The Pain Behind Heartless
Zain Yan stepped out of the mansion, his footsteps echoing faintly against the silence of the night. He walked aimlessly until he reached a deserted park, where the cold air wrapped around him like a ghost from the past.
The night was sharp, the wind brushing against his face and scattering his hair into disarray. Faint, yellow streetlights hung on either side of the path, their shadows stretching long and lonely across the benches.
He sat down heavily on one of them, elbows pressed to his knees, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the entire world had settled on him. On the outside, he looked calm, composed—untouchable. But inside, his past screamed like a storm, tearing through the silence.
This park was a graveyard of his memories.
His eyes fell on the rusted swings swaying weakly in the night breeze. The creak of their chains pierced the stillness. His throat tightened, and in that instant, old wounds tore open again.
Suddenly, he wasn't the man he was now. He was twelve again.
Back then, to his father, Zain was nothing more than a mistake—a child born unwanted. His father would return home every night, stinking of alcohol, anger spilling out in violent fits that lashed against both him and his mother.
When the beatings grew unbearable, young Zain would flee into the yard, crouching beneath the old tree at the corner. He would curl into himself, shivering, biting back his sobs so no one would hear.
And every time, he would find him there—Junzhen, his childhood friend.
Junzhen always appeared in neat clothes, his hands clutching colorful packets of chocolates and cookies. He would kneel beside him, wipe his tears, and whisper softly,
"Don't cry. Look, I brought you chocolate."
In those small, fragile moments, light slipped into Zain's darkest nights.
Sometimes, Hanami joined them.
A small, cheerful girl from Japan—she was the thread that tied the two boys together. Her laughter was the music of their little world. She would hop onto the swing, let her hair fly with the wind, and call out—
"One day, we'll all grow up together! And then we'll open a café. I'll make the best coffee, and you two will be my customers!"
Zain and Junzhen would laugh at her childish dream, clapping along as though her words were the most magical promise in the world.
Their universe was small—spanning swings, chocolates, and café dreams—but within that smallness, happiness was endless.
But the fragile shelter of that happiness didn't last.
After his father's sudden death, Junzhen had to leave for abroad. Zain was left alone again.
And alone was dangerous.
One evening, his father returned drunk and furious. The belt came down hard, bruises blooming across his skin until he could barely breathe. Then he was shoved into a dark, locked room, left to tremble in the suffocating silence.
He screamed until his throat burned.
"Ma… I'm scared… please open the door!"
No one came. His mother had long stopped fighting.
On his birthday night, she finally broke. With trembling hands, she led her son into the park and sat him on a bench. Kneeling before him, she cupped his face and whispered, her voice shaking,
"Stay here, my son… I'll be right back. I'll bring a cake for you. It's your birthday—we'll celebrate together."
Zain's eyes lit up, a fragile spark of hope glimmering in their depths. A smile curved his lips, innocent and pure.
But that smile was destined to become the reason for his tears.
He waited.
The little boy sat on the bench, his gaze fixed on the road, waiting for his mother to return. Minutes turned into hours. His small hands clutched the edges of the bench so tightly they went numb.
His cries echoed through the night.
But his mother never returned.
Exhaustion finally dragged his eyelids shut.
That same night, Cheng Yan and Jia Yan were passing by with their children. Jia held six-year-old Lian's hand, while Cheng tried to keep up with their eldest, Adrian, who bounced with endless energy. Their laughter rang through the park—until it froze.
On the bench lay a boy, unconscious.
Cheng rushed forward, lifting the frail child into his arms. His chest tightened when he saw the blue bruises darkening beneath the thin sleeves.
Jia's eyes brimmed with tears. Without a word, they carried him to the hospital.
From the shadows, his real mother watched, her body trembling. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, her lips quivering,
"Forgive me, my son. If you stay with me, your life will be hell. I only pray… you'll be happy—even if it's not with me."
---
When Zain opened his eyes in the hospital, his small, broken voice cried out for his mother again and again.
The sound shattered Jia Yan's heart. She sat beside him, cupped his bruised face in her hands, and asked softly,
"Son, where are your parents?"
The boy only cried harder, his sobs tearing through her.
