On our eighth anniversary, Claire Young announced that she had already registered her marriage with her childhood friend.

She took him home, ordering me around as if it was only natural.

"Move to another room. Stan loves sunshine."

"Stan doesn't like sweets, so don't bake any when you're at home. He'd be upset if he saw it."

I kept quiet through it all and bought a ticket to leave.

My friend wanted to help me out of the predicament, but she didn't think it was a big deal.

"He's just being dramatic again. Let him be—he'd be caving in just a few days."

Everyone laughed at that, and quietly made bets as to when I'd come crawling back to Claire's feet.

None of them knew I was already inducted into the national weapons program, and that I was really leaving.

I was quietly packing my things to vacate my room when Claire Young suddenly called out to me, "Wait. Leave that bed lamp—Stan likes it."

My late mother had made that for me with her own hands, and it was the last gift from her to me.

However, Claire's expression remained cool despite seeing the sadness in my eyes. "Fine—what do I have to do for you to give it up?"

I stayed silent.

It was actually just scrap metal, and it was only valuable to me because it was a memento of my mother.

However, I was also reminded of what happened when I refused to comply before.

She had told me to let Stan Gosling drive my car, but because I said no, she had her bodyguards wreck it.

As for me, I was manhandled and made to kneel outside the gates.

Even as I remembered, I handed over the bed lamp and said, "I don't want it anyway."

She was pleased to see me being so obedient. She chuckled. "As long as you behave, I can keep you around in my service. Stan's my husband, just like you."

But just as she finished, Stan dropped the bed lamp, and it shattered into pieces loudly on the floor, while faint traces of blood seeped out of his hand.

Claire was at once running to him, helping him treat the wound.

It was a laughable sight—that bleeding would have clotted before long.

But when it came to me…

Just last night, she wouldn't even look at me as my asthma struck and I collapsed on the floor.

She didn't care because she was leaving to pick up Stan from work, and even as I suffocated, she told the maid, "Get that thing out of there. Or Stan will have a fright if he sees."

Sighing, I was carrying the box of my belongings to my new room when Claire ran to me, cutting me off and demanding, "Apologize."

"What—"

Even before I could finish, she pushed me toward Stan. Caught off guard, I was sent plunging on my knees with my box in front of Stan.

Claire leered downward at me, folding her arms before her chest as she snorted, "Apologize now. Stan wouldn't have gotten hurt if it wasn't for you."

I put my box aside and bowed low to Stan. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I won't ever do it again!"

I was used to apologizing.

Like when she decided she didn't want milk during breakfast.

Like when I couldn't get tickets to that fully booked concert Claire had wanted to watch with Stan.

But as I looked up, Claire frowned at me. "What, are you trying to play the sympathy card? But no one here feels any sympathy for you."

I kept my head down but asked, "Was that enough?"

"Bow down three times," Claire demanded despite Stan's silence.

So I did.

Once she was satisfied, I finally carried my belongings to the guest room unimpeded.

I didn't stop to stop my bleeding forehead, instead calling my boss right away and telling him, "Tell the officer I'll join the national weapons program. I've already bought a train ticket to depart in five days."

Even as I turned off my phone screen, Claire's bodyguard kicked open the door, dragging me out in front of Stan who was already wearing full boxing gear.

Despite looking scrawny in comparison, he was a boxer, and punched me in the gut even before I realized it.

His coach, however, was hesitant. "Mr. Cross' body frame does resemble Stan's next opponent, but he's not actually a boxer—"

"That's fine—just worry about helping Stan win and nothing else."

I heard Claire's cool voice cutting the coach short before she turned to me and demanded, "You can dodge, but don't you dare punch back."

Then, realizing that was ridiculous, she softened her tone and said, "Just deal with it this time. I'll have dinner with you in a few days."

Even before she finished, Stan had sent me stumbling sideways with a punch on the face.

And within minutes, my cheeks were swollen as I kept spasming.

