint crease between his brows. His eyes drop. “The floor is cold. Where are your shoes?” I glance at my bare feet. “It’s summer—” He’s already standing. Walking toward me. He stops one step lower so we’re almost the same height. Faint shadows under his eyes. He looks tired. Worn. The kind of tired that makes me want to kiss his eyelids. He reaches for me the way he always does — to pick me up. That’s when I catch it. A trace of perfume on his collar. A woman’s scent. Not mine. My fingers curl. I step back. “You should rest. I’m going to eat.” Lucas’s arm hangs in the air. His eyes go cold. The kind of cold that makes you shiver. I don’t dare look at him again. I turn and half-jog toward the kitchen. Behind me, I feel his stare burning into my back. He doesn’t move for a long time. Lucas doesn’t stay home long. Before he leaves, he knocks on my bedroom door. I’m cocooned in my blanket gossiping with Tara. The knock makes me shove the phone into my chest. I sit up, polite and stuttering. “Is— is there something else?” I can’t let him catch me. Yesterday he told me to stop gossiping about nonsense with my best friend. If he knew the nonsense was about him… Lucas’s face is unreadable. Those sharp eyes land on mine. Then slide to my phone. Linger. I swallow. My fingers go white around the case. “Lucas?” He pulls his gaze back. His expression is somehow even sourer than before. “I’m heading to the office. If you need anything, reach out. Tell Mrs. Park (Our housekeeper) what you’d like for lunch.” He pauses. “I’m leaving.” Something is off about him today. He said I’m leaving twice. I smile. “Okay. Drive safe.” His hand tightens on the doorframe. Then he pulls it shut. I check the forum again. Fresh comments: > The clingy crybaby is acting different? I was SURE she’d beg for a goodbye kiss. Did she finally figure out the ML likes composed, confident women and try to copy that? Imitation is flattery, I guess. > She probably noticed his disgust is showing. I bet if she tried to kiss him right now he’d literally push her away. > The ML is already subconsciously staying pure for the FL. His virginity is the best wedding gift lol. My heart feels like it’s been dropped in acid. A dull, squeezing pain. I fight the tears with everything I have. My phone buzzes. Tara. “Babe. BABE. Drop. His. Ass.” “Hot or not, he doesn’t get to treat you like an inconvenience. You didn’t beg for this — HIS family came to YOURS.” “Pretty privilege only goes so far. With your dad’s money I’ll line up six-foot-two men with abs AND a personality. You can swipe like it’s a buffet.” “I’m not joking. Say the word and I’ll have someone here in twenty minutes.” I bite my lip. “Okay.” I hit send. My eyelids feel heavy. Sleep drags me under before I can think. I never see the photo Tara sends after. It’s a smiling boy in the white button‑down.
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