Part 1The Stranger in My Slippers

The guy from the mountains the Ronald family sponsored finally made it into graduate school.

He was ecstatic, sharing his rags-to-riches story on social media—the journey from his small town to the city.

He included a photo of himself looking up at Julia, and a caption that hit me like a physical blow: [My patron saint, my cornerstone, the most unique presence in my life~]

The comments were a chorus of adoration.

[Seriously, you’re so inspiring! I’m taking notes!]

[Those eyes aren't exactly professional, are they? Ship it! I’m officially a shipper!] (Liked by the original poster)

[OMG, invite me to the wedding, I'll put my entire savings into the red envelope!] (Liked by the original poster)

[Isn't that Crestwood U's youngest Master’s supervisor? Being the academic workhorse for your savior—that's one hell of a way to repay a debt!]

...

Jasper Cole pinned his own comment: [Thanks for all the well wishes! Hoping to pick up a second certificate (a marriage license) after graduation~.jpg]

I stared at the screen, then scrolled to his most recent update.

It was a few screenshots of Jasper’s thesis and the full Acknowledgments section.

Every line mentioned Julia’s all-nighters, her patient guidance, and her encouragement.

I lingered over the images. I recognized the content.

I’d seen those exact drafts on Julia’s laptop. She’d told me the paper was critically important to her work.

I had run a high fever, staying up late to help her review it, only to find out I was dressing up a borrowed bride.

In that instant, I finally understood that even the most meticulously engineered life—the most solid marriage—could develop a fatal fissure.

* * *

When I walked into the house, I froze.

A guy in a tank top, wearing my personalized house slippers, was busy chopping fruit in the kitchen.

When he saw me, a flicker of irritation at being interrupted crossed his eyes, quickly masked.

“Ezra? I’ve seen your picture. You’re even handsomer in person.”

He came out, holding the fruit bowl. He was completely at ease, as if he owned the place.

Julia was sitting on the sun-drenched balcony, absorbed in her laptop, so focused she hadn't even registered my arrival.

The academic exchange I was on wasn't supposed to end until two days from now, but my section was complete, so I’d flown home early.

“I’m Jasper, Ezra. Gen must have mentioned me.”

He set the bowl down and then lifted his gaze to Julia with an intensely devoted look.

“I’ve been writing my thesis these past few days. My dorm was so loud, I just couldn’t sleep, so Gen invited me to stay here for a bit.

“Don’t worry, Ezra. I can handle all the chores. You just focus on your job. I’ll take care of Gen.”

My brow furrowed instinctively.

Because his dorm was too loud, Julia brought him home?

That was a difficult justification to swallow.

Julia and I grew up together. She wasn’t the kind of person to abandon basic boundaries out of simple pity.

The reason I agreed to marry her in the first place was that we knew each other's blueprint. We were intellectual equals, a formidable pair.

Even if we couldn't be a passionately romantic couple, we certainly wouldn't become bitter enemies.

Besides, in many marriages, a perfect fit matters more than mere feeling.

Julia was devastatingly smart, gorgeous, came from old money, and had no bad habits.

The Kane and Ronald families were long-time business partners. It wasn’t a dramatic corporate merger, but it was a clear symbiosis.

As a marriage partner, there was no better choice.

But more than that.

We did like each other, fiercely, beyond all the careful calculations.

To this day, the memory of her believing I was going on a blind date—flying across two continents from an academic conference to appear on my doorstep—could still make my chest ache.

Julia Ronald, always so composed and aloof, had been a beautiful mess that day.

Her hair was wind-bitten, her clothes were wrinkled from a night of anxiety, and her red-rimmed eyes showed the strain of sleepless nights.

“Ezra Kane, if you want to get married, will you marry me?”

I stood in the doorway, holding two heavy bags of trash, completely stunned.

Julia was a pure scientist.

She wasn't good at expressing emotion; she’d never once told me she loved me.

Even her attempts at comfort were awkward.

When I lost the top spot in a class competition, she poked my head and mocked, "You're pathetic. Try to catch up next time.”

Then she'd grab my test paper and dissect all my mistakes.

She never once considered missing a question just to make me feel better.

…

We married naturally, becoming everyone’s definition of the 'Perfect Equation.'

I remember the night before I left for my overseas fellowship. After we made love, she tucked her head into my chest, a rare moment of vulnerability.

“Ezra, let’s have a baby.”

I softly agreed.

Barring any unforeseen event, we were supposed to be endgame.

But now, it seemed complicated.