On our seventh year anniversary, Rosalie Snyder and I chose to tattoo each other's names on our bodies.

After the tattoo was complete, I woke up dizzy.

But saw that my chest carried the phrase “Top Begging Dog of Nashville” in six bold letters.

Seeing my look go dark at once, tattoo artist Fritz Porter covered his mouth, chuckling.

“Anyway, you just depend on women, did I tattoo it wrong?”

I hurled the cup right then.

Pieces of porcelain shot toward Fritz like scattered stars.

The very next moment, Rosalie nearly rushed forward, fully blocking him behind her.

She creased her brows at me, irritation tucked beneath her words.

“Fritz is young, only teasing, is it really needed to be this upset?”

I fixed my eyes on Rosalie’s loosened neckline.

Where my name should have been marked, the three words “Fritz” were plainly burned there.

Fritz leaned his head out, stuck his tongue forward, and his voice was childlike.

“Rosalie said my name sounded good last time.”

“So I teased with Rosalie, big brother won’t get angry, right?”

——

My expression sank.

Before I could answer, several of Rosalie’s friends came inside laughing.

“President Snyder and Brother Keagan still keep such a close bond.”

“Of course, when she chased Brother Keagan back then, President Snyderused ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine gold roses to build a rose manor.”

“Seven years of marriage and still getting paired tattoos, President Snyder’s devotion truly hasn’t shifted.”

“Right. What did you choose for matching marks?”

Before any words dropped, every person’s eyes settled on my loosened neckline.

The laugh cut off at once.

Their mouths stayed curved, but their looks had already frozen.

The entire room fell silent in a way that felt chilling.

Only Fritz let out a faint laugh.

Rosalie creased her brows, without thinking, tugging Fritz farther behind her.

“Fritz, say sorry.”

He lifted one corner of his lips, grudgingly throwing out, “Sorry, alright?”

He shot a look my way, quickly rolled his eyes, muttering low, “Only joking, why take it this hard?”

“Old guys bring such hassle.”

Rosalie tapped his shoulder softly, and when her eyes shifted toward me, they carried coaxing.

“Fritz already sees his mistake. Don’t waste energy arguing against a kid.”

“He’s just twenty, simple inside, he speaks whatever comes up.”

“You’ve always been generous, don’t corner him.”

Each sentence hid a soft sharpness.

Rosalie stood there noble and classy, using a graceful posture to mask bias as justice.

I listened and could not stop a bitter laugh.

“Say sorry?”

“I won’t take it.”

I slowly pulled my collar closed, fully covering those shaming characters completely.

My fingernails pressed into my palm, aching, yet not even one ten-thousandth of the ache in my chest.

I looked at Rosalie and spoke each word plainly. “Since you can’t deal with this properly,”

“I’ll handle it my own way.”

I turned and left.

As the door shut, I faintly caught voices inside.

“Just now, Keagan’s look scared me so bad my spine went cold. When has he ever been humiliated like that?”

Someone added with doubt. “Keagan isn’t easy to face; he likely won’t let this drop.”

Rosalie’s voice sounded level and sure.

“No, I know Keagan, he’s only talking in anger, he won’t truly hurt Fritz.”

She paused, then continued, “And with me standing in front of him, he can’t do anything.”

Several people traded uneasy looks.

No one thought Rosalie, who had always gone along with me in everything, would protect Fritz like this.

Someone instantly chuckled and buttered up, “Of course, now Fritz sits highest in Rosalie’s heart.”

I stood beyond the doorway, a chilly smile slowly rising on my mouth.

No revenge?

Then I would not live up to the Porter name.

I got into the vehicle and pulled out my phone.

“Tonight at twelve.”

“Bring Fritz to me.”

“And get skin repair tools and a medical crew ready.”

A bit after eleven, my phone display lit up.

My sister sent a note. “I had guards take Fritz. He’ll reach the old house in twenty minutes.”

I was just about to answer when my friend sent a video.

I opened it, and Fritz was grinning widely at the camera.

“Today I drew a special piece for an old guy.”

He waved the tattoo tool before the lens.

“Guess what I inked on him? ‘Nashville No.1 Bootlicker’!”

“You didn’t see, he’s already thirty and still dares to show his chest. His skin’s so slack the needle barely stayed. I pressed hard on purpose three times, no matter what, it won’t fade.”

The comments flooded in wildly, “Main lead energy."

“Nice work.”

“Hahahahaha.”

Fritz grew more excited as he talked, pride glowing in his eyes.

“I’ve met plenty like him. Living off family cash, buying purses, sipping tea, chasing women all day. Not like me, I opened a shop at twenty using my own craft.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “What a shame. No matter how an old guy struggles, he’s still the same, long hated by his wife.”

“Next time I’ll stream something even crazier, just wait and see me teach this kind of kept pretty-boy how to act.”

The video stopped.

I actually laughed from anger.

Fritz Porter.

A name I gave him myself.

