In the third year of my marriage to Cassian Whitren, I got hit by a car while riding my bike.

Even though I was in pain, I didn't call him.

After all, he was a major general in the military district—his position was special, and personal calls weren't allowed during work hours.

The woman who hit me was crying as she made a call, clutching my arm.

"My boyfriend's on his way. Please wait a bit. We'll make sure you're satisfied with the solution."

But when a military jeep with the license plate 8888 pulled up behind her, my whole body went stiff.

Cassian stepped out of the car, took off his jacket, and draped it over the woman's shoulders, his voice full of concern.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Are you hurt?"

That was when I realized something—Cassian could take personal calls during work. He just didn't have my number listed as his emergency contact.

He frowned, his gaze fixed on my bleeding knee for a long time.

The woman's voice wavered. "Do you two know each other?"

Cassian lowered his eyes, silent.

Before he could answer, I spoke up. "No. We don't."

After all, three years ago, the first clause in our marriage contract was to keep it a secret.

Now, that three-year contract was almost over.

And I was about to leave.

***

I always knew Cassian had a first love.

But I never thought it would be the woman who just hit me with her car.

When Cassian showed up, I froze for a second, thinking he was there for me.

But the woman in front of me had already stood up, running straight into his arms with tears in her eyes.

"Cass, what should I do? I hit someone!"

He took off his military jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, his voice calm and gentle.

"I'll take care of it."

I slowly looked away, my eyes falling to the wound on my knee.

Only then did I finally understand why Cassian hadn't been coming home much lately—his first love, Stephanie Averine, had come back from abroad.

When Stephanie stepped out of his arms and turned to me, she was smiling, her face glowing with happiness.

"My boyfriend's here now. Just tell his men what kind of compensation you want.

"I'm really sorry I made you late for work and got you hurt. Don't be shy—my boyfriend's very capable; he'll make sure you're taken care of!"

"Thanks," I said softly.

But Cassian's subordinate looked awkward. He was one of the few people who knew about our secret marriage.

He stammered, "Ma'am—uh... I mean, Miss, your wound is still bleeding. It's been half an hour already. Do you have a clotting problem?"

"It's just mild," I replied.

But then Cassian's head snapped up, his voice low. "Clotting problem?"

Stephanie blinked, confused. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer—his eyes were fixed on my bleeding knee, brows furrowed deep.

Stephanie finally sensed something was off. She looked between us, uncertain.

"Do you two know each other?"

Cassian lowered his eyes, silent.

Before he could answer, I spoke up. "No. We don't."

As expected, he looked pleased with my answer.

He then took Stephanie's hand and said casually to his subordinate, "Take her to the hospital."

As their figures disappeared into the distance, a faint bitterness spread in my chest.

There were still two whole months left before our marriage contract ended.

It was time for me to prepare to leave.

The marriage contract with Cassian was very simple.

I needed money for grad school, and thanks to a mysterious online connection, I somehow ended up as Cassian's wife.

On the day we "married," there was no wedding, no ceremony—just a contract.

He wanted a fake marriage for three years to fend off his family's pressure. We had to keep it secret and sometimes accompany him home to deal with his parents.

We didn't have to act like a real couple. We didn't owe each other anything. I could even date, as long as it didn't reach his family.

I got 5,000 dollars a month, and at the end of the contract, five million more as hush money.

At that time, Stephanie was already abroad. I didn't even know she existed. So there was no reason to say no to this job.

After the wedding, Cassian kept me close and taught me many things.

I acted like a real Mrs. Whitren—attending banquets with him, helping pick outfits, and handling difficult politicians.

Once, a department head got handsy with me. Normally calm and unreadable, Cassian kicked him in the knee without a word.

Then he placed a wine bottle in my hand, wrapped an arm around me, and whispered, "Do you know what I want to teach you today?"

I forced myself to stay calm.

"To stand up for myself at the right time, to know when to advance or retreat, so I can stay in control..."

