"Dalia," Xander called out, giving my hip a light tap.

I turned to face him as he wanted and lifted the hips, shifting into a position that suited him.

"Yes, just like that, Dalia. I love this about you," he murmured, his breath coming in soft pants as he gently pressed my waist. My upper body rested on the bed, fingers curling tightly into the sheets.

That night, he was more intense than usual, as if he wanted to make up for the two days we’d been apart, using every little trick and way of being close that we’d learned over the ten years together.

By the end, I lay there, too spent to move, watching him through half-closed eyes as he pulled away, looking satisfied.

"Two days without this and you’re already going all out? You’ll wear yourself out if you keep this up," I said. In ten years, I’d never seen him so unrestrained.

Xander came back from the bathroom and held out his arm. I settled into his embrace naturally, letting his hand drift softly over my skin.

"Dalia, you once said as long as I made you happy, you’d never ask for more, right?" he said quietly.

"So if... if I wanted to end things between us, you wouldn’t push for reasons, would you?"

There was a nervous test in his voice that sent a strange, uneasy feeling through me.

Ten years ago, I was twenty. I was working at a café when I accidentally broke two of the manager’s coffee mugs. He demanded I pay for them, but I didn’t have the money. That’s when Xander stepped in to help me.

“What are you staring at?” he asked, noticing my gaze. His beautiful eyes crinkled into a smile.

“You’re really handsome,” I blurted out, my face flushing bright red the second the words left my mouth.

The next day, he showed up at the café door, took my hand, and said, “You like good-looking guys? Be my girlfriend, and you can look all you want.”

I said yes.

Later, he’d often ask if I’d really agreed to be with him just because he was handsome. I’d nod and add, “I also like how strong you are.” His Adam’s apple would bob, and he’d lift me into his arms and carry me to a hotel.

Ten years have passed, and his face and build haven’t changed a bit. But now, I can’t tell if I’m drawn to him as a person, or just to his body.

I studied him up and down, holding back the urge to pour out my true feelings. “You’re not the only good-looking man in the world, you know.”

That seemed to put Xander at ease. “Good. Then I can feel better about ending things with you, Dalia.”

“My family’s set me up with someone. I’m at the age where I should get married—I don’t want to play around anymore.”

As Xander spoke, the warmth drained from my body, leaving me cold to the core, shivering almost.

He was the one who’d asked me to be his girlfriend. All this time, I’d thought we were in a real relationship. I’d always seen him as my boyfriend, without a doubt. And as the years went by, I’d even started hoping he’d propose.

I didn't expect it. He just said he wanted to get married and didn't want to fool around anymore. So it turns out, everything he had with me was just for fun.

I sat up, put on my coat, poured myself a glass of red wine, and drank it all in one go. Taking advantage of the moment I tilted my head back, I held back the tears that were about to fall.

"Alright," my voice trembled, yet carried a hint of stubbornness.

Xander got out of bed, sat on the sofa, pulled me over, and let me sit on his lap.

"I've met that girl a few times. She's someone who's really suitable for marriage," he said.

I nodded. So he had already met that girl behind my back. Today, he was just here to inform me.

I turned my head away, blinked hard, forcing the tears back. I'm already thirty; my inner vulnerability is something only I need to know. What's more, Xander doesn't care at all. I was just someone he played with, never someone he treated with true sincerity.

Feeling that the soreness in my eyes had faded, I turned back, looped my arms around his neck.

"Is she more able to satisfy you than I am?" Xander has always had high expectations in our intimate moments, and it took me a long time to adjust to him, to be able to make him lose himself like I do now.

He shook his head, his gaze deep. "But, Dalia, that's not about love."

"She's very innocent, like a pure white rose. It's different with you."

"The two of you... aren't comparable."

It sounded like the biggest joke I'd ever heard. I laughed exaggeratedly. "Xander, you're being ridiculous."

"Don't forget, when we first met, you said the same kind of things about me."

"You're the one who turned me into this, and now you're turning around to put me down?"

In the beginning, Xander was never satisfied with my shyness and innocence.

He even took me to the bathroom mirror, making me look straight at myself, lost in desire.

"Dalia, arch your back a little more, that's it, sway your hips."

Gradually, I learned a hundred ways to charm him, losing myself completely in the illusion he'd created.

He'd always stroke my face in those intimate moments, praising me for being beautiful, for knowing how to captivate him.

Now that he's met someone else, he describes her as innocent. Xander knows that's a part of me I can never get back—and yet he's tearing open that raw wound with his own hands. It felt like my heart had been hit by a boulder, making even breathing painful.

"So tell me, what do you mean by 'can't play around anymore'?"

Through his gradual guidance, I'd become someone perfectly in tune with him in our private moments. The scattered tissues and little trinkets around were proof of how I'd let go, but now that he wants to marry, blaming me for my lack of innocence.

I wanted to ask him: if you never liked it, why turn me into this?

Ten years together— I gave him my body, my pride, my love— only to end up as a fling.

