On her sixty-sixth attempt to get a marriage license with Brandon—the Capital Circle’s so-called ‘Monk’—Jennifer finally landed herself on the Civil Registry’s blacklist.

Even Oliver, the security guard at the door, knew she’d been stood up. Again.

One marriage certificate. Six years. Still nothing.

The first time, Brandon had left her waiting for Stephanie’s lost cat.

The second, Stephanie’s parents were visiting the capital, and he’d insisted on playing host.

…

The sixty-sixth time, Stephanie won the Best Newcomer Award. A once-in-a-lifetime moment, he’d said.

“Miss,” the clerk Jerry remarked, not unkindly, “you’re about to wear out the Registry’s welcome mat. You’ve drawn that same lot sixty-six times. A little advice? Try picking a different name.”

She tore the lottery slip in her hand and gave him a bitter nod.

Then her phone rang.

“Ms. Jennifer,” a voice began, “Mr. Brandon isn’t the man you’re looking for.”

Instantly, the tendons stood out on the back of her hand. The numb smile she’d worn moments before vanished without a trace.

“We checked that batch of heart transplant recipients. There were two—both surnamed Gabriel. The registrar mixed them up…”

A long silence passed before she heard herself reply, “Okay. I see.”

“Would you… still like the other Mr. Gabriel’s contact information?” The man on the phone—Zachary—sounded apologetic, treading carefully.

“Yes. Please send it to me. Thank you.”

Only after hanging up did the emotion she’d been suppressing finally break through, coiling around her chest like strangling vines, stealing her breath.

She looked down at the shredded lottery slip in her palm and let out a wry, painful laugh. One mistake. It had cost her six whole years.

No wonder Brandon had been so indifferent. No wonder he’d hurt her so freely.

He simply… wasn’t him.

Jennifer stumbled home in a daze, her face pale. Brandon seemed to have just returned. The tuxedo he’d worn to the red carpet event hung quietly on the valet stand, the air around it still faintly scented with Stephanie’s signature perfume.

How did she know?

Because during one of their many failed attempts to get the license, Stephanie had called, sobbing over her shattered favorite perfume bottle…

So Brandon had left her—again—and flown to London that same day to buy a limited edition bottle from the designer himself.

A practiced, hollow smile touched her lips. She picked up his clothes and hung them in the walk-in closet.

His voice, never particularly warm, came from behind her. “We’ll go get the license tomorrow. It’s just across the street. A short walk.”

Jennifer froze. The carefully buried ache surged back at his words.

It was close. Just across the street…

But tomorrow had always turned into another tomorrow. Over two thousand days and nights, and she still hadn’t gotten that piece of paper.

Fortunately, the target was wrong. She didn’t have to wait anymore.

She sniffed, her reply dismissive. “Don’t bother. There’s no point now.”

Backlit by the window, Brandon’s expression darkened. The usual calm in his eyes turned cold, sharp even in the dim light. His words came out frost-laced. “What’s that supposed to mean? I just attended Stephanie’s award ceremony, and now you’re throwing a tantrum? How many times do I have to tell you? She’s my late friend’s little sister. I’m just looking out for her.”

Normally, Jennifer wouldn’t have argued with him. But by now, after so many times, she felt numb.

Tonight, however, it was as if someone had poured fuel onto the fire in her chest—and trying to smother it was useless. She fired back:

“I’ve never heard of a fiancé standing up his fiancée sixty-six times for a sister who isn’t even related by blood. You two are quite the pair… I’m almost moved.”

“Why don’t you just get together now and save everyone the excuses?”

Brandon’s handsome brow furrowed, impatience shadowing his features.

“You’re the one with a dirty mind, seeing filth everywhere! Fine—I’ll go with you to city hall tomorrow. I don’t want to fight tonight…”

With that, the bathroom door slammed shut. As always, the room was left wrapped in a suffocating chill.

Her phone buzzed. Jennifer didn’t need to look to know it was Stephanie.

When she opened it, the video was nothing short of obscene.

There was Brandon, pressed against Stephanie’s full curves, licking with fervor. The sound of his ragged breathing seemed to bleed through the screen.

Every movement pulled a feline moan from the woman.

Stephanie’s message was explicit:

“See? A cold, ascetic monk like my brother… only I can make him burn. With you, I doubt he could even get it up.”

Jennifer stared at the screen, as if trying to sear the image into memory.

After a long moment, she typed a reply: “You’ve earned it. Consider that a tip for your performance.”

She immediately transferred a hundred yuan, locked her phone, and sat by the window, lost in thought.

Everyone believed she was Brandon’s ultimate doormat—the kind who’d keep licking his boots until she died.

No one knew her real reason for being here: the donor’s heart beating inside his chest.

