Once, Damien and I were the perfect mates in everyone's eyes.

We met in college when we were both dirt poor, scraping by on part-time jobs and late-night instant noodles.

My parents divorced when I was seven.

My mother tried to shield me from the truth, but I knew.

That day is seared into my memory.

She had come home early from a business trip, her heels clicking rhythmically on the tiles as she stepped through the door.

She paused at the bedroom door-her breath catching as the unmistakable sounds of laughter drifted down the hallway.

And then... she saw it.

My father, strong and imposing, wrapped in the arms of his secretary-her perfume sickly sweet, mingling with the scent of betrayal that filled the room.

Their bodies tangled beneath the sheets-his sheets-the ones my mother had slept in for over a decade,. His lips on her neck, her hands on him.

My mother stood there in the doorway, her heart breaking in real-time. She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She simply... fell.

She quietly wove the threads of the mate bond they shared-threads that had once been strong enough to tie them together for life-into the fabric of her past.

In those first few hours, while he was still fumbling through his apologies, my mother quietly arranged the dissolution of everything he thought he had a claim to. The house, the money, the family name-all became hers.

"You are no longer my mate. "

"Leave," she commanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air of the room. "And never return."

I watched, hidden in the shadows, as my father left. The door clicked shut.

Then, silence.

I saw my mother crumble.

Her wolf, once fierce, collapsed, its spirit torn from her. Her knees hit the floor, her body folding like a broken animal.

She gasped, her shoulders shaking, arms clinging to herself as if to hold her soul together.

In that moment, I understood-breaking mate bonds was as painful as tearing a wolf apart.

That year, I was seven.

She always thought I didn't know.

But the truth was as clear to me as the scars on my heart.

Years passed, and my mother, ever strong, raised me alone.

By the time I was in my second year of college, the burden had taken its toll.

My mother, once vibrant and full of life, began to fade. Her wolf grew weaker with every passing day.

She was always tired, always lost in the weight of her own thoughts.

And then, one cold winter evening, she stepped into the street, unaware of the oncoming car. It hit her hard, sending her flying.

She never woke up.

At twenty years old, I was left alone. My mother was gone.

It was also the year I met Damien.

We crossed paths at a student council event.

He was the host, tall and commanding, with a presence that made the room go still.

I couldn't help but glance at him more than once. And those brief moments of eye contact were enough for him to notice me.

From that day on, he pursued me relentlessly.

Damien was persistent, his charm undeniable. He'd appear at my side in class, offering help with assignments, his dark eyes always watching me, his every move calculated to draw me in.

Because of my past, I'd built walls around my heart.

when he asked me to be his mate, I rejected him without a second thought.

"I can't be your mate. I won't be."

I thought he would eventually take the hint and give up, after all, that's what all my previous suitors did.

But he didn't.

From sophomore year to senior year, and even after I started my internship, he never stopped pursuing me.

I couldn't help but feel a little touched by his persistence.

But the more kind he was to me, the less confidence I had.

Because, back then, my father had treated my mother just as well.

Although my mother has passed away, as a strong and independent woman, she left me a substantial inheritance. This money is enough to cover my tuition, living expenses, and even if I wanted to study abroad, it would be more than sufficient.

Having suffered because of men, my mother feared I would repeat the same mistakes. So, she entrusted the money to a trustee.

Every year, I could withdraw a portion, but I wouldn't be able to access the full amount until my monthly income exceeded the average withdrawal amount she left for me, and remained stable for two years.

I understand why she did this.

When my mother married my father, it was purely a downward marriage.

My grandparents were so furious that they severed ties with her.

My stubborn mother packed a suitcase and left with my father without a backward glance. Then, using her years of pocket money, she bought a house. From that point on, she never contacted her parents again.

When I was little, I asked her, "Mom, don't you miss your parents?"

At that moment, my mother's face grew pale, and she fell silent for a long time before replying, "Your grandmother and grandfather can't look at me anymore. "

Then, holding me close, she said, "Elly, all men in this world are untrustworthy. I don't want you to suffer like I did. I hope you'll have the chance to regret your choices."

This money, it was my mother's way of giving me the chance to regret.

So, even after I married Damien, I never told him about the money.

I knew that this money was my mother's way of ensuring my security, so I silently made a decision: unless absolutely necessary, I would try not to touch it.

At the time when Damien met me, I was living on a tight budget. When I didn't have classes, I would go out and take part-time jobs to earn my living expenses.