Unable to bear it, she pulled him into her arms, cradling him tightly.
"Don't cry. From today… I am your mother."
Cheng Yan rested his hand gently on the boy's head.
"And I will be your father."
In that moment, Zain Yan was reborn.
He became their son.
And he never forgot.
To him, they were everything.
His life was theirs to protect, to repay—even if it meant sacrificing himself.
Yet somewhere, buried deep in the rustling echoes of laughter, in the swing's creak, in the unfinished dream of a coffee shop—Hanami's memory still lived in his heart.
By 9:30 that night, the last of the wedding guests had gone. The Yan mansion grew quiet, save for the faint hum of distant conversations.
Upstairs, Lu Anya stepped into the bridal room prepared for them.
It looked like something out of a dream—curtains in shades of red and white, twinkling fairy lights, roses covering every corner, the air heavy with their fragrance. On the table, champagne and chocolates waited beside glowing candles.
It was perfect.
A perfect scene for a wedding night.
Anya lifted her phone, snapping a quick picture. A faint smile touched her lips.
If Boss Yan sees this… will he laugh? Or will he be angry?
Her smile faded. Carefully, she began dismantling the room. She folded the curtains, removed the roses, packed them all into a plastic bag. Only once did she pause, a fresh rose still in her hand.
Its petals were soft, glowing with life—everything her heart was not.
"Sorry… you're so beautiful," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But I have no choice but to throw you away."
Her gaze flickered to the clock—10:15.
Why hadn't he returned yet?
By 10:45, a knock echoed at the door.
Anya's face brightened. "Please come in, Mom."
Mrs. Yan entered, her warm eyes immediately catching the discarded decorations in the bag. Her brows furrowed.
"Daughter, why did you remove all this?"
Anya lowered her gaze, cheeks warming with embarrassment. "I thought… maybe Boss wouldn't like it. He doesn't care for these kinds of things."
Mrs. Yan sat beside her and clasped her hands. Her voice trembled with sorrow.
"My son looks cold on the outside, but inside… he is soft. Because of his past, he has become like this. Something I cannot tell you right now."
Anya squeezed her hand gently. "It's okay… I understand."
Tears glistened in Mrs. Yan's eyes.
"Forgive us. We rushed this marriage, and tonight you had to face humiliation at the dinner table. Don't take their words to heart. They are always like that. When I came as a bride, they said the same to me. But Zain… he stood by me against his father and silenced them all. If someday Zain ever says something harsh to you, just come straight to me."
Anya's chest softened. Her eyes brimmed. "Alright… Mother."
Mrs. Yan hugged her tightly. "Good girl. You're my daughter now."
For the first time that day, warmth spread through Anya's lonely heart.
After Mrs. Yan left, the silence of the room pressed in. The clock ticked—11 o'clock. Still, Zain hadn't returned.
With a bitter exhale, Anya pulled the blanket over herself.
"Whether he comes or not… what difference does it make?"
But her restless heartbeat betrayed her words. Slowly, uneasily, she drifted into sleep… still waiting for his return.
When Zain finally entered the mansion, the halls were silent. Out of habit, he climbed the stairs and stopped first at his parents' room. Seeing them asleep peacefully, his heart softened.
He peeked into Lian's room next, pulling the blanket gently over her small shoulders, careful not to wake her.
I never want them to suffer because of me. I owe them too much.
Finally, he pushed open Anya's door. She hadn't even locked it. Too tired, too weary.
His eyes caught the plastic bag in the corner, stuffed with discarded roses. His jaw clenched faintly, but he said nothing.
Removing his coat, he glanced at the clock—11:30. The air felt icy; the AC was set to sixteen. On the bed, Anya lay curled, shivering beneath the blanket.
Without a word, he adjusted the AC to thirty and tucked the blanket carefully around her shoulders. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on her sleeping face—so delicate, so fragile, yet stubborn in ways he couldn't explain.
Something flickered in his eyes… something dangerous, something tender.
Then he stepped back, turned away, and lay down on the sofa.
In the heavy silence, Zain closed his eyes.
For the first time that day, he allowed himself to rest.