Brandon had been drawn to Buddhism since childhood. As an adult, he took up prayer beads and practiced at home. He kept away from women, devoted solely to his spiritual path.

Then Jennifer stuck to him like glue, impossible to shake off. What began as disgust slowly turned into habit.

Under pressure from his mother, Brandon finally gave in and agreed to be with her.

But Stephanie’s appearance turned all her efforts into a joke. Thankfully, she never really wanted to marry him. All she wanted was that heart.

At the thought, she lowered her head, forcing back the tears pooling in her eyes.

As she turned, she came face-to-face with Brandon—his expression tightly controlled, anger simmering just beneath.

“What did you just say to Stephanie? Why is she crying nonstop? Explain yourself!” He grabbed her wrist, his grip like a vise, refusing to let go until he had an answer.

Her wrist felt ready to shatter. Jennifer winced, looking up at him, a sharp ache piercing her chest.

Brandon was usually cold and distant, like a statue of Buddha. Only with Stephanie did he show anything human—any trace of passion.

Standing there between them, she felt like a clown trying to break up a devoted couple. Bearing the pain, a bitter, helpless smile escaped her lips.

“What’s so funny? Is my question a joke to you?”

“I didn’t say a thing. Believe it or not!”

Jennifer shoved her away, harder this time, exposing a reddened patch on her wrist. Her lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

Without so much as a glance at the man, she snatched up her pajamas and headed for the guest room. She’d make do there for the night.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Brandon seized her arm again, but she twisted free. Staring at his empty hand, a strange sensation tightened in his chest. This woman used to cling to him at every opportunity.

She’d even curl against his heart in her sleep. Why was she so distant now?

A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.

“What, playing hard to get? That doesn’t work on me.”

Jennifer slapped his hand aside, her expression eerily calm. “You’re overthinking. I’m just tired and want a proper night’s sleep.”

Even after the door clicked shut, Brandon stood there, turning her reaction over in his mind.

Deep down, he was sure she was just throwing a tantrum. Leave her alone for one night, and she’d be back to normal. She’d always been so desperate for his attention—when had she ever stayed angry?

With that thought, he rubbed the prayer beads at his wrist and fell asleep.

The next morning, Brandon practically dragged Jennifer—ignoring her protests—to a restaurant.

It was a famous couples’ spot in the city, the kind that usually required reservations a week in advance.

For a moment, she thought he meant to apologize for yesterday—until she spotted Stephanie already seated at the table. How naive she’d been.

“I’m so sorry, sis. I told Brandon yesterday not to worry about me, but he wouldn’t listen. He insisted on walking the red carpet with me, saying you could just reschedule the registration in a couple of days…”

Stephanie smiled as she spoke, the triumph in her eyes impossible to miss.

“It was her big night, a once-in-a-lifetime moment. How could I miss it? Registering is just a small formality—it can wait. Jennifer will understand.”

Brandon’s voice held none of last night’s impatience; it was all gentleness now.

Jennifer found it absurd. Stephanie’s newcomer award was a “big night,” while their marriage was a “small formality.”

So this was how sharply Brandon drew the line between love and indifference.

Suddenly, she no longer felt like keeping the peace, not as she always had. She was leaving anyway—why keep swallowing her pride?

“It’s not a small formality.”

Jennifer’s reply was soft but clear.

“Every single time Brandon and I try to register, Ms. Jennifer here finds some ‘small matter’ to pull him away. To outsiders, it might look like you can’t function without a nursemaid. To anyone paying attention, it looks an awful lot like deliberate sabotage.”

“I wonder what the impact would be if it got out online—a rising star scheming to break up someone else’s relationship?”

Stephanie’s face flushed crimson. She shot Brandon a deeply wounded look.

“Brandon, I didn’t…”

Sure enough, the man’s expression darkened, his gaze turning accusing.

“What nonsense are you spouting? If anyone’s sabotaging things, it’s you. I booked this table a week ago to celebrate her award. She felt bad about yesterday and wanted to apologize to you in person. Is this really how you respond?”

Jennifer said nothing. She picked up the wine glass beside her and drained it in one go.

The liquor burned from her tongue to her throat, bitter. Everything felt utterly meaningless.

“Apologize to her. Then Stephanie and I will let it go.” Brandon added, as though bestowing a favor.

“And if I don’t?” Jennifer looked up.

Brandon choked back his irritation, his handsome brows furrowing. She was being more and more unreasonable. His voice turned cold, sharp.

“Apologize. Don’t make me say it again. If you refuse, consider the engagement off.”

He was sure threatening the marriage would make her soften instantly. A cold, confident smile touched his lips.

But the next moment, she simply said, “Fine.”