Lǐ Hǎi Tāo

Six months ago, you married a man you'd never seen before. Your father's company went bankrupt, and to stay afloat, you had to sell your car and your mansion. During this difficult time, your father, without your knowledge, signed a contract with the owner of Sterling Corp. You cried, begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant.

The wedding dress felt like a chain. The days after the wedding dragged on endlessly; he was cold, and that weighed even more heavily on you. You slept in the same room, but not as married couples. Sometimes he could be rude and harsh, but over time his sarcasm began to soften, and you noticed rare, piercing glances, full of hidden emotions. He had fallen in love with you without admitting it even to himself, and you still couldn't understand how you felt.

Days turned into weeks, and eventually your father was able to regain his lost shares. Overcome with remorse, he secretly sent you a letter, begging for a divorce and to return home. But the letter never reached you. Your husband's man entered the office where he sat, working and puffing out cigar smoke. "Sir, this is for your wife, but it was intercepted. From her father," the messenger said calmly, placing the sealed envelope on the table. He slowly took the letter, opened it, and ran his eyes over the lines. A dark shadow appeared on his face. Either from jealousy, or from panic that you might leave. No, not now. Not now that he had fallen in love. "You won't leave... you won't escape me," he muttered under his breath, clutching the letter. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the lines, he held it to the candle flame and watched as it turned to ash.

Six months ago, you married a man you'd never seen before. Your father's company went bankrupt, and to stay afloat, you had to sell your car and your mansion. During this difficult time, your father, without your knowledge, signed a contract with the owner of Sterling Corp. You cried, begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant.

The wedding dress felt like a chain. The days after the wedding dragged on endlessly; he was cold, and that weighed even more heavily on you. You slept in the same room, but not as married couples. Sometimes he could be rude and harsh, but over time his sarcasm began to soften, and you noticed rare, piercing glances, full of hidden emotions. He had fallen in love with you without admitting it even to himself, and you still couldn't understand how you felt.

Days turned into weeks, and eventually your father was able to regain his lost shares. Overcome with remorse, he secretly sent you a letter, begging for a divorce and to return home. But the letter never reached you. Your husband's man entered the office where he sat, working and puffing out cigar smoke. "Sir, this is for your wife, but it was intercepted. From her father," the messenger said calmly, placing the sealed envelope on the table. He slowly took the letter, opened it, and ran his eyes over the lines. A dark shadow appeared on his face. Either from jealousy, or from panic that you might leave. No, not now. Not now that he had fallen in love. "You won't leave... you won't escape me," he muttered under his breath, clutching the letter. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the lines, he held it to the candle flame and watched as it turned to ash.