Xander was stuck for words, his eyes cast down. Every second felt like torture; I squirmed, trying to break free from his embrace. But with just a few moves, he held my waist tight, his voice hoarse: "Dalia, stop moving."

I froze when I felt something firm against me, only to be lifted and set on the bed the next second. "I don't want this!" I hated feeling like a toy. If he didn't care for me, why keep humiliating me like this?

He was about to speak when the phone rang. The moment he saw the number, he pulled me up and locked me in the bathroom.

Then he answered the phone. Even through the door, I could hear a soft voice say, "Xander, I'm so hungry. I want pizza."

Xander's tone was gentle in a way I'd never heard before. "Okay, I'll come pick you up now. Wait for me."

It made me think of how he'd call me every time he wanted to let off steam, saying, "Get cleaned up and wait for me." And when I was hungry, he'd yank the quilt over us both and say, "Aren't I enough to satisfy you?"

After hanging up, he opened the bathroom door. He didn't notice my tear-filled eyes, and without a word of explanation, he hurried out. It turned out his urges weren't something he had to act on no matter what.

Xander left without looking back, not sparing me a single glance. After he was gone, he sent me a message:

"I'm going to be with Grace. Pack your things and leave. Remember, don't leave anything of yours behind. Grace would get upset.

"I think we can still keep in touch. If you ever need company, you can call me."

Finally, the tears I'd held back spilled over.

Ten years—just when I'd fallen in love with him, he didn't want me anymore.

"Xander, tell me. What were we to each other all these ten years?"

I thought he wouldn't reply, but then my phone chimed.

"Dalia, it was a physical attraction between us. I think you should understand that. And with things like this, we don't owe each other any responsibility.

"We can still be friends. That's it."

I stared at the screen, crying and laughing at the same time. A girl's best ten years, I'd given them all to him, and he acted like it was only natural.

He never even thought about taking responsibility for me. That night, I stared at the empty room and didn’t close my eyes the whole night. Memories flooded in, bringing me back to ten years ago.

I was twenty then, working at a café. I accidentally dropped and broke a coffee cup, and the manager told me to pay for it.

"You spilled a customer’s coffee last time, and now you’ve broken a cup. Do you even want this job?" he snapped.

I hung my head, letting him scold me without daring to speak.

"I’m warning you, this is the second time. One more mistake and you’re out!

"Pay for the cup right now, or you won’t get your wages today!"

I twisted the hem of my clothes nervously, telling him I couldn’t afford it.

"I haven’t saved up enough for this month’s living expenses yet, and there’s also my tuition fees. I..."

"If you break something, you pay for it. Either pay up now or leave!"

Tears stung my eyes. I was just about to speak when I heard a tap on the counter.

"As a grown man, you should be a little kinder to a young girl."

I turned my head and saw a hand with well-defined knuckles, then Xander’s handsome face and his striking eyes.

When the manager recognized him, his tone instantly softened.

"Xander, you’re here. What would you like to drink today?"

Xander didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at me. "This has nothing to do with you. Go back to work."

The manager didn’t object. I immediately busied myself with pretend work, but kept listening to their conversation.

"Be nicer to your staff. If I find out otherwise, I’ll double the rent for this place."

Xander had helped me. The manager nodded repeatedly, and the way he looked at me grew much more polite.

When Xander left, I couldn’t help staring straight at him.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You’re so handsome."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, my face flushing instantly. His eyes crinkled, and suddenly he leaned in, his nose brushing mine. "Is that so? Am I really that handsome?"

I nodded again. He was good-looking, kind, and he’d helped me—there was an instinctive attraction to this man that hit me all at once.

I never expected Xander to return to the café the next day. He sat by the window, sunlight spilling over him, making his chestnut hair glow like it was gilded. I brought over his coffee, but my nerves got the better of me, and some spilled onto his hand.

"Oh! I’m so sorry!" I panicked, grabbing a tissue to wipe his hand, but he caught mine mid-movement.

“Hey, you seem awfully nervous to see me," he said.

I shook my head quickly. "No, I’m not..." But he just smiled, his eyes crinkling, and led me out of the café by the hand.

"You like good-looking guys, huh? Be my girl. You can look all you want."

I can’t remember my reaction. It was like I couldn’t refuse—letting him lift me up and carry me into a nearby hotel.

On the soft bed, he untied my hair tie, letting my hair fall over my shoulders. Xander brushed my hair aside, bringing it to his nose to smell. Sensing me trembling, he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"Relax, I'll make you feel like you're in paradise."

After that night, I was completely swept away. Every day I worked at the café, Xander would show up. Eventually, even the tiny café bathroom became a place where we’d steal moments to be intimate. And by the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows, he’d press me against the glass, gripping my waist from behind. "Arch your back a little more, lower your body..."

Over the course of ten years, I went from a nervous little girl who’d get flustered at the sight of him to a woman who could meet all his needs. I got caught up in this relationship driven by desire, thinking it was love.

I gave Xander my first kiss, my first time, and my first love. He took me to the heights of pleasure again and again, making me fall deeply in love with him amid that intense bliss.

All these years, I’d been waiting for him to propose. I even daydreamed about having a boy and a girl after marriage— the boy looking like him, the girl like me.