But he lifted my hand high, cutting me off.

"Good student. This isn't a textbook problem. Too stiff.

"It's just a fight."

Then—bang!—the bottle hit the man's head.

My hand tingled from the impact.

Cassian took a cloth and wiped the sweat from my palm. "Don't forget—I'm your strength. No one can bully you anymore."

I quickly pulled my hand back and said, "Got it," and ran.

If I'd stayed a second longer, he might've seen the feelings in my eyes.

Maybe it was the first time I liked someone. Or maybe his occasional indulgence made me reckless.

After we married, I moved into the house he bought. My favorite part of the day was waiting for him to come home from work. We ate together, chatted, and sometimes watched movies or went for walks.

Until one day, after a celebration, he got drunk and was brought home by a female subordinate. His arm rested on her shoulder, way too close.

"Ma'am, please step aside. I need to help Major General Whitren inside," she said, a hint of disdain in her tone.

I didn't move and reached out. "I can handle my husband myself."

Just as I was about to close the door, the secretary laughed.

"Being Major General Whitren's wife means you need to be confident. You can't control every woman. If your jealousy keeps showing, you'll just stress yourself out."

I didn't expect Cassian, though drunk, had heard it and noticed my thoughts.

Later, I made him a hangover soup to sober up. He was slumped on the couch, clear-eyed, staring at me.

I pushed the plate toward him. "Just in time. Drink a bit; it won't hurt as much."

He glanced at it without touching it, then suddenly asked, "Do you know why I never let you in the study?"

I was still annoyed but distracted instantly. I shook my head.

He stood up, took my hand, and walked me to the study, refusing my help.

When the door opened, a huge painting filled the wall.

A girl, 16 or 17, stood in a flower field, head down, eyes closed, lightly smelling the flowers. Only half her face was visible.

No wonder, when I first met Stephanie, I didn't recognize her immediately.

Leaning against the doorframe, Cassian lit a cigarette. "I've had feelings for her since I was 17—ten years now.

"If we hadn't argued back then, if she hadn't left in anger, she'd be the one married to me now."

His voice was casual, but every word hit like a hammer.

Before I could respond, he went on, "I can't give you what you want, Emilia. Don't let your heart go where it shouldn't."

Then, in a negotiator's tone, "I'll add a clause to the contract. If you can't control your feelings, if you cross boundaries, it's a breach. You won't get paid, and you'll owe damages."

The study was dark. Light from the hallway reflected off the floor.

I froze, staring at my shadow. I remembered something I'd heard when I first entered the Whitren family.

Cassian once said about greedy people, "They test the boundaries, always restless. It makes you sick."

That day, I had become the one who made him feel that way.

I didn't even notice when he left.

I stood there until daylight, and only then did the tightness in my chest ease.

After that, I controlled myself perfectly. No emotions spilled out. Calm, polite, and respectful—that became my only attitude toward him.

Over time, I almost truly stopped liking him.

After getting my thoughts together, I went to a clinic to take care of my leg injury.

I asked my team leader for a day off and headed straight to the hospital to be with Mom.

Mom had a tumor in a tricky spot in her brain. There were fewer than two doctors in the whole country capable of performing the surgery.

She kept muttering, "If we can't get an appointment with the doctor, I'll just get discharged. Don't want to waste money."

I shoved a piece of pear into her mouth.

"No way! Last time, you fainted just going to the third floor for a checkup. And I heard Professor Mocco, the only one who can do this surgery, will be here soon."

"The attending doctor had said that if the news was true, they'd help us get an appointment first thing."

Just thinking about how fast Mom might get better made my steps lighter when I went to grab lunch—but the head nurse stopped me.

"Emmy, the VIP room was cleared for you. I even held it for you right away. But a new girl with connections came, and they put her mom in it instead."

The head nurse sighed. "I heard her boyfriend's last name is Whitren. He's a major general with a lot of power..."

