Chapter 1 - A Wife Still Waiting

RUYI WYNTER❦

I signed my husband’s ten-million-dollar mafia debt to myself… and now I’m chained to the most powerful mafia lord alive.

But tonight, I’m trying to pretend I’m just a wife waiting for her husband on their anniversary.

The smell of roasted pork clings to my hair as I wipe down the counter for the last time, my arms trembling with exhaustion.

My shift ends at ten, and it’s already 9:42 p.m. My feet ache, my spine aches, my soul aches—but I keep checking the door anyway.

Because Jace kissed me this morning.

My husband kissed me softly, his hands cupping my face like we were eighteen again and the whole world was just the two of us. He said:

“When you’re done with work, baby, we’ll go out… Anniversary night. Just us. I’d come walk you by nine”

I believed him. Of course I did.

It’s been a long time since we’ve had a night together… too long, our marriage which was initially sweet and rosy,

But now he has turned useless and almost loveless, but god knows I still love Jace, am I worn out? Do I not look as attractive as I was when I was eighteen?

How could I still remain pretty? When I'm shouldering this heavy debt… I wish I could see me through Jace’s point of view, does he still love me?

But I? I love that man, like nobody can.

I’m always working different shifts, always scraping, always carrying the weight of his debt.

And he promised tonight would be different. He promised he’d be here by nine so we could go out after I got my paycheck.

But it’s almost ten. I glance at my phone next to the register. No messages from Jace.

No call.

No voicemail.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. This morning… had the kiss been a pity? Guilt?

I shake it off and keep wiping.

“I’m sure he’s just caught up at work,” I whisper to myself. He’s a junior procurement analyst now. An office job. A clean job. The one he begged me to sign his debt off to myself for—so he could

“work without the mafia lord’s men he owed harassing him at the work place..”

And what is love without sacrifice? He told me that.

And yes my parents taught me that, they sacrificed for each other, Or maybe I taught myself the day they died and left me alone with five million dollars and a world I didn’t know how to navigate.

Jace showed me attention. He showed me affection.

He was the delinquent boy from our street who carried me through the funeral when I couldn’t walk on my own legs.

I married him because he made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I stayed because love demands giving. And I gave everything.

A door slams in the back, and my boss, Mrs. Leela, walks out of the tiny office with her clipboard tucked under an elbow. Her round glasses sit crooked on her nose, and the smell of sanitizer follows her like a cloud.

“Wynter,” she says, sighing. “Your paycheck.”

I straighten immediately.

She hands it to me, the envelope slightly warm from her hand. My heart lifts—finally.

My husband and I can afford a restaurant dinner tonight. Maybe even dessert, not my home cooked meals he doesn’t eat, or leaves until it spoils.

Mrs. Leela’s eyes soften as she looks me over. “Your husband is not here yet?”

My smile stutters. “He—he’s on his way. Probably stuck in traffic.”

“On your anniversary?” Her mouth presses tight. “Ruyi, dear, has he ever come to walk you home? Ever? Day or night?”

I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “He works hard,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “He’s doing overtime to help with the debt. He’s trying.” I lied, Jace’s job only takes 8am to 5pm.

She lifts a brow. “And you? Working four jobs, a florist in the morning, cashier in the afternoon, cleaner in the evening, and a pork attendant at night, double shifts, fourteen-hour days— are you trying less?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out.

She sighs again, softer this time. “You’re a good girl, Ruyi. A loyal girl. But loyalty shouldn’t hurt this much.”

“It doesn’t,” I lied. Because it shouldn’t. But it does.

And I can’t afford for her to be right.

I clutch the paycheck like it’s oxygen and force my voice steady. “We’ll celebrate tonight. Once he gets here.”

Mrs. Leela gives me a look that’s part pity, part frustration. The kind that says she’s seen women like me burn themselves alive for men who bring nothing but cold.

She pats my shoulder. “Close up when you’re done. And… happy anniversary, sweetheart. I hope he shows up.”

Hope. A word I’m running low on.

But I nod anyway, swallow the ache in my chest, and turn back to the counter.

Only eighteen minutes left in my shift. Eighteen minutes for Jace to show up.

Eighteen minutes before I start wondering if the debt isn’t the only thing drowning me. And then it came and went, he didn’t show up…

I bathed in the shop restroom, applied a little makeover for the first time in 2 years since I signed the debt to myself, after paying half of it out with the 5 million dollars inheritance my late parent left for me.

Jace wasn’t still here, I hesitated only a moment before turning in the direction of his workplace—a company he said had “strict rules” and that I should never come looking for him.

But it was our anniversary. And something felt wrong.

The walk took fifteen minutes. I’d never seen the building before—tall, metallic, with a wide warehouse stretching behind it.

A man in a black jacket stood by the entrance, smoking.

“Excuse me mister,” I said, my voice small. “I—I’m looking for my husband. Jace. He works here”

He paused and then blinked slowly, like I’d spoken a rubbish word.

“Jace?” A short, disbelieving laugh. “Didn’t he say he wasn’t the marrying type.. that these women will eventually get cold, sad and uninteresting?”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean by that?”

But he just jerked his head toward the back.

“Warehouse. Last door on the right. Don’t make noise. He hates being disturbed.”

I should’ve turned away.

I should’ve listened to the screaming instinct in my bones.

But love makes fools. And I was the biggest one.

The warehouse smelled of steel and dust. My footsteps echoed as I approached the last door—the only one slightly open, yellow light spilling through the crack.

And I heard moans, heavy passionate moans, wet skin slapping skin. Echoes of lustful whimpers, and groans of ecstasious pleasure, I recognize his voice, but I was still in denial, it couldn’t be it.

I pushed the door. And my heart didn’t just break— it detonated. Jace was inside. Jace—my husband.

Jace—the boy who held me when my parents died.

Jace—the man I worked myself to the bone for.

Jace—the one I signed ten million dollars of mafia debt to save.

He was buried between another woman’s naked thighs. Her legs wrapped around him.

His hands gripping her waist like she was the only thing he ever wanted. His mouth on her neck—the same way he kissed me this morning.

My breath left me in a sharp, strangled sound.

The woman gasped. Jace turned. His eyes widened.

“Ruyi—?”

The world narrowed, sound flattened, and all I could hear was my pulse screaming in my ears.