Ten years is such a long time. So long that I never once thought we’d part. Not until now, when I’m thirty, that he announced it was over.

At the thought, I suddenly let out a laugh. It’s absurd— I spent ten years with only him, treating those ten years as if they’d be a lifetime.

I started packing my clothes from the wardrobe. Only then did I realize how extreme the styles were in the two rows.

The first row had white dresses, pale yellow blouses, light blue sweaters... The second row was filled with black see-through nightgowns, red low-cut ones, sheer lace pieces... All of them were what Xander liked.

He’d make me wear the innocent-looking clothes from the first row when we went out, and demand I change into the sexy, barely-there ones from the second row when we were alone.

"I want you to be a pure little rabbit in public, and a seductress in my bed," Xander always liked to say that.

I bought the latest lipstick, a bright tangerine shade.

"This doesn't suit you." Xander didn't hesitate, reaching for a tissue to wipe my lips clean. "You look lovely with no makeup."

No one would believe it, but I hadn't worn makeup in ten years.

Standing in front of the mirror, I looked at myself. No makeup, but at thirty, I carried a lazy sensuality I didn't have at twenty.

I took off my hair tie, letting my golden curls fall loose. Then I pulled out a black, low-cut bodycon dress from the back of the wardrobe—still unopened, a birthday gift to myself on my thirtieth birthday.

A friend once teased me, "Only a nun would wear a dress that covers even her insteps." I never dared tell her it was the style Xander preferred.

This dress barely covered what needed covering.

I let out a soft breath.

Finally, I could stop catering to others' demands and wear what I liked, what suited me.

The fabric clung to my body, highlighting my shapely hips and baring my fair, smooth legs. The low neckline accentuated the curve of my chest.

I put on makeup—neutral eyeshadow, then that bright red lipstick. Staring at myself in the mirror, I realized I'd forgotten what I was meant to be like after all these years.

I'd always thought my lips were too thin, but now I saw it was just that no lipstick had ever brought out their natural fullness.

Sliding into slender high heels, I smoothed my hair and checked Xander's Instagram. "It's my birthday now. Once midnight hits, it'll be my brother's."

I raised an eyebrow, a thought forming. Xander's brother, from what I'd heard, was quite good-looking too.

When I showed up at Xander's villa, the noisy chatter suddenly fell silent.

All eyes turned to me, and I took a small step back.

"Wow, where did this stunning woman come from?"

"I’ve never seen her before. Is she a friend of Xander’s?"

Even the women looked at me with a mix of admiration and envy. They were all dressed elaborately, but the moment I appeared, everyone else seemed to fade into the background.

Rick walked over holding a wine glass. "Hi there, beautiful lady. Are you here for my brother’s and my birthday party? How come I’ve never seen you before?"

I couldn’t help thinking—Xander’s brother was just like him, in his own way.

"I’m Dalia. Don’t you recognize me?"

As the words left my mouth, the murmurs around us fell silent. I heard a chorus of sharp intakes of breath.

Rick’s smile vanished. His grip on the wine glass tightened, his gaze growing dark. Apart from him, no one could believe that the sexy, alluring woman in front of them was the Dalia they knew. After all, I’d always seemed so innocent in their eyes.

"Goodness, Dalia looks absolutely breathtaking like this!"

"Yeah, it’s weird that Xander picked that plain girl instead."

"I can’t believe my eyes—Grace doesn’t even come close to Dalia!"

"Hey, do you think Xander will regret it when he sees Dalia like this..."

Listening to their words, I felt a jumble of emotions. I’d been the last to know that Xander had moved on to someone new.

Just then, Xander walked over, arm around a girl, smiling broadly. "What’s everyone huddled around talking about? It’s past midnight now—it’s my brother Rick’s birthday. C’mon, let’s all..."

He had his arm around Grace’s shoulders, leading her over to Rick. “Your sister-in-law made a special trip to celebrate your birthday with you. You… ”

Just then, his voice trailed off. I saw his eyes widen slightly; the arm around Grace dropped away, and he couldn’t help loosening his tie.

Xander’s gaze fixed on me, unblinking. In his stunned expression, I caught confusion, admiration, and a desire he was struggling to hold back.

Grace looked up, puzzled. “Xander, who is she?” Her voice was sweet, laced with a heavy, coquettish tone.

“It’s… Dalia,” Xander swallowed hard, his eyes still glued to me.

I finally got a good look at the girl’s face: golden hair in a ponytail, innocent deep blue eyes, a fresh, unmade-up face that radiated purity—exactly like me at twenty. Even the perfume she wore smelled of fresh citrus, light and sweet.

“Oh, you’re Dalia!” Grace blinked her innocent eyes, showing no hint of hostility toward me. “I’ve heard about you. Xander mentioned you—said you’re like a white rose.”

“But, Dalia, you look so beautiful. Not like a white rose… like a goddess!” Her generous praise was cut off by Xander’s cold voice.

“Dalia, who told you to dress like that?”

“Aren’t you ashamed to show up looking like this?”