At almost the same moment, I caught a glimpse of a figure around the stair corner. The white dress was exactly like the one Stephanie wore this morning.

I looked away and smiled calmly. "Thanks anyway. The VIP room isn't that important. I just want my mom to get the surgery soon."

When I got home in the afternoon, Cassian was sitting on the living room couch.

I was a little surprised he wasn't with Stephanie at this hour.

I nodded slightly. "Major General Whitren."

Just as I was about to go back to my room, he asked, "How's your knee?"

"I've taken care of it. It's fine," I replied.

Cassian put down his coffee and glanced at his watch.

"We're having dinner at the Whitren's manor tonight. Can you come?"

According to our agreement, even if I was busy, I had to cancel everything else.

I nodded. "I can."

I couldn't show up at the Whitren's manor looking plain, so I picked a designer outfit, skillfully did my makeup, put on jewelry, and sprayed perfume—making sure I looked polished from head to toe.

At the Whitren's manor, I habitually linked my arm with Cassian's and, once inside, politely greeted each elder.

During dinner, Cassian's mom suddenly asked, "Are you two trying to have a baby?"

I was sipping soup and choked, coughing so hard I could barely breathe.

Cassian handed me a napkin and patted my back naturally.

"Emmy is still young."

But his mom didn't agree. "She's 25. That's not young anymore. You should start thinking about this, okay?"

I forced down my soup and nodded. "I understand."

Heavy rain started that night, so Cassian and I had to stay at the manor. One bed, two blankets—since we were used to it, it wasn't awkward.

After changing into my nightgown and coming out of the bathroom, I sat on the couch to treat my knee. Cassian looked over.

"Sorry I couldn't take you to the hospital myself today."

He frowned, as if he was wondering how to explain his relationship with Stephanie to me.

I stopped him. "It's fine, Major General Whitren. The agreement doesn't say you have to do anything for me, so don't worry about it."

"And about you and Ms. Averine... I won't pry. Don't worry—I'll cooperate with you until two months from now."

He raised his eyes slightly. "Two months from now?"

Looks like he forgot when the agreement ends.

I reminded him, "Right. The agreement ends in two months. After that, we'll divorce and be done with it."

Cassian set down his wine glass without much interest.

"You remember the date pretty clearly."

He left it there and walked to the bathroom, his tone neither warm nor cold.

Not long after, Mom's attending doctor called me, saying they'd applied for Professor Elijah Mocco's surgery slot for her.

For the next couple of weeks, I went to the hospital every day after work to be with Mom.

That day, as soon as I stepped into the hospital elevator, the doors started to close—then someone pressed the button to stop them.

Cassian and Stephanie walked in.

Stephanie didn't remember me at all; her eyes barely glanced my way before moving on.

Cassian's steps slowed slightly, but he didn't say anything.

As the elevator went up, Stephanie linked her arm with his and acted all cute.

"Thank you, my amazing boyfriend, for arranging everything for my mom. Now we just wait for the results!

"How should I thank you? Maybe I can make you take me out to dinner?"

I stared at the elevator buttons, and after a few seconds, I heard him quietly ask, "What do you want to eat?"

Stephanie's eyes lit up. "Let's go to your place! I want your pasta!"

The elevator stopped at my floor. Even as I stepped out, I didn't hear Cassian refuse.

Looks like I couldn't go home tonight—I'd have to find a hotel.

After dinner with Mom, I booked a room at a nearby hotel, showered, and went to sleep.

Half-asleep, I got a call from Cassian.

I mumbled, "Hello?"

"When are you coming home?" his voice said. "I've already made dinner, and I'm waiting for you."

I buried half my face in the pillow. "Aren't you supposed to be with Stephanie...?

"I didn't want to run into you and have to explain... so I stayed out for the night..."

Cassian's voice deepened. "Don't worry. Give me the hotel address; I'll come pick you up."

