The Debt of Marriage
The next morning, around 7 a.m., soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, brushing Anya's face with a golden warmth. Her lashes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the brightness. She shifted—and froze.
Zain lay fast asleep on the couch.
For once, his sharp features were relaxed, free of the icy armor he always carried. In sleep, his face looked softer, almost innocent—almost childlike.
Anya sat up quietly, her lips curving into a faint, wistful smile. Her voice trembled as she whispered, caught between tenderness and bitterness:
"Mr. Heartless… you look so gentle when you're asleep. Just like a child. But when you're awake… you're nothing less than a wolf."
Her hand hovered hesitantly above him. She bit her lip, then let her fingers brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
But in that very instant, his eyes opened. Sharp, piercing—his gaze locked onto hers. A playful glint sparked within them, and a teasing smirk tugged at his lips.
"Miss Lu… or should I say, Mrs. Yan—my wife."
Anya froze. Her hand hung in mid-air as her heartbeat skipped. Quickly, she pulled her hand back, her face hardening.
"Who would ever like someone like you… a wolf in human skin?"
Zain chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous, like velvet laced with steel.
"Oh really? Remember… a wolf never lets go of his prey."
Before Anya could retort, a cheerful knock echoed on the door.
"Brother! Sister-in-law! Breakfast is ready!" Amelia's lively voice sang from the hallway.
Startled, Anya quickly pulled her hand away from Zain's hold. Flustered, she muttered under her breath, "Let go! I'll be late."
Zain loosened his grip with a half-smile, watching her rush toward the wardrobe. She pulled out her clothes and headed for the bathroom. But just as her hand touched the door handle, another hand covered hers—firm, warm, and unyielding.
She turned sharply. Zain was right behind her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her smaller one. Their eyes clashed, silent sparks of defiance filling the air.
"I'm going first," Anya said firmly, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart.
"Because my hand was here first," he countered smoothly, leaning closer.
His smirk deepened as his breath brushed her ear.
"Really? Don't forget, this house belongs to my family. If I want, I could throw you out right now. Which means… I'll be taking the shower first."
Anya pressed her lips together, refusing to let fear show. Calmly, she raised her chin.
"Alright. But if I tell your mother you threatened to throw me out… let's see who gets in trouble first."
Zain's eyes gleamed with amusement.
"So now you're threatening me?"
"Not a threat." Anya crossed her arms, her tone sharp yet steady. "A solution."
His brow arched in curiosity.
"A solution? I'm curious—what kind?"
Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"We'll settle this with Rock-Paper-Scissors. Winner showers first."
For a moment, Zain blinked in disbelief—then laughed, incredulous.
"What? That's so childish."
"Yes, exactly," she shot back without hesitation. "I've been settling things like this since childhood. And I'm not changing now."
Zain shook his head in mock exasperation, though the corners of his lips betrayed amusement.
"Unbelievable… fine. Let's play."
They raised their hands together.
"One, two, three!"
Anya slammed down Rock. Zain revealed Scissors.
He lost.
A triumphant smile spread across Anya's face. She tilted her head sweetly, eyes glinting with victory.
"Now, dear husband, kindly remove your hand so I can take my shower."
With a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement, Zain stepped aside, tossing a towel over his shoulder.
"Fine, you won this round. But next time… I'll make sure I win."
Anya brushed past him, smirking with quiet satisfaction.
"We'll see about that… Mr. Husband."
---
Breakfast Scene
By the time Anya descended the stairs, she was dressed in a light blue collared jacket-style top paired with a graceful midi skirt. Nude-toned shoes clicked softly against the floor, her elegance glowing through simplicity.
Across the table, Zain sat in a crisp dark blue suit, his aura sharp and commanding. Beside them, little Lian, in soft pink pajamas, kicked her feet lightly beneath the chair, her presence adding warmth to the morning.
Anya's gaze swept over the smiles of the Yan family. For a fleeting moment, the warmth stung—memories of her own father surged painfully, twisting her chest. She forced a faint smile to hide the ache.
Zain's voice cut through her silence.
"Mrs. Yan… what are you lost in thought about?"
Quickly, she lowered her gaze.
"Nothing."
Cheng Yan chuckled warmly, his tone light.
"Son, eat quickly, or the food will get cold."
Anya sat down beside Zain, carefully placing steamed buns on his plate.
"This is your home. Eat comfortably," she said softly, her words polite but laced with quiet effort.
Jia Yan's eyes sparkled with playfulness.
"Look at how much my son cares for his wife. You never did this for me."
To everyone's surprise, Zain broke a bun and lifted it toward Anya. Without hesitation, he fed her a piece.
Her cheeks burned red as Amelia giggled behind her hand.
"If Adrian were here, it would've been even more fun!"
Anya blinked curiously.
"Who is Adrian?"
For a moment, Zain's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
"He's my younger brother. He's abroad right now."
After a pause, Zain looked at his parents.
"Mom, Dad, we're going to Shenzhen today—our home. I have work at the office, and so does Anya."
Jia Yan smiled warmly, her voice full of care.
"Alright. You both take care of yourselves and look out for each other."
Zain slid his hand smoothly over Anya's, his voice steady.
"Don't worry, Mom. I'll take good care of her."
Anya's heart gave a betraying skip. The words were spoken so easily, but she couldn't tell if they were real—or just another performance.
---
Tragedy
Later, as they packed and prepared to leave, Anya's mind began to drown in memories that surged like broken glass—
The gunfire.
The blood.
Her father's trembling hand.
In the harsh lights of the operation theater, Ishan Lu's breaths came ragged and shallow. His weak, trembling hand clutched Cheng Yan's tightly.
"Brother… my time has come…"
"No!" Cheng Yan's voice cracked, desperate. He squeezed Ishan's hand as tears welled in his eyes. "Don't say that. You'll be fine. You still have to live—for Anya."
Ishan's eyes brimmed with pain.
"I want to… but the one above is calling me. Please… take care of her. She's always suffered. Don't let her suffer anymore."
His gaze shifted toward Zain, who stood silently in the corner. His arm wrapped protectively around Anya, who trembled and sobbed against his chest. Ishan's lips curved faintly.
"My decision wasn't wrong. I chose the right man for her."
The heart monitor shrieked. Doctors rushed in. But it was too late. His body gave up.
Anya's world shattered. Her screams tore through the sterile white walls as her father's eyes closed forever. She clutched Zain's shirt desperately, her sobs shaking her entire frame.
Cheng Yan's voice broke, heavy with grief.
"He's at peace now… But remember his last wish. Always take care of his daughter."
Zain's jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, unreadable, but inside him, a heavy vow took root.
That night, as Anya wept silently against his chest, Zain closed his eyes.
This marriage was no longer just a bond.
It was a debt.
A prison.
A vow carved into his very soul.