I have face blindness. My husband was a long-haul truck driver, always on the road. But every time he came home, it was like he was a completely different person. Sometimes, he was like a madman fresh out of lockup, pinning me against the wall the moment he walked in, his movements harsh, like he wanted to devour me whole. Other times, he’d hold me with red-rimmed eyes, whispering how he didn’t want to hurt me, yet his hands roamed, setting every nerve ending on fire. And sometimes, he’d slowly, deliberately, untie his tie, toss me onto the bed, his voice cold and deep: “Lie still, legs open.” I always thought it was just the immense stress from his job, pushing him to the brink of a breakdown. Until the day their logistics company went public. Three tall men, looking exactly alike, stood neatly in my living room. They all claimed to be my husband. My mind went completely blank. These three faces, utterly indistinguishable to me, which one was my actual truck-driving husband?
Jax had been back from his trip for half a month, but tonight, he seemed like a different person entirely. The motion-sensor light in the hall was out, leaving everything in darkness. I’d just fumbled for my keys when a scorching hand suddenly reached out from behind me and clamped over my mouth. It wasn’t the familiar scent of tobacco. Instead, a faint, milky scent. Before my body could instinctively go for a grappling move, the person behind me buried his face in the crook of my neck. He sounded utterly distraught, as if he’d suffered some colossal injustice. “Chloe… you’re still the best to me…” I was stunned. By the moonlight filtering through the window, I finally saw his face clearly. Chiseled features, incredibly handsome. Yes, it was Jax, my husband of only half a month. But those eyes… something was off! Half a month ago, I’d rushed into an arranged marriage with him to escape loan sharks. Back then, he was all muscle, swearing like a sailor, and had kicked those paint-splashing goons flying, a cigarette still dangling from his lips. On the day we got our marriage license, he’d snarled a warning at me: “I’m on the road all year. If you can’t handle the loneliness, get out now.” Our wedding night was even worse, like a wild bull, all force and no tenderness. But the man in front of me now… So gentle. This wasn’t him at all… “Jax…?” I called out, unsure. He pulled me closer, his hot breath ghosting against my neck. “Chloe, they tried to steal my cargo, they tried to beat me… only you’re good to me…” Goosebumps erupted all over me. Had this guy gone crazy on the road? Or had those truck hijackers beaten him senseless? Where was the tough guy who’d throw punches at the slightest provocation? “You… let go first. You’re choking me.” I tried to push him away, but this seemingly gentle guy had surprising strength. He didn’t budge an inch. Not only did he not let go, but he became bolder, one hand starting to sneak under my shirt. “Chloe, I want to take a shower. I feel dirty.” His tone was polite. But his actions were pure pervert! My mind was a complete mess. Staring at the identical face, and these drastically different eyes. For the first time, I had a terrifying suspicion: What kind of man had I actually married? Before I could even process it, he suddenly scooped me up and strode towards the bathroom. “Chloe, help me wash…” “Jax, you maniac! Put me down!” But his movements only grew more urgent. That night, I felt like every ounce of my strength was drained. That intense sensation almost drove me to the brink of madness.
The next morning, sure enough, the spot beside me in bed was cold. Only a crumpled note remained on the pillow, the handwriting scrawled with a little crying face drawn on it: “Chloe, I had to leave urgently. Don’t miss me.” I angrily crumpled the note. Miss him? No way! Wore me out all night, then just ghosted me? I thought that was the end of it, just my husband having a temporary breakdown from stress on the road. But over the next month, Jax simply vanished. Until that rainy night. I worked overtime until midnight, returning home soaked to the bone. I pushed open the door, and the lights were off, but someone was sitting inside. The figure was tall and straight, sitting on that creaky folding chair, somehow radiating the aura of a king on his throne. My heart lifted, not yet noticing anything wrong, I dropped my bag and rushed towards him. “Husband! Where have you been? You never answered my calls!” Normally, the brute would’ve pulled me into a fierce embrace and started kissing me senseless, or the gentle one would have rushed to hug me. But this man didn’t move. He didn’t even lift an eyelid. He held an unlit cigarette in his hand, and by the flash of lightning outside the window, I saw a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Glasses? When did Jax get nearsighted? He slowly raised his gaze, those eyes deep as stagnant pools, devoid of any emotion. That bone-chilling stare instantly froze all my enthusiasm into ice shards. I stood rooted to the spot, my outstretched hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air. “Hus… band?” I called out, uncertainly. The face, the body, it was definitely him. But the way he looked at me was like I was an ant, or… a cheap commodity. He finally moved. Slowly, he put the cigarette on the table and stood up. That oppressive aura washed over me, a hundred times stronger than the tough guy, the undeniable presence of a superior. He advanced, step by step, until he had me cornered against the wall, with nowhere to retreat. His long fingers hooked under my chin, the pressure neither light nor heavy, but laced with an undeniable command. “For the past month, you’ve been living in this pigsty?” His voice was low and magnetic, yet cold enough to drop ice shards. I was bewildered. Pigsty? Isn’t this the home we’d lived in for months? He even said it was cozy when we got married! “Jax, what the hell is wrong with you? If you hate it so much, don’t come back!” I exploded, swatting his hand away. He didn’t get angry. Instead, a mocking smirk played on his lips. “Jax?” He repeated the name softly, his tone playful. “Fine, then I’ll be Jax.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt collar, his movements as elegant as if he were unwrapping a work of art. Then he grabbed my wrist and tossed me onto that flimsy bed. His tone was as detached as if he were discussing business, devoid of any emotion: “Since we’re married, it’s time to fulfill your duties. Lie still, legs open.”
That night, it felt like I was being punished. This Jax with glasses was utterly inhuman. He wasn’t loud or aggressive, barely even spoke. But he was like a precisely calibrated machine, every action cold, precise, and straight to the point. No foreplay, no tenderness, just pure conquest and plunder. No matter how much I cried or begged, his face remained expressionless. Only at the very end, would his brow furrow slightly. Afterward, he got up and dressed, his movements as elegant as if he’d just left a formal dinner. He pulled a black card from his wallet and tossed it onto the bedside table. “The password is your birthday. Find somewhere else to live; this place isn’t worthy of you.” Then, without another glance, he walked out. Leaving me alone, staring at the black card, feeling utterly cold. What was happening? My hand trembled as I picked up the card, tears streaming down my face. I remembered half a year ago. My dad had just passed away, and loan sharks were harassing me daily. When the matchmaker introduced me to Jax, she said he was a long-haul trucker, poor but honest. On our first date, he treated me to noodles at a street food stall. When those loan sharks came to bother me, he didn’t hesitate, grabbing a stool and smashing it into them. It was a brutal fight, and in the end, with blood streaming from his forehead, he grinned at me: “Don’t be scared, Chloe. From now on, I’ll protect you.” On our wedding day, he gave me all his savings – ten thousand dollars – to pay off my debts. “I’m not much, just this. But as long as I have food, you won’t starve.” Back then, he was rough, he was poor, but he gave me a home, a profound sense of security. But now? The black card in my hand felt heavy. They said it could buy an entire street. Yet, the Jax who would fight for me, who would clumsily try to cheer me up, seemed gone. The man he was now, was a stranger, and it terrified me. I didn’t dare touch the card, locking it deep in my drawer. I feared it was money he’d risked his life for. Even more, I feared that by using it, I would truly lose my tough guy husband forever.
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