I was too tired and annoyed, rolling over in the blankets.

"No, Cassian. I'm already asleep. Don't bother me..."

He was silent for a few seconds, then his tone softened—almost teasing. "Such a cranky wake-up?"

Half-asleep, I wasn't scared of him and clicked my tongue in annoyance. Somewhere in the haze, I thought I heard a soft laugh.

"Alright, go back to sleep. I won't bother you."

After that, I sank back into heavy sleep.

The next day, I almost forgot the call with Cassian, except that I had boldly said his full name.

When he called again, I braced myself, thinking he might scold me.

I spoke carefully, "Do you need something, Major General Whitren?"

There was a long pause on the other end before he spoke, his tone calm and distant.

"Nothing. Just forgot to ask yesterday—what were you doing at the hospital?"

I answered lightly, "My mom was admitted. It's nothing serious. She'll be out soon."

"If you need help, contact my direct subordinates," he said, then hummed.

I thanked him politely but didn't take it to heart.

His work was special—I couldn't really trouble military personnel. The supplementary agreement had trained me to restrain myself; asking him for help would cross a line I couldn't cross.

The call didn't end, so I asked, "Major General Whitren, do you still need to say something?"

On the other end, I could hear him tapping his fingers on the desk—a habit of his when he was on the phone.

He said casually, "Just wanted to ask what time you usually take your nap."

I froze.

Before I could respond, he added, "I'll make it a point to call you at this time from now on."

I didn't understand at all.

Calling me on purpose when I'm sleeping?

Was this the new way high-ranking people tortured others?

Elijah was scheduled to arrive at the hospital on the afternoon of the 17th, with only three hours for consultations.

We had the very last appointment slot.

Cassian had gone out of town for an inspection four days ago and wouldn't be back for a week.

During this time, whenever I ran into Stephanie, it was always just her—alone.

That morning on the 17th, I saw Stephanie chatting at the nurse's station, casually eating an apple.

"My mom's test results are only partly in," she said. "But the director said not to worry. Shouldn't be a problem."

The nurse, busy sorting charts, looked up and smiled. "That's good. Maybe you can go somewhere else for a bit? We're still preparing for Professor Mocco's visit this afternoon."

Stephanie ignored the first part and asked, "Professor? Which one?"

"The top expert in brain tumors. All consultation slots are taken," the nurse explained.

"But your mom's case is different—she doesn't need to see the professor."

Stephanie bit her apple, thoughtful. "Oh... I see."

A wave of unease rose in my chest.

Her mom's condition wasn't serious, and it wasn't even Elijah's specialty. She shouldn't be trying to grab the slot.

But reality never matched expectation.

At 2 p.m., the attending doctor called me out of the ward, his expression grave. "The slot's gone."

That sentence hit me like a hammer, ringing in my ears. I nearly stumbled.

"It was taken by Major General Whitren's girlfriend. She has priority as a military family."

The doctor frowned. "I told her that her mom's case could be handled by me. But she wouldn't listen. She insisted on seeing the professor, thinking it would be safer."

I pressed against the wall to steady myself. "Can't they add one more slot?"

"It's too late. Professor Mocco has a flight abroad at 5 p.m."

I clenched my hands so hard my nails dug into my palms, trying to stay calm.

I pulled out my phone to call Cassian. As always, his number couldn't be reached. Just the cold, busy signal.

No time to hesitate.

I took a cab home, grabbed our marriage certificate, and rushed back to the hospital—two hours later.

The attending doctor took me to the director's office. Before I could speak, the director waved his hand.

"Don't bother trying. It's useless. No one can take the remaining slot now."

I shoved the marriage certificate toward him, out of breath.

"I'm Cassian's wife. You can check if this certificate is fake.

"I'm not here to steal someone else's slot," I added. "I just want back the slot that was originally mine."

Finally getting the slot back and booking the surgery with Elijah, I felt my heart settle for the first time in days.