Because of this, he always believed my financial situation was the same as his.

Looking back now, I wonder-if Damien had known that I wasn't actually struggling financially, perhaps he wouldn't have pursued me.

What he wanted wasn't someone with an independent personality, but rather someone who needed to cling to him like a parasite.

But at the time, I hadn't realized that.

He chased me for three years, confessed to me forty times.

At first, I rejected him outright. Then, I couldn't bear to keep saying no, so I allowed those around us to say we were a couple without correcting them.

I craved the feeling of being chosen, of being wanted that badly.

The forty-first time he confessed, I said yes.

Why? Because that year, I fell ill.

And Damien, without hesitation, donated his liver to save me.

Lying in that hospital bed, he confessed again.

I looked at his pale face and thought, This man, who's willing to give up so much for me, can't be as heartless as my father.

I decided to trust him.

When I gave him my answer, he held me and cried like a child.

But inside, I thought, Fate really is cruel. I've always feared love because of what my father did, yet it's because of his mistakes that I ended up choosing someone to be my mate.

Yes, my illness was the result of my father's affair years ago. He contracted hepatitis B and passed it on to me.

By the time we discovered it, it was too late. Even though my mother tried every treatment possible, the damage had already been done after years of living with the disease.

The pressure of graduating finally broke me, and my body collapsed. The only option left was a liver transplant.

At the time, all I could feel was the bitter irony. I never stopped to think that I was gambling with my happiness because of the pain my father caused me. And in that moment, I realized, this was a doomed start from the very beginning.

Although my mother has passed away, as a strong and independent woman, she left me a substantial inheritance. This money is enough to cover my tuition, living expenses, and even if I wanted to study abroad, it would be more than sufficient.

Having suffered because of men, my mother feared I would repeat the same mistakes. So, she entrusted the money to a trustee.

Every year, I could withdraw a portion, but I wouldn't be able to access the full amount until my monthly income exceeded the average withdrawal amount she left for me, and remained stable for two years.

I understand why she did this.

When my mother married my father, it was purely a downward marriage.

My grandparents were so furious that they severed ties with her.

My stubborn mother packed a suitcase and left with my father without a backward glance. Then, using her years of pocket money, she bought a house. From that point on, she never contacted her parents again.

When I was little, I asked her, "Mom, don't you miss your parents?"

At that moment, my mother's face grew pale, and she fell silent for a long time before replying, "Your grandmother and grandfather can't look at me anymore. "

Then, holding me close, she said, "Elly, all men in this world are untrustworthy. I don't want you to suffer like I did. I hope you'll have the chance to regret your choices."

This money, it was my mother's way of giving me the chance to regret.

So, even after I married Damien, I never told him about the money.

I knew that this money was my mother's way of ensuring my security, so I silently made a decision: unless absolutely necessary, I would try not to touch it.

At the time when Damien met me, I was living on a tight budget. When I didn't have classes, I would go out and take part-time jobs to earn my living expenses.

Because of this, he always believed my financial situation was the same as his.

Looking back now, I wonder-if Damien had known that I wasn't actually struggling financially, perhaps he wouldn't have pursued me.

What he wanted wasn't someone with an independent personality, but rather someone who needed to cling to him like a parasite.

But at the time, I hadn't realized that.

He chased me for three years, confessed to me forty times.

At first, I rejected him outright. Then, I couldn't bear to keep saying no, so I allowed those around us to say we were a couple without correcting them.

I craved the feeling of being chosen, of being wanted that badly.

The forty-first time he confessed, I said yes.

Why? Because that year, I fell ill.

And Damien, without hesitation, donated his liver to save me.

Lying in that hospital bed, he confessed again.

I looked at his pale face and thought, This man, who's willing to give up so much for me, can't be as heartless as my father.

I decided to trust him.

When I gave him my answer, he held me and cried like a child.

But inside, I thought, Fate really is cruel. I've always feared love because of what my father did, yet it's because of his mistakes that I ended up choosing someone to be my mate.

Yes, my illness was the result of my father's affair years ago. He contracted hepatitis B and passed it on to me.

By the time we discovered it, it was too late. Even though my mother tried every treatment possible, the damage had already been done after years of living with the disease.

The pressure of graduating finally broke me, and my body collapsed. The only option left was a liver transplant.

At the time, all I could feel was the bitter irony. I never stopped to think that I was gambling with my happiness because of the pain my father caused me. And in that moment, I realized, this was a doomed start from the very beginning.