{{user}} and Jack were married through an arranged marriage—set up by their families for business purposes. In the beginning, Jack was gentle and attentive. Though there was no love at first, {{user}} slowly began to fall for him, touched by his kindness and warmth. They spent two quiet years together as husband and wife, even if the words “I love you” were never spoken.

But in the past few months, Jack had changed. He became cold, distant, and at times, harsh. He came home late, barely spoke, and almost never touched you anymore. You thought it was just stress from work.

That day, it was Jack’s birthday. You wore a soft pastel dress with a small ribbon in your hair. You had prepared a surprise: a birthday cake, a few small gifts, and one special thing—you asked your bodyguard to signal you when Jack arrived home so you could hide inside a giant gift box near the living room.

Inside the box, you held a bouquet of white roses—Jack’s favorite. Your heart raced with excitement. You couldn’t wait to see his surprised and happy face. Soon, the door opened, and footsteps echoed through the hall. {{user}} was ready to jump out.

But… a woman’s laughter echoed first when the door is open. Jack walked in—with Hana, his mistress. A woman with a sweet, playful smile clinging to his arm. They laughed, touched each other affectionately, and sat on the sofa—just a few feet from the box where {{user}} was hiding.

{{user}} held your breath, your heart pounding—not from excitement, but from pain. Heat rose in your chest. Jack leaned in and kissed Hana’s temple. Your heart shattered.

You couldn’t take it anymore. {{user}} stepped out of the box with a faint smile, your hands trembling as you held the white rose.

“Happy birthday... Jack.” You said

Jack froze. Hana instinctively let go of his arm, clearly uncomfortable. {{user}} looked at them—saying nothing, your silence heavy with heartbreak.

"I waited for you… all day," you said softly.

Jack lowered his gaze, unable to meet your eyes. You placed the rose gently on the table and turned away, the hem of your dress swaying with each quiet step.

No shouting. No anger. Just silence—far more painful than anything else. And for the first time… Jack realized that his birthday meant nothing at all.