Chapter 2

The moment I boarded the plane, my phone started buzzing. It was Natalie.

The call rang for what felt like an eternity. I didn’t pick up, even as a flight attendant politely reminded me that the plane was about to take off and I needed to turn off my phone. Right before shutting it down, a text came through from her:

"I’ll only say this once—stop being dramatic and come back when you’re done."

I stared at that single line of text, and suddenly, memories from four years ago came rushing back.

Four years ago, I’d been with Natalie for just over a year when I first heard about Andrew Shen. Her Andrew.

That night, I drank too much at a bar, and for the first time, I lost my temper with her.

She was in her study, working as always. Sitting behind that massive desk, she was conducting a video call for some international meeting. The glow from her monitor lit up her sharp, elegant features, making her look as distant as she was breathtaking.

I stumbled in, drunk and reeking of whiskey.

Natalie had a strict rule: no one was allowed to bother her while she worked. But that night, emboldened by alcohol and jealousy, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close.

I kissed the sensitive curve of her collarbone, then asked, half-resentful and half-petty, “What’s more important, Natalie? Work or me?”

For the first time, she got angry.

She looked up at me with those cold, piercing eyes and said, “Get out. I’m working.”

When I didn’t move, she called her bodyguards. They dragged me out of the house, and I was left standing outside in the middle of the night, furious with myself for pushing her.

The gated community was isolated, the kind of place where even streetlights felt like a luxury. My phone was dead, and my only company was a pack of cigarettes I burned through one by one.

By the fifteenth cigarette, Natalie showed up.

She walked toward me in nothing but a silk camisole, her expression unreadable. “Have you had enough?” she asked sharply.

I bit down on the cigarette she hated most and opened my mouth to say something snarky—only to sneeze.

That must’ve been the breaking point. She laughed. A real, unguarded laugh.

For the first time, she reached out to me, her hand extended. But my pride got the better of me, and I brushed her off.

Her hand froze midair before she pulled it back, her face hardening. “I’ll say this one more time,” she said. “When you’re done acting like a child, come home.”

And then she turned and left.

I called after her, “Give me my car keys!”

She didn’t even glance back. “Jonathan, the car is mine. If you’re not coming back, don’t even think about taking it.”

That was the moment I realized what I was to her.

The car I drove, the watch on my wrist, the designer suits in my closet—they were all hers.

When she turned back again and extended her hand a second time, I took it.

That night, I became the perfect, obedient companion she wanted. And I stayed by her side for the next five years.

I deleted her text and turned off my phone.

Two hours later, I landed at Emberwood International Airport.

Of course, my bad luck didn’t end there. No sooner had I arrived than my wallet was stolen.

At the police station, the officers eyed me suspiciously, their gazes lingering on my expensive clothes and accessories. Their expressions practically screamed, If someone’s going to get robbed, it might as well be you.

Without money, proper ID, or any way to prove who I was, I was stuck. The officers handed me a phone and told me to call someone to help.

But who could I call?

My parents died when I was young, and my grandmother raised me on her own. She passed away before she could enjoy any of the success I might’ve brought her.

Natalie had entered my life that same year, a radiant light piercing through the darkness of my world.

With no other choice, I called her.

The sound of the international dial tone stretched on, each ring a cruel reminder that the light she once brought into my life had long since faded.

Matthew’s number escaped me, and the police officers’ patience was wearing thin.

Just as I was about to give up, a young woman approached me.

Her name was Helen. She was at the police station by chance that day, and when she saw me sitting alone, looking lost and out of place, she decided to help.

Helen helped me sort everything out with the officers.

When we left the station, I got a new phone number and made the decision to cut all ties with Natalie.

But even then, I couldn’t escape her entirely. Every so often, I’d see her name online:

Natalie, shopping with Andrew, his gaze soft and adoring.

Natalie and Andrew, cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of a new hotel.

Natalie and Andrew, preparing for their upcoming wedding—a match made in heaven.

I stayed in Emberwood. Helen and I became friends.

With her help, I found a job at a trading company. It wasn’t easy. After five years of being Natalie’s kept man, I’d forgotten how to fend for myself.

The language barrier was frustrating. The work was grueling. But Helen was always there, supporting me.

We were two lonely souls in a foreign land, leaning on each other to survive.

But no one tells you that when two broken people come together, the loneliness doesn’t just disappear.

One night, during Emberwood’s lantern festival, I asked her, “Why did you decide to stay here?”

She looked at me, her eyes heavy with sorrow.

The night sky was filled with glowing lanterns, their golden light reflecting off her sharp features.

Finally, she told me her story.

She had come to Emberwood with her boyfriend. He’d always wanted to see the lanterns. But he never got the chance—he died in her arms before they could experience it together.

“People say if you make a wish to the lanterns, it’ll come true,” she said softly.

I knew she was thinking of him.

For the first time, I wanted to believe in something greater than myself.

I clasped my hands together, gazing up at the endless sea of lanterns, and made my wish:

I wished to forget Natalie.