I asked the doctor and the director to keep my identity a secret—but I still couldn't stop Stephanie from pestering me.

That evening, as I left the hospital, she suddenly blocked my path, staring at me for a long moment before squinting and smiling.

"Oh, I remember now. You're the girl I bumped into that day. No wonder you have a clotting disorder—Cassian is so worried about you."

"If you hadn't stolen my slot, I wouldn't have done this." I lowered my eyes.

"My relationship with him isn't what you think. I can explain."

She wasn't interested in listening. She reached for my hand.

"I just want to see the marriage certificate." Her tone carried a threat. "Or else, don't be surprised if I make sure your mom can't rest well in the hospital, let alone get her surgery done."

I had no choice but to show her the certificate.

Stephanie smiled the whole time, nodded, and handed it back, then dialed Cassian's number.

The call connected quickly.

Her eyes glistened with tears as she stared at me and said, "Cass, so you have a wife."

A moment later, Cassian's calm voice came through.

"Who told you that?"

"How could you humiliate me like this?" Stephanie's voice quivered with tears. "I want to break up."

She hung up and started to walk away.

I pressed my lips together, taking a step to follow—but she didn't even look back.

"You better not come after me," she warned.

"You're shameless enough by encouraging your husband's affair. Don't make me act in front of the hospital."

After that, I called Cassian a dozen times—every call went straight to voicemail.

I sent texts explaining everything, but he didn't respond.

He finished his mission abroad on the 20th but didn't return to the house until the 25th.

Those five days in between were clearly spent trying to comfort Stephanie.

The night before, I even saw her social media updates.

She was lying in a hospital bed while Cassian blew on her soup to cool it down.

The caption read, "Only the unloved ends up as the side chick."

Today, he finally made time to settle things with me.

I braced myself for his anger, but Cassian didn't even glance at me. He simply hung his coat and sat on the couch, reading some documents.

Soon, his phone rang.

His tone was calm but carried the pressure of someone who'd long been in charge.

The room felt heavy.

"Do you remember what I told you before I left?"

On the other end was the bodyguard Cassian had hired for Stephanie.

"You asked me to take care of Ms. Averine," the guard said.

Cassian hummed. "And you failed."

I could hear the faint apology. "Sorry, Mr. Whitren..."

"You're fired." He announced it flatly.

I couldn't believe it.

I rushed in front of him. "Major General Whitren, it has nothing to do with her! I broke the agreement on my own. Don't punish the innocent for my mistakes."

That's when he finally seemed to notice me, looking up with his piercing gaze.

"The innocent?"

He paused. "If you had thought about that before revealing our marriage, maybe none of this would have happened."

"No!" I blurted, desperate.

"It's because Stephanie stole the slot for my mom's consultation! The doctor said her condition can't wait, and she's one of the few in the country who can—"

He cut me off slowly, deliberately. "Does your mom have anything to do with me?"

His words hit me like ice, stabbing straight into the softest part of my heart.

I froze, staring at the cold, unflinching look in his eyes.

Suddenly, the past three years felt like a ridiculous joke.

I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and said slowly, "Yes. My mom has nothing to do with you. So from now on, I have nothing to do with you either."

With that, I turned and walked away without a single glance back.

Back in my room, I packed my things as fast as I could. To take care of Mom more easily, I had moved most of my daily items to a rental near the hospital.

The house only held a few unnecessary things, and I packed them in minutes.

Dragging my suitcase out, Cassian was still on the couch, as if our conversation had never happened.

I didn't look at him again and headed straight for the door.

"Where are you going?" He finally asked, his voice tight, barely noticeable.

"Leaving," I said without slowing.

"The agreement is over. I don't need to stay here."

I opened the door. The cold wind rushed in, making me shiver, but it also cleared my mind.

I didn't look back.

Resolutely, I walked away, leaving the house behind—the place that had held my joys and sorrows for three long years—far behind me.