Seven Years As His Game, No More

Aurora’s POV

“Justin, after all these years you still haven’t forgotten Jessica. The moment you heard she was back in the country, you booked out this entire hotel just for her. Damn, man… that’s what I call devotion.”

Laughter followed the teasing voice.

"Justin, stop smiling like that, you're embarrassing yourself.”

My hand froze on the door handle the moment I stepped into the lounge.

I had only come in to deliver a package, but those words made me stop in my tracks.

The lounge was bright and luxurious, the kind of place I would normally never enter. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, casting soft light across the marble floor. Men dressed in expensive suits sat around low tables filled with wine and snacks, their laughter echoing easily in the large space.

I stood awkwardly near the entrance in my delivery uniform, clutching the neatly wrapped box in my hands.

Justin.

For a brief second, my heart skipped.

That was my husband’s name too.

But the thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

I lifted my hand and lightly tapped my own cheek.

“Wake up, Aurora,” I murmured quietly to myself.

My husband couldn’t possibly be the Justin they were talking about.

Justin was a very common name. And besides…my Justin was poor and crippled.

Ever since the accident five years ago, he had been confined to a wheelchair. Walking even a few steps was painful for him. That was why I worked so hard every day, taking every job I could find just to support our little family.

There was absolutely no way he could be in a place like this. The cheapest drink in a place like this probably cost more than my monthly salary.

These men clearly belonged to a completely different world.

A world of money, power, and luxury.

Meanwhile, the conversation continued.

“Call it whatever you want.” another man said while laughing. “That woman has had him wrapped around her finger since university and nothing has changed.”

“Exactly,” someone else chimed in. “Booking the entire hotel just to welcome her back? That’s insane.”

“That's not love, that's obsession.”

More laughter erupted.

I couldn’t help glancing toward the group.

Several wealthy-looking men sat comfortably on plush sofas. In the middle of them was a tall man whose back was facing me. His posture was relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa while a glass of wine rested lazily in his hand.

I couldn’t see his face.

But it was obvious he was the Justin they were teasing.

“You’re really something, Justin,” another man said with a grin. “Waiting seven years for a woman?” 

“Honestly, someone should write a movie about Justin. The moment he heard Jessica was back in the country, he shut down his entire schedule just to plan this welcome celebration.”

“Jessica is a lucky woman,” another voice said, softer this time, almost wistful. “To have a man love her like that, after all these years…”

Seven years.

I felt a strange warmth in my chest.

Whoever this Jessica was… she must be very lucky to have someone love her like that.

To have a man who would clear his entire schedule just because she came home. Who would stand in a room full of his wealthy friends and make no secret of the fact that his heart belonged to one person.

Some women had that kind of love.

Seven years was a long time.

My husband and I had also known each other for seven years, but married for five years.

Life hadn’t been easy for us, but I had always believed we loved each other enough to endure anything.

I lowered my gaze quickly, smoothed down the front of my uniform quietly and reminded myself that I was here to work, not to daydream about someone else’s love story.

Drop off the package, collect the signature and leave.

Adjusting my grip on the package, I took out my phone.

I needed to call the receiver so I could deliver this and leave as soon as possible.

But just as I was about to dial, the noise in the lounge suddenly dropped.

I looked up instinctively.

The door on the opposite side of the room had opened, and they were all looking toward the entrance.

A woman walked in.

She was breathtaking.

She moved the way beautiful women sometimes did in films — like the room had been specifically arranged around her arrival, like the light knew where to fall.

Her long wavy hair flowed over her shoulders, and the elegant red dress she wore hugged her figure perfectly. The moment she stepped inside, it felt like the entire room brightened.

“Jessica!”

“Welcome back!”

“Congratulations!”

Several voices rose at once as the men stood up excitedly.

Some of them even walked toward her to greet her warmly.

I watched the scene absentmindedly at first.

But as the woman walked closer, my breath suddenly caught.

My eyes widened.

The box in my hands trembled slightly.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But the closer she came, the clearer I saw her face.

I stood completely still.

Because I knew that face.

And the moment I recognized her, anger shot through my entire body like fire.

Jessica Wen.

The air left my body slowly, like something had pressed down on my chest and was not letting go.

It was really her.

The woman who had ruined my life.

My hands tightened around the package.

I still remembered the day the university panel had called my name. The cold room, the cold faces, the photographs of my design laid side by side with the one Jessica had submitted two days before mine.

I had stood there and tried to explain — tried to make them understand that the design was mine, that I had been working on it for eight months, that every line of it had come from me. But Jessica had submitted first. And Jessica had connections. And I was just Aurora Snow, the scholarship girl from the edge of the city with nothing behind her name.

No one believed my explanation.

Not the teachers.

Not the administration.

Not even the scholarship committee.

I was expelled from school in disgrace for plagiarism.

The overseas scholarship meant for me was given to Jessica instead.

Just like that, my future disappeared, while she went abroad to chase her dreams and live the life meant for me.

And now…

She was back.

My fingers tightened around the package until the cardboard crinkled.

Here she was and people were cheering for her like she deserved it. Like she had earned every beautiful thing that surrounded her.

My jaw was so tight it ached.

I was still drowning in anger when something else happened.

The man from the middle of the sofa, the one everyone was teasing earlier, suddenly stood up.

My eyes instinctively shifted toward him.

He walked straight toward Jessica, with a bouquet of beautiful flowers in his hands.

Then he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her warmly.

My mouth slowly fell open.

The moment he stood and turned slightly, I saw his face, and everything inside me shattered.

My heartbeat stopped.

My fingers went numb.

The man hugging Jessica…was no other person but my husband.

Justin.

My mind went blank.

How…?

How was this possible?

Justin should be at home right now. In his wheelchair. Waiting for me to bring dinner.

He was supposed to be poor, helpless and completely dependent on me.

So why…

Why was he standing perfectly fine?

Why was he wearing an expensive suit?

Why was he surrounded by rich men?

Why was he hugging another woman?

My breathing became uneven.

It felt like someone had stabbed my heart.

Justin still had his arm around Jessica’s shoulders.

“Welcome back,” he said softly, presenting the flowers.

I knew that voice.

I had heard it every day for the past five years.

There was no mistake—It was really him.

My vision blurred slightly.

At that moment, Justin spoke again.

“Oh right,” he said casually as he checked his watch. “I ordered a special package for you. It should have been delivered already.”

He lifted his head.

His gaze slowly swept across the lounge—

Then stopped.

His eyes locked directly onto me.

For a moment, the entire world seemed to freeze.

I stood at the entrance like a statue.

I realized, distantly, that I was gripping the package so tightly the corners were beginning to bend beneath my fingers.

Justin’s expression stiffened when he saw me, the smile dying on his lips.

My lips trembled as I stared back at him.

My mind was still struggling to accept the truth right in front of me.

The crippled husband I had worked day and night to support for seven years…

Was standing tall.

Perfectly healthy.

Surrounded by luxury.

And holding another woman.

We stared at each other across that glittering, expensive room — my husband in his tailored suit, standing on legs that were never broken, in a life he had never once let me see — and I felt something inside my chest crack open so wide and so deep that I was surprised no sound came out.

Slowly, I lifted my head, walked closer in slow and deliberate steps because my legs were s

haking and I needed every step to be intentional or I would fall apart on this marble floor in front of all of them.

My eyes burned as I looked at his legs, then straight up at him.

“Justin…”

My voice came out shaky.

Barely a whisper.

“Why… are you standing?”