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Ever since we were kids, I'd always known how to make use of my gentle childhood friend for things like sending him on errands, and borrowing his allowance. He never complained. Just silently indulged me. Things continued the same way until the day we got engaged. That's when everything snapped into place. That was the day we both woke up. I was just a throwaway character in a novel. He was the male lead—fated to fall in love and end up with the novel's heroine. I was stunned. Ready to walk away. But he was furious. Jaw clenched, eyes wild. He grabbed my hand and dragged me straight to City Hall. "Screw the novel. Screw the plot. The only thing I know is that I love you, and I want forever with you." After we got married, he treated me like I was made of glass. Gentle. Meticulous. We worked side by side, building a reputation as a power couple in the business world. The events of the novel faded into the background. I fell deeper in love with him. Three years later, the youngest daughter of a real estate tycoon started her internship at our company. That day, there was a fire in the office. In the chaos, the girl stumbled into a shelving unit. It came crashing down, headed straight for my husband. I didn't hesitate. I threw myself in front of him. Pain exploded in my skull. Blood poured down my face. The girl, in her panic, had fallen to the ground, crying out, "Aaron, help me!" My husband's face went pale. His expression—pure terror—as he ran toward her without a second thought. "Grace!" he cried. Lightning split through me. My face drained of color. The heroine in the novel—her name was Grace.

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"Honey, it hurts …" Three years after getting married, Chelsey Jenson finally beds her husband, Lucas Yates.But even as he's above her, he's calling out his first love's name. "Shannon, I love you …"Lucas loses his sight for three years, and Chelsey cares for him without a complaint through the whole ordeal. What's the first thing he does upon regaining his sight? Seek out his first love.During an interview with the media, Chelsey announces, "Lucas Yates has erectile dysfunction and can't satisfy me in bed. I want a divorce!"The divorce becomes the talk of the town; everyone knows the handsome, rich, and powerful Lucas is useless in bed.Many years later, Lucas ends up chasing Chelsey all over the world. "Honey, I was wrong. Let's remarry!"Chelsey turns him down without hesitation. "I'm not interested in men with ED, so stay as far away from me as possible. Don't stop me from getting together with those young and fresh men!"

My wife’s new assistant recently celebrated his birthday, and she splurged on a villa as a gift to him. On the day he moved in, the assistant, Zachary Shaw, bragged on Instagram with a post and captioned: [Bagged myself a sugar mommy, just FYI.] My wife, Ivy Bennett, commented on the post: [Happy birthday, my dear Zacky! 🫰] The photo was Zachary wrapping his arm around my wife’s slender waist, looking incredibly intimate. The work group chat blew up at once. Everyone expressed their envy toward Zachary, singing his praises for being so promising at such a young age. Then, my childhood friend, Autumn Sinclair, tagged me in the group chat and teased, [Love is a blinding green light. Your wife’s cheating on you so hard it glows. Congrats, Julian!] I smiled wryly and stubbed out my cigarette. Slowly, I typed my reply, [Want a house, Autumn? I’ll get you one too, better than her gift to him.]

To get a superpower, I joined the survival game. But a small system glitch changed my mission in the Soul Trial from the universal “Survival” to… “Slay Sitri”. Sitri is the great prince of hell who reigns over sixty legions of demons. And his specialty? He creates love between two souls from thin air. When I first met that devil, he smirks with those fox eyes, taking pride in holding the hearts of all mortals in his hand. Me? I smile, too. Because I was born with alexithymia, meaning I’m a heartless sociopath that doesn’t feel any emotions. Nice to meet you, Mr Devil. I grin at him, licking my canine. How are you going to manipulate my heart, when I don’t have one?

At the end of the year, I went to the spa and discovered a stranger had been using my VIP card. When I logged into my personal profile, the last three treatment records were not under my name. The preference section listed specific details about someone else. She was allergic to rose essential oil, preferred lavender, and her heating pad temperature could not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Her menstrual cycle fell around the 15th of each month, so no waist or abdomen treatments during that time. I stared at the screen, my palms turning cold. Only my husband, Zachary White, knew this password. At the time, he said he needed it to check the balance and renew my membership. I scrolled down and found a system note at the bottom: [Birthday treatment reserved for December 30, prepared according to Ms. Anderson's preferences.] Today was December 30. My phone vibrated. Zachary had sent a message: [Working late tonight. Won't be home.] Familiar laughter drifted from the hallway. Through the glass door, I watched Zachary walk into the adjacent room with his arm around a woman, the beautician hurrying forward to greet them. "Mr. White, we have Ms. Anderson's birthday treatment ready, just as you requested."