Two days before the New Year, my boyfriend of five years, Shawn Maxim, suddenly told me he wanted to take me home to meet his parents.

He had always been a staunch believer in platonic love, yet this time, he bought me a set of sexy lace lingerie.

Overjoyed, I put it on, only to find it was too small—I could barely fit into it. Thinking he had simply bought the wrong size, I forced myself into it, even though the tightness left red marks all over my skin.

But instead of the reaction I expected, Shawn looked at me coldly.

"With a chest that big, you’re obviously just a seductive tramp. Disgusting."

Then he slammed the door and left.

The next day, I saw him with my own eyes, his eyes red-rimmed as he pressed a woman against the wall, kissing her passionately. I heard him ask her—

"Can we not get engaged?"

The woman bore a striking resemblance to me—about seventy percent alike, the only difference being the contrast between the spelling of pineapple and an apple.

I turned away to leave, but at that moment, he suddenly knelt before her, begging—

"Can you give me a kiss?"

——

I stared blankly at the lace lingerie scattered on my bed, then at the two entangled figures downstairs.

A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

They kissed so deeply that a thin strand of silver string formed between them when they parted. The girl playfully punched Shawn’s chest, laughing.

That night, it wasn’t until 1 AM that my mattress dipped slightly.

Shawn only lingered beside my waist for a moment before quickly pulling away.

Of course. What was I expecting?

In our five years together, our love had been purely platonic.

Not only had we never kissed—we had never even held hands.

If his fingertips accidentally brushed mine, he would immediately wipe them with a tissue for half a day.

His explanation?

He wanted our love to remain pure, sacred, untarnished by anything physical. So I had no choice but to suppress my growing desires.

But if that was true—then who was the one passionately kissing someone else yesterday?

A cold voice suddenly rang from the doorway. "Ayra, get up and make dinner."

I glanced at the clock—it was only 5 pm.

Before I could respond, Shawn added, "We have a guest coming today. She likes spicy crawfish and stir-fried squid."

I couldn't help but recall the girl from yesterday. "Who is she?"

For the first time, a faint smile appeared on Shawn’s usually indifferent face. "She’s an outstanding young woman."

"You’ll know when she arrives. I have to go pick her up."

Without another word, he turned and left.

Holding my throbbing head, I forced myself up and went to prepare the table.

Yesterday, I had a fever of 39°C, yet he abandoned me without hesitation—to go and passionately kiss another woman.

Before long, Shawn returned with a young woman by his side.

"Hello, I’m Clara. You must be Shawn’s girlfriend." She smiled.

I looked at her, my mind went blank for a moment.

She resembled me—seventy percent alike, and the only real differences between us were our clothing styles and our figures.

She exuded a sweet and innocent charm, while I had always leaned towards a bold and seductive look.

Seeing me staring blankly at Clara, Shawn spoke in irritation. "What are you staring at? Hurry up and serve the food. Clara is starving."

At the dining table, Shawn’s face held a tenderness I had never seen before.

He carefully placed food on her plate, his every move filled with affection.

As Clara ate, a bit of soup splashed onto the corner of her lips.

I thought he would simply tell her. But instead, he reached out and gently wiped the stain from the corner of her mouth with his fingers.

Then what did that make me to him? I was his girlfriend, yet he treated Clara as if she were the one.

I clenched my fists tightly.

No wonder Shawn always frowned when I wore red dresses but smiled when I wore white ones.

It turned out—he was just searching for traces of Clara in me.

I put down the cutlery and looked at Shawn.

However, he didn’t notice anything—he was still carefully placing food onto Clara’s plate.

Who would have thought that this was the same man who once wiped his hands for half an hour after accidentally brushing against my fingers?

Turns out, his so-called aversion to physical contact only ever applied to me.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the thermometer.

At that moment, without looking at me, Shawn suddenly announced, "Clara just got back to the country. She’s alone, and I’m worried about her. So I won’t be coming home tonight to accompany her."

In the past, whenever Shawn spoke, I would obey without question.

But this time, I suddenly didn’t want to move.

I pulled the thermometer from my mouth and said, "Shawn, I’ve had a high fever for two days. Can you take me to the hospital first?"

Shawn glanced at the thermometer for two seconds. "Alright, I’ll take you—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Clara interrupted him.

"Shawn, it’s already so late—10 PM. I want to go home."

Clara tugged at his sleeve, and I saw the corners of his lips unconsciously lift into a smile.

Then, he shot me a cold glance.

"It’s just a fever. It’s not a big deal. Go to the hospital yourself—I need to take Clara home."

"Shawn—"

I tried to call out to him again, but all I got in response was the sound of the door closing without hesitation.

The table was covered in trash, filled with empty plates.

I had spent three exhausting hours cooking, yet Shawn left with his precious "first love" without so much as a single word of comfort.

Supporting my throbbing head, on the verge of collapsing, I dialed emergency services.

Only when the ambulance arrived did I finally allow myself to lose consciousness.

—

"Miss, do you have a family member we can contact?"

The nurse’s voice woke me up. I stared blankly at my phone’s empty screen—not a single message.

Of course not.