But I could also see Stan smiling smugly under his helmet—he was doing this just to hurt me!

Still, he eventually got tired and called for a break, with Claire immediately rushing to his side and hovering around him attentively.

I was lying flat on my back, my eyes must have been so swollen that I couldn't even see straight.

Stan's coach was sweating buckets even as he watched, "Mr. Cross might die at this rate…"

There was a brief silence, until Claire eventually said, "Don't worry about it. Stan needs to train."

I pushed myself to my feet right then. "Get it done soon. Once this is finished, I owe neither of you anything."

Claire glowered immediately, "You're just helping Stan train. What's with that attitude?"

Before I could respond, Stan tugged on her hand. "It's alright. Oliver's not looking good—let's put off the training session."

It just so happened that I was at my limit and passed out at that moment.

-

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Claire sitting beside my bed, never looking at me as she asked, "You're finally awake. Does it hurt anywhere?"

I ignored her and began searching for my phone.

My silence perhaps annoyed her, and she snatched it away before I could reach it. "I'm talking to you."

I sighed. "I'm alright. Now give me my phone."

Claire's jaw tightened right then, and she held on to my phone.

Seeing the many texts popping up, she asked, "Who are those from?"

"A colleague. You don't know them,"

She clicked her tongue—I must have been too cold. "What's with your attitude these days?! I'm right here, keeping you company! What more do you want?"

Seeing her so upset, I thought I definitely would have been sweet-talking her in a beat in the past.

But that was in the past.

That was when Stan entered, calling out, "Hey, honey!"

Claire was at once on her feet, holding hands with him as I watched. "What brings you here?"

As for me, I seized the moment to get my phone and replied to my boss' texts.

[Sorry for missing your texts earlier. But I've made up my mind and I'll be going to join the national weapons program.]

[I will need time to set my affairs in order, however, so please allow me to take a leave of absence before my departure.]

[There's nothing to be concerned with. I've filled all necessary forms and sent them to your mail.]

I sighed in relief after I sent all the texts, while Stan and Claire were still busy talking right in front of me.

I could get sick right then, as they were talking about buying a bigger bed and doing more stuff on it.

Claire was still smiling even when she turned to me, "Go home, Oliver. Stan and I are busy… Oh, I promised to have dinner with you, right? I'll be done with work in a couple days. Just sit tight."

I didn't hold out hope—I knew she'd just break her promise anyway.

-

Over the next couple days, there were people coming in and out of the master bedroom no matter the time.

On one occasion, I saw Claire and Stan joking around as they rolled around the mattress, even kissing.

Gone was her usual indifference. Her face now flushed crimson with uncharacteristic shyness.

They were bent on wiping clean any traces of me as they redecorated the entire place.

In the evening, Claire even arranged for a candlelight dinner out on the balcony, taking a selfie of herself with Stan.

When I noticed the photo post on social media, she was congratulated by a ton of our mutual friends, so I followed suit.

[All the best.]

Claire was soon knocking on my door, but I ignored it.

Two hours later, I headed to the office and picked up the project files I needed, before heading to the mall to pick up some groceries.

I ran into Stan and Claire, who were pushing a trolley and leaning on each other by the childcare product corner, discussing whether they preferred a boy or a girl.

The wife of another couple passing by was complaining right then, "Just look at them—how caring the husband is! As for you, all you do is play on your phone even though you're out here with me!"

The husband could only put away his phone, scratching his head as he came up with an excuse.

As for me, I was reminded of the times when I had asked Claire to pick up groceries with me when we started living together, but she would always claim she was busy and told me to do it myself.

That was when Stan sent me a voice message of Claire saying, "Who would want to go shopping with him? It's so boring. So troublesome."

I froze, my hands shaking as I held my phone, but Stan soon sent me another voice message, "I refuse to marry the likes of him. I mean, engineering? That's so nerdy. I don't want my children to inherit such genes."

As I came to my senses, I suddenly realized Claire had turned and spotted me.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded right then.

