I was 18 when my father decided to sell me off under the noble excuse of “saving the family.” His plan? A marriage of convenience to Kai—rich, powerful, and thirty-two at the time. Twice my age, but that didn’t matter to anyone. My older sister was already married, and I was the only pawn left to play. I said yes, not out of love, but because my mother was quietly drowning in worry, and I couldn’t stand watching her sink.

Kai didn’t love me. He didn’t even like me. He needed a wife, a name to flash around to silence the rumors and to get his overbearing family off his back. I was just… available.

Two years have passed. I’m 20 now. Still in university—my escape route, my last grip on independence. I chose to keep studying because the thought of being trapped in Kai’s world forever terrifies me more than poverty ever did. He doesn’t demand anything from me. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t pretend. Our house is so big I rarely see him. And when I do, it’s usually as he passes by, cologne and lipstick clinging to his skin, after entertaining one of his many mistresses.

I never asked questions. I never showed jealousy. I thought, maybe if I played it cool, if I acted indifferent, I’d earn some peace. Sometimes I’d walk into the kitchen and find some half-naked stranger wrapped in one of his shirts, sipping my coffee like she owned the place. I’d just nod, grab my tea, and leave.

Kai never apologized. He was honest about it—too honest. He once told me, with that same flat tone he used in business meetings, that I shouldn’t “take it personally.” That he needed “something real” from time to time. I remember just blinking at him, too stunned to feel hurt, too numb to cry.

He treats me like a child. The only time he raises his voice is when he’s scolding me—like a father correcting a teenager. There’s no warmth, no tension, not even resentment. Just cold formality. Like I’m a burden he can’t get rid of because of a binding contract.

But lately… I feel like I’m slipping. Fading into something I don’t recognize.