Right now, Shawn was busy being with the one he truly cared about. He wouldn’t have the time to check on me.

Thinking back on the past few days, I could only find it laughable.

For five years, Shawn had insisted he was a believer in both platonic love and lifelong bachelorhood.

I had always gone along with it, staying by his side as his girlfriend, respecting his so-called "principles."

Until two days ago—when he held my hand and said, "Let’s get married."

My first reaction was joy.

I thought that, after all these years, my love had finally touched him—that he wanted to build a home with me.

But the moment I stepped into his family home, his mother scrutinized me from head to toe.

"A young lady like you—doesn’t your family teach you anything? You're dressed so seductively. Anyone who knows better would think you’re here to visit your boyfriend’s family. But someone who doesn’t might assume you’re selling yourself."

As if that wasn’t enough, she even clicked her tongue twice in disdain. "Your taste is getting worse, Shawn. She’s not even as good as Clara—at least that girl was well-behaved and proper."

The hand holding my spoon froze.

I turned to Shawn, hoping, praying, that he would defend me. But he didn’t spare me a single glance. Instead, he agreed with his mother.

"Ayra, you really did dress a bit inappropriately today. You should listen to what my mom is saying."

I couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of his mouth.

I had spent half the day digging through my wardrobe, searching online for the most proper outfit to make a good impression on his parents.

A long coat on the outside, a white sweater underneath—how could that be considered inappropriate?

The only reason my figure looked a little fuller was simply because of my natural curves.

I bit my lip, unable to say a word.

His mother’s voice kept ringing in my ears—

"If you want to marry into our family, your wardrobe needs to change. A girl who dresses like this has no place in our home."

"You—”

The harsh words made me lose my appetite. I wanted to argue back, but Shawn pressed me down with a firm grip.

"Enough. My mom is right—just listen to her."

I forced myself to finish the meal, all because of his comforting words: "Once we’re married, it’ll just be the two of us. You won’t have to worry about my mom."

I believed him. And now?

My phone kept flashing—not with messages from Shawn, but from my mom.

[My sweet girl, how have you been lately? Are you happy? When are you coming home?]

Tears instantly welled up in my eyes.

These past days, I had been so caught up in the mess with Shawn that I had fought with my family more times than I could count.

They never trusted him. To them, a man who had been in a five-year relationship yet never mentioned marriage clearly didn’t love me.

But I had blindly believed in him, standing by his side, arguing with my parents time and time again.

Turns out, not every word from your parents must be obeyed, but some words must never be ignored.

I sat up, thanked the nurse, and immediately called my mom back.

"Mom, I’m coming home today. Let’s have dinner together."

"Alright, alright! I’ll make your favorite sweet and sour pork."

Without hesitation, I blocked Shawn’s number. Five years of love—might as well have been fed to a dog.

—

With the New Year approaching, the village was bustling with energy.

Everyone greeted me warmly as I passed by.

"Ayra, you’re back so early this year! We thought you wouldn’t make it home for New Year's Eve again!"

The old lady at the village entrance chuckled.

Her words made my heart ache.

In past years, I had always put Shawn first, delaying my return just to avoid making him unhappy.

Looking back now—I had been so unbelievably foolish.

Before I even reached home, my mom came out with a bright smile.

"Oh, let me see! You’ve gotten so thin. You need to eat more while you’re home."

She gazed at me with so much love and concern.

And yet—all because of Shawn’s offhand remark, "You’re too curvy. It makes you look vulgar."

For years, I had restricted my diet, forced myself to lose weight. But no matter how much I tried, my bone structure wouldn’t change, and my chest remained the same. Yet, instead of appreciating me, Shawn used it as another excuse to mock me.

"Ayra, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever seen a decent girl dress like that? Good thing your boyfriend is me—any other guy would’ve dumped you by now."

"What kind of man would tolerate his wife being stared at by others?"

"But don’t worry, I still love you."

At the time, I had been so moved, thinking he must really care about me.

But now, seeing the worry in my mother’s eyes, I finally realized—Shawn had manipulated me like an NPC in his game.

—

Being home was pure happiness.

Every day, my mom prepared delicious meals, spoiling me until I almost forgot about Shawn entirely.

That was until an unfamiliar number called.

"Have you lost your damn mind, Ayra? Why did you block me? Have I spoiled you too much? All I did was send Clara home, and you’re making a fuss over that?"

I nearly laughed. I had been home for five days—five whole days—and Shawn had only just remembered to contact me.

God knows which warm embrace he had been lost in before now.

"Sending someone home takes five days?" I countered.

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then, he growled, his voice thick with irritation.

"Clara is getting married soon. It’s her last days as a single woman—what’s wrong with me keeping her company? Enough, I’ll come pick you up tonight. Get ready."

Before I could respond, he hung up.

No wonder the man who never wanted to touch me suddenly wanted to marry.

It turned out, his ex-girlfriend was getting married, and he was heartbroken.

I ignored Shawn completely, holding onto my mother’s arm tightly.

This year, I wasn’t going anywhere—I would stay with my family.

Outside, the sound of a car horn echoed through the village.

"Ayra, come out! I’m here to take you home."