I kept my head down as I answered, "Just picking up some groceries—I'm leaving now, I didn't know you were here."

Claire frowned and snapped, "Did I tell you to leave?"

Beside her, Stan chuckled as he squeezed Claire's hand, "Thanks for sparring with me, Oliver—I really don't know what to do without you… Oh, you should join us later, my match is soon. I mean, we're family, aren't we?"

Claire's lips curled into a smile in turn. "Oh, you're too sweet for your own good, Stan. But sure—we will be there to cheer for you!"

I knew I had no right to refuse, so I simply followed.

We arrived at the locker room together, where Stan opened his locker in front of us, showing us the tailor-made boxing gear that Claire had gotten him, and women's underwear.

Stan scrambled to shove it in a black bag, while Claire pouted as she gave him a playful punch on the chest.

Just from their body language, anyone could tell right away what they had been up to in that very room.

Still, Claire was soon taken aback as she saw that I wasn't reacting at all, and was somehow annoyed before she knew it.

"Stop being so distracted," she scoffed. "It's like you have someone else on your mind. Who was it? And I've been meaning to ask for a while—is that colleague who kept texting you a man or a woman?"

I slid my phone back in my pocket to stop her from snatching it away again. "It's my boss. I've been gone for days after all—work piled up and there's things he'd need to know."

Claire was clearly skeptical, but the bell rang, signalling the start of Stan's match.

She brushed past me, muttering, "I'm checking your phone when you get back."

I grunted nonchalantly in reply. I'd be gone by then anyway.

It was a full house, with Claire taking a front row seat while I sat far behind on the bleachers, though that suited me just fine—I could slip out whenever I wanted.

As it turned out, Stan's opponent really had a physique that was no different from mine.

And if I was seeing it right, Stan was fighting him just like how he had fought me.

During one of the intervals, Claire came up to me and demanded, "Go help Stan. I need to take a call."

As I went over to Stan with a towel, he flashed a mocking grin, "You really are Claire's lapdog, still sticking around after all that abuse. Or perhaps you find it exciting watching us kiss?"

I flung the towel on his face right then, but he didn't have time to snap at me since it was time to return to the ring.

After the match ended, he sent Claire away with some excuse, and dragged me to the locker room for a private talk.

As soon as the door shut, he cracked his neck and swung his fist at me, but I caught his wrist and shoved him against the wall, snorting, "Can't we just all get along? Why do you insist on starting fights?"

In reality, I had trained a little myself, and definitely stood a chance as he was already exhausted.

Still, Stan struggled against my grip, snorting as his eyes flashed violently, "Because I can't stand how Claire keeps looking at you! We've even registered our marriage, but she still keeps you around. Can't you just know your place and leave?! What's the point of hanging around as a boy toy?"

I was planning to pick up my luggage from the house and didn't really have time for his crap, but he insists on keep running his mouth.

"Did you know why she suddenly announced our marriage? When was it supposed to be her eighth anniversary with you?

"Because she's pregnant with my child! And it's been two months, while you never even got in bed with her!

"Why else is she so eager to get registered? She can't very well explain how she got pregnant, can she?"

"How does it feel being made a cuckold, huh?"

As his grin broadened, I started strangling him in frustration, "Shut up!"

"Sure, whatever you say!" He scoffed, and suddenly picked up a spray can.

As I watched him spray something white at my face, I immediately realized it was dangerous and clasped a hand over my nose and mouth with one hand, while snatching the can and hitting him in the head.

Whatever it was, he inhaled a lot of it and passed out.

I soon heard a rush of footsteps and Claire shouting, "Stan?! Oliver?"

I broke up into a run, taking a different hallway and still in a daze as I rushed home, picked up my luggage and rushed to the train station.

Claire had been texting me persistently even as I boarded.

[I don't have time for your childish games! Come back and apologize! And get a checkup after!]

I look out the window, snorting.

I then changed my SIM card and blocked her on all my social media accounts.

After all, I would never see Claire Young again.