Five years earlier, during a charity school visit to the hills, I found him inside a leaking mud hut.

A sixteen-year-old boy curled on straw bedding, skin bruised deep purple from beatings.

Face sallow and thin, eyes packed with shame and despair, he couldn’t hide.

Back then, he didn’t even have a name.

He grabbed my sleeve and said, “Brother, I want to learn.”

I took him back to Nashville and named him Fritz, meaning “proud under the wide sky.”

I sent him to the finest art school and opened his tattoo shop with a ribbon cut when he finished.

Now he used the skill paid for by my money to carve these words into my skin, shame me online, and even set his sights on my woman.

But what stunned me the most was that Rosalie truly stood up for him.

Heavy steps snapped my thoughts apart.

Rows of guards in black stood straight.

Two of them hauled Fritz in and slammed him onto the floor like waste.

He fought to raise his head, eyes red.

“Keagan! Other than using your family’s strength to crush people, what else can you do?”

His face shifted fast, a smug smile sliding onto his mouth.

“If you treat me this way, Rosalie will never forgive you!”

“When she gets sick of you one day, do you think your family will want someone tossed aside by hers? You’ll be nothing!”

I looked down at him, smiling faintly.

“When Rosalie chased after me back then, she knew nothing about my family.”

The smile locked on his face.

I looked down at him from above, tilting his jaw up with the tip of my shoe.

“True, you’re twenty now, still young.”

“Your face skin is smooth and soft, just right to swap in for the marked patch on my chest.”

His pupils tightened fast.

“As for using power to press others down…”

I relaxed my hand, took the cleaning cloth passed over by the servant, and slowly wiped my hands.

“You’re wrong about one thing.”

“In Nashville, I am the power.”

The second the surgery light turned on, the sharp scent of cleaner made me dizzy for a brief moment.

I suddenly saw eighteen-year-old Rosalie clearly.

She always sat in the front row of the classroom, spine straight like a ruler.

Her collar had been washed until it faded, worn down into tiny loose threads.

Once, she ran a high fever and skipped lessons for three days. When I finally found her, she was sorting trash by the roadside.

I pushed five thousand yuan into her bag.

She chased after me across three streets to give it back, voice rough. “Kaegan, please let me keep some pride.”

After that, I only “by chance” brought an extra breakfast, and “along the way” lent her study notes.

On the night of the Winter Solstice, she carried two roasted sweet potatoes in her pocket.

In the minus-ten cold wind, she waited outside the dorm until the lights went out, and the first line she spoke when she saw me was:

“Keagan, can I ask you to wait for me?”

Many years later, she rose from nothing and brought her company to the market.

She held me close through the night, voice breaking. “Those years I slept only three hours a day, scared I couldn’t keep pace with you, scared you’d notice I had to save a whole week just to buy you a coffee.”

Until the day she met my family, when she saw my father in the living room, she understood that the Foster in Keagan Foster was that Foster.

Later, Rosalie told me that at that instant her head held only one thought. “So the finish line I chased my whole life, couldn’t even reach your starting line.”

After learning my family roots, Rosalie became known for pushing herself too hard.

She fought for deals and projects without rest, burned down her health, and forced her way into the highest circles of Nashville.

Then she laid out a rose manor with 99,999 gold roses and asked me to marry her.

What did she say at that time?

She said her purpose in living was to become someone good enough for me.

As the anesthesia slowly wore off, a light ache rose from my chest.

The love Rosalie gave me was vast and shining.

Pity, brief.

Promises shine brightest only when they are spoken.

The forever we promised did not last past seven years. “Young sir?”

I snapped my eyes open, fingertips brushing the cold wetness at the corners of my eyes.

The ache pressing on my chest would not ease.

The butler spoke quietly, “Miss Rosalie has come back.”

I dropped my eyes to my chest; the skin there had already been fully changed.

Fresh flesh, faintly pink, smooth and even, no mark left.

Rosalie walked in holding bags, warmth familiar on her face.

She set the jewelry-brand bags aside and reached out to touch my face.

“Keagan, Fritz went too far today.”

“I bought you a new watch, don’t be angry with him, hm?”

The medical staff had already gone from the old house; only a handful of guards stayed behind.

Rosalie noticed nothing strange. She smiled and opened the jewelry case, diamonds shining brightly.

“I promise I won’t let Fritz stir up trouble again.”

When she spoke Fritz’s name, warmth slipped into her voice without hiding; even she failed to notice it.

I stood still, watching her quietly.

Now she wore a necklace worth tens of millions.

The collar, once worn thin by washing, now held smooth mother-of-pearl buttons.

Even the gardenia scent on her body was exactly the same as the smell in Fritz’s hair.

I looked at her graceful appearance and suddenly thought of that Winter Solstice long ago.

She stood in the snow, the cuffs of her down jacket leaking cotton, yet hugged roasted sweet potatoes to her chest, afraid they would turn cold.