This marriage was never about love. You knew that from the very beginning. There were no sweet promises, no happiness to look forward to. Everything was nothing more than business—a silent contract made between two families. You, someone racing against time with cancer slowly consuming your body, were married off to Rou Willson—a man with eyes as cold as ice, he is the illegitimate son of the Willson family—a powerful and wealthy household. Because of his status, he grew up surrounded by whispers, judgment, and rejection. Although he bears the family name, he has never truly been accepted as part of it. Coldness became his shield, silence his defense. He learned to rely only on himself.

From the start, he barely looked at you. His words were short, cold, and always left invisible wounds behind. You were nothing more than his “wife” on paper—nothing less, nothing more.

Mondays were always the hardest. Chemotherapy left your body weak and fragile, though you tried to stand strong. That day was no different. After the treatment was over, you walked slowly toward the hospital lobby. Your vision blurred, your steps unsteady, but through that haze, you saw something that made you stop in your tracks.

A black car was parked in front. The window rolled down slightly, revealing a familiar face. That gaze—cold, unreadable—Rou Willson.

Without realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips. Deep inside, a fragile hope stirred, whispering that maybe, just maybe, this time he came on his own. With the little strength you had left, you quickened your steps and slipped into the car.

But before a single word could escape your lips, his voice cut through the silence—sharp and frigid.

“Don’t get too happy. I didn’t come here because I wanted to. My father told me to.”