2
Connor and I were childhood sweethearts, bound by years of shared memories. But Chloe Davis was his elusive “white moonlight,” the one he loved but could never have. In high school, Chloe had transferred to our exclusive academy on a scholarship. Her striking beauty and brilliant mind quickly captured Connor’s attention. Then came the day Chloe was accused of stealing class funds, her clothes torn off by a group of girls in a humiliating attack. I raced to the girls‘ restroom, only to find Connor emerging from a stall, holding Chloe’s clothes. Chloe had her back to him, her voice thick with tears. “Just go, please. If anyone sees you, it’ll be imposs-
ible to explain.”
But Connor simply said, “No need to explain. Just put your clothes on first.”
Amidst the tense standoff, Chloe fumbled, panicked by the stubborn clasp of her bra. Connor didn’t hesitate. “Here, let me.” His expression was grim, his movements clumsy. When he finally fastened the clasp, his ear tips were flushed a fiery red. The moment he turned and our eyes met, a flicker of panic crossed his face, quickly replaced by a calm command: “You help her now.” As he left, he added, “Keep this quiet.”
I agreed, but by that afternoon, a photo of Connor helping Chloe with her clothes had spread like wildfire across campus. Connor was convinced I was the leak. For the first time, he unleashed his fury on me. “Layla, don’t think just because my parents favor you, I won’t do anything. You’re just the daughter–in–law they picked, not my choice!”
I stood firm, defiance hardening my voice. “It wasn’t me!” He scoffed, a cold sneer twisting his lips. “Who else saw? You’re just jealous of her and me.”
His words struck me like a blast of icy air. “When did you two…?”
He impatiently cut me off. “You didn’t actually think me looking out for you meant I liked you, did you?”
That night, the Walker family learned of the incident. Connor was dragged home and forced to apologize. He stood there, chin defiantly jutted out. “If you like Layla so much, why don’t you marry her?” He was met with a harsh punishment, physical in nature, from both parents.
Back then, he hadn’t yet seen the truth: I was raised from childhood to be the future Mrs. Walker, and as the sole heir, he had no say in his own marriage. In the end, he married me. Chloe transferred schools, and he was sent abroad for eight years of higher education.
When Connor returned eight years later, his aura had completely transformed. The boyish awkwardness was gone, replaced by a composed, reserved presence. He found me and proposed marriage. “Since we’re both still single, let’s just do it.” I knew I couldn’t escape the arranged marriage. Marrying someone I knew felt, at the time, like a stroke of luck.
Later, I would discover that the first thing Connor did upon returning to the States was to seek out Chloe. But Chloe, with her fierce pride, had rejected him. Marrying me, it turned out, was nothing more than a childish act of spite directed at her.
