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Matthew drawled lazily: “She is Charles‘ wife after all. Pushing her this far isn’t cool.”
“We never touched her. That’s out of the question.
Whatever Charles said next got lost in the sudden chaos on their end, his yoice drowned out completely.
The call lasted fifteen minutes. I turned off the Bluetooth and got out of the car.
That sharp ache had long faded, now buried beneath calm.
A faint, gnawing sensation like ants nibbling away.
Heading upstairs, I bumped into Matthew just leaving.
He seemed frantic, clothes half–on, his exposed torso covered in suggestive scratches.
Seeing me, he exhaled in relief and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Where’d you go, baby? Thought I’d lost you.”
“Just took out the trash downstairs.‘
I tilted my head up, palm against his cheek, fingertip brushing the mole by
his eye.
Charles had that exact same mole at his eye corner too.
Matthew’s eyes darkened as my finger trailed down, his Adam’s apple
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bobbing.
The moment my fingertip touched the corner of his lips, he instantly captured it with his mouth, nipping gently.
Marad this flaw–like a mad dog, obsessed with marking everything as his possession.
Even when this territory didn’t belong to him.
Matthew’s breathing grew heavier, his eyes clouded with unmistakable desire.
He pinned me onto the bed.
I suddenly pressed his hand: “Charles, skip the condoms. Let’s have a baby.”
Matthew’s pupils jumped, his gaze turning fierce.
That night, Matthew was exceptionally fierce.
I discovered Charles had deceived me just days before our weddino
an anonymous sender delivered a video.
when
The video was taken in a private room at a bar, with Charles sitting next
to Anna.
She suggested playing the Blind Date Mystery Game, and I got picked in
the draw.
Besides Charles, there were four other players.
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Matthew was also picked.
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“Boring,” he said impatiently, kicking over the table and storming out of the room, cursing. “Play by yourselves.”
Anna smoothed things over with a smile:
“It’s fine, four people can still play. But watch your boundaries. For Charles‘ sake, don’t get anyone pregnant.”
That’s when I realized the wedding I’d been looking forward to for eighteen years was just the starting signal of the game.
My heart ached so badly I could hardly breathe.
Charles sent a message: [It’s not too late to cancel the wedding.】
I ignored him, sitting blankly before the video all night.
This was an arranged marriage–I had no right to call it off.
I still needed the Lewis Family to secure my standing with the Harris family.
The wedding proceeded as scheduled the next day.
But before it ended, Charles took a call and left.
That night, Matthew came home instead.
I’m face–blind, not stupid.
After an eighteen–year crush on Charles, how could I mistake him?
In my world, people fall into three categories:
Men,
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women,
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and Charles.
That evening, Matthew leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me mockingly and teasingly.
I remember he seemed to want to say something that day, but before he could speak, I walked over and kissed him:
“Charles, I knew you’d come back.”
Everything afterward seemed to follow naturally.
The four took turns pretending to be Charles.
They’d transfer huge sums to me five times a day, and the same gifts always arrived in quintuplicate.
We acted like any ordinary couple.
Dating, holding hands, embracing, shopping, kissing.
But only Charles and Matthew ever came home at night.
Telling Charles and Matthew apart was effortless.
Charles wouldn’t touch me–one glance from him betrayed unconcealed disgust.
Matthew never tired of it.
He was inventive and full of energy.
He patiently hiked thirty thousand steps with me, only to keep night afterward.
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He loved kissing every inch of me, coaxing me to call him “husband,” until I was gasping for air.
“Baby, I really adore you.”
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He whispered “adore” in my ear a thousand times each night, demanding
my response.
Eventually, it turned into frustration.
Sometimes I drifted into exhausted sleep.
In my dreams, someone traced my features, murmuring to himself:
“Why marry him knowing he’s lying to you?”
“Why not divorce him? Do you love him that much?”
I wanted to ask him too.
Why did he change his mind and join this game?
I treated him as a substitute for Charles, but what did he see me as?
I didn’t ask, and Matthew didn’t answer me.
In my blurred world, there was another kind of person: Matthew.
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