Chapter 1 — The Second Proposal

To repay the debt of gratitude I owed my mentor, I married his son—a man who had been in a coma for two years. On our wedding night, I sat by his bedside and read gossip columns aloud to him, a futile exercise akin to playing music for a cow. To my absolute astonishment, halfway through a sentence, my supposed vegetable of a husband suddenly sat bolt upright.

"Is this news fake? The protagonist is a friend of mine, and it is common knowledge that he prefers men."

I was so terrified that my soul nearly left my body, yet my convenient husband merely looked at me with an expression of profound disgust.

The darkness was thick as ink, swaddling the Lu family villa in an airtight embrace. Only a single, dim yellow nightlight was on in the room, casting a faint, ghostly outline of the figure lying on the bed. This was Lu Trach, my husband in name only, who had been a vegetable for two full years. The air hung heavy with a suffocating, peculiar mixture of clinical antiseptic and the expensive, cloying scent of essential oils. I sat on the chair beside the bed, tapping my phone screen to life, the cold light illuminating my pale face.

"I’ll read you something interesting today," I said, clearing my throat. My voice sounded dry, and I tried to force a lighter, more conversational tone. "The rising tech genius Tan Hao has been caught meeting three young models late at night. He is suspected of being a serial philanderer whose cover has finally been blown."

Speaking to someone who gave no response felt absurd, almost comical. This was the specific instruction of my benefactor, Lu Kien Quoc, who was now my father-in-law. He had insisted that I talk to Lu Trach frequently, hoping that one day, my voice might call him back to consciousness. I followed his orders diligently, treating it like a job—a duty to repay the man who had funded my education years ago. As for what I read, I had no desire to bore myself with dry financial reports, so I stuck to gossip. He couldn't hear me anyway; it was merely a way to pass the time.

"Honestly, these paparazzi are becoming novelists," I remarked, unable to stop myself from commenting. "They claim Tan Hao rented out an entire yacht club for a wild, decadent party—the language is far too flowery. They say he gifted each of the models a limited-edition jewelry set and was being incredibly reckless. It ended with the girlfriend of one of the models catching him red-handed, leading to a massive scene."

The more I read, the more engaged I became, eventually slipping into a performative role as I imagined the chaotic scene. Just then, a cold, gravelly voice—raspy from years of disuse—exploded into the silent room.

"That story is fake. He is a friend of mine, and he is clearly attracted to men."

My voice cut out instantly. My entire body felt as though it had been plunged into ice, my blood slowing to a standstill. Stiff as a board, I slowly tilted my head upward. The man who should have been immobile on the bed was sitting up. He leaned against the headboard, the dim yellow light casting dramatic, sharp shadows across his angular features. His eyes, which had remained firmly closed for two years, were now wide open. His pupils were like deep, fathomless abysses, piercing enough to see straight through me.

"Aah!" A sharp scream escaped my throat. I jumped from the chair as if electrified, scrambling backward several steps. My phone clattered onto the polished floor with a loud crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb pattern that mirrored my own collapsing nerves. My soul felt as though it had abandoned my body. The man—no, Lu Trach—merely glanced at the broken phone on the floor before locking his gaze onto me. There was no warmth in his eyes, no joy of a reunion. There was only scrutiny, calculation, and an unconcealed, biting disgust. He raked his gaze over me, from my hair, disheveled by panic, down to the red silk nightgown I had donned for our wedding night. His brows knitted into a tight, displeased furrow.

"Who are you?" His voice remained hoarse, yet the icy detachment and arrogance in his tone were unmistakable.

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing it, preventing any sound from escaping. Who was I? I was the wife his father had bought for him. A living widow. A caretaker. A tool of repayment. The labels swirled in my mind, but none could pass my lips. Seeing me standing there, pale and mute, the mockery in his eyes intensified.

"Are you mute?"

"I… I am…" I finally found my voice, though it emerged as a stammer. "I am Chu Tuyet. Your father… Mr. Lu… asked me to come and look after you."

I chose the safest path. I could not bring myself to say the words "your wife." Lu Trach let out a short, cold laugh, heavy with disdain.

"Look after me? Is that what you call dressing like this?" His eyes drifted down to my red nightgown again, sweeping over me like the blade of a knife. My face burned with intense shame and humiliation.

"Enough," he said, sounding like a man who had lost all patience, issuing a command as one would to a subordinate. "Go call the doctor and my parents."

I felt as though I had been granted a pardon. Scrambling to my feet, I turned and fled the room in a clumsy panic, not daring to look back at him even once. Only when I was out in the hall did I realize my back was drenched in cold sweat. I staggered toward the stairs, shouting as I went.

"Mr. Lu! Madam! Lu Trach is awake! Lu Trach is awake!"

The entire Lu household erupted at my cries. The sleeping villa jolted into life in the middle of the night. Lights flickered on one by one. The sounds of heavy footsteps, exclamations of shock, and frantic phone calls blurred into a chaotic symphony. The family doctor, the private nurse, the butler, the maids, and finally Lu Kien Quoc and his wife, Vuong Le Binh, all rushed toward the scene. They flooded the second-floor bedroom like a rising tide, leaving me behind in the wake of the excitement. I stood outside the door like an insignificant stranger, peering through the gap. I watched as Vuong Le Binh threw herself onto the bed, weeping uncontrollably. Lu Kien Quoc stood beside her, his face flushed with emotion, repeatedly patting the doctor on the shoulder. Lu Trach sat in the center of the commotion, wearing that same cold expression, calmly weathering the wave of concern. No one remembered me—the person who had been the first to discover he was awake, the person who had perhaps been the one to call him back to life.