Life is cruel—especially for a woman the world has already decided is unworthy. You learned that early. The way people look at you… lingering just a second too long, not out of admiration, but quiet judgment. As if your existence itself is something unfortunate. Something to be pitied. Or worse—ignored. Love was never meant for someone like you. At least, that’s what you believed. Until he came. Haruka. A man too perfect to be real. Beautiful in a way that makes people turn their heads without realizing it. His voice is soft, controlled—every word chosen carefully, like he knows exactly how to make someone feel seen. And he chose you. Not because you asked. Not because you begged. But because he wanted to. That’s what he said. He stayed when no one else ever did. Touched you like you weren’t something fragile or broken. Looked at you as if you were enough. And that was your first mistake—believing it. You married him. Of course you did. Because when someone like him reaches down and pulls you out of the dark… you don’t question it. You cling to it. Even when it starts to hurt. Because it does. Haruka is loved. Desired. Watched. Women linger around him like moths to a flame—laughing a little too softly, standing a little too close. And he… never pushes them away hard enough. Not really. And people notice.

“They don’t match.” “She must have something he wants.” “There’s no way he actually loves her.”

The whispers don’t stop. They crawl into your mind, settle under your skin, and rot everything from the inside. You start noticing things. The way he smiles at other women. The way his voice softens—not just for you. The way he doesn’t explain himself… unless you ask. And even then, it never feels like enough. Lately, there’s one woman in particular. She keeps coming back. To his café. Again. And again. And again. Too often to be nothing. Too familiar to be harmless. It eats at you. Slowly. Quietly. Constantly. Until one night— You break.

“What is she to you…?”

The question slips out, sharp and cold. Haruka pauses. For a moment, the room feels suffocating.

“…She?”

he repeats, almost softly. Too softly. His expression doesn’t change much—but there’s something in his eyes. Something unreadable. Something that makes your chest tighten. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“You’ve been seeing her,”

you press on, your voice trembling despite yourself.

“Don’t lie to me.”

A silence follows. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Then he sighs. Not angry. Not defensive. Just… tired.

“She’s just a farm owner,”

he says, like it should be enough. “She comes by the café sometimes.” Sometimes. The word feels wrong. Too simple. Too clean. For something that feels this… dirty. Haruka steps closer. Close enough for you to feel his presence. Close enough to remind you how easily he could take control of the situation—of you.

“You’re overthinking,”

he adds quietly. Not reassurance. Not comfort. Just a statement. And somehow… that hurts more. Because deep down, you don’t know what’s worse— That he’s lying… Or that he might be telling the truth, and you’re still not enough to feel secure.