Mark never lied to me.

He brought me to his villa, a house as grand as any palace, and gave me a beautiful room filled with dolls and new clothes. He hired the best doctors to treat me and the kindest nannies to care for me.

He taught me how to use a spoon, patted my back awkwardly when I had nightmares, and told me stories I couldn’t understand. Everyone in the villa treated me with reverence. No one ever called me “the idiot” again—only “Miss Sharon.”

My life felt as though it had been pulled from a filthy swamp and placed upon a soft cloud.

But my mind remained foggy. I couldn’t learn complex words or remember intricate rules. All I could do was follow him, like a stray puppy trailing its rescuer.

Wherever he went, I followed. During his meetings, I’d wait on the rug outside the door. When he ate, I sat across from him, slowly mimicking his movements. And when he slept, I curled up on the little blanket outside his bedroom.

Once, he tried locking me in my room. I cried and banged my head against the door until, wearily, he opened it and gathered me into his arms.

“Sharon, you’re such a little troublemaker,” he sighed, though his voice held no blame. I’d bury my face in his chest, breathing in his clean scent, feeling utterly safe.

Mark was my entire world.

That life lasted about a year.

Then, without warning, my world collapsed.

I didn’t understand what had happened. I only knew that one day, many people came to the villa. They took away all the beautiful things. Mark locked himself in his study and didn’t come out for three days and three nights.

When I was hungry, I scavenged in the kitchen. When I was tired, I slept outside the study door.

On the fourth day, the door opened.

Mark emerged, his face pale as paper, a shadow of stubble along his jaw. The eyes that once held stars were now utterly lifeless.

He saw me, paused, then crouched down and patted my head.

“Sharon,” he said, his voice terribly hoarse. “The family… we’re bankrupt.”

I didn’t understand what “bankrupt” meant. I only saw the light in his eyes had gone out.

We moved from the grand villa into a small, damp apartment. The place was old, with paint peeling from the walls. Mark’s legs—broken during whatever had happened—kept him in a wheelchair, silently staring out the window.

All the people who once bowed to him vanished. In their place came thugs who pounded on our door, demanding money. They smashed the little furniture we had, pointing at Mark and cursing him.

Every time, I’d rush forward, spread my arms wide to shield him, and snarl like a mother hen protecting her chick. They’d laugh, call me an idiot, and shove me aside.

But Mark would always pull me behind him, shielding me with his broken body.

Once, protecting me, a creditor smashed a bottle against his head. Blood streamed down his temple, staining half his face. Terrified, I cried and tried to lick the wound, tasting salt and iron. He laughed—the first time since it all happened—and with his uninjured hand, wiped my tears. “Don’t cry, Sharon. It doesn’t hurt.”

But I knew it did.

From that day on, I learned to care for him. I learned to cook, though I always burned the rice to mush and charred the vegetables black. I learned to dress his wounds, though I always hurt him. He never complained. He’d finish every bite of the inedible food I made and praise me: “Our Sharon is so amazing.”

In those darkest, most hopeless days, we had only each other.

I thought it would always be like that.

Until the day I pushed him home from the hospital with his new medicine. We found our apartment ransacked. Mark, clutching the bag of money meant for his treatment, was surrounded by creditors.

“Mark, don’t push your luck! Pay up today, or we’ll sell your little idiot to the brothel!”

I hid behind Mark, trembling.

He clutched the money to his chest, eyes bloodshot as he roared, “Come at me! Leave her alone!”

“Oho, protective, aren’t we?” the leader sneered, reaching out to grab me.

In that moment, I saw Mark’s eyes change—a look of despair, madness, and utter ruin. He threw himself from his wheelchair and lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s wrist.

Everyone was stunned by his ferocity.

In the chaos, we escaped.

That night, we were penniless and homeless. Mark pushed his wheelchair, leading me to the riverbank. The night wind was cold, and I shivered. He took off his only decent coat—the thickest one he had—and draped it over my shoulders.

For a long, long time, he stared into the dark river.

Then he turned to me with a smile so gentle it broke my heart.

“Sharon, I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t protect you anymore.”

With that, he steered his wheelchair straight toward the river.

My mind went blank with a deafening buzz. I didn’t understand death—only that Mark didn’t want me anymore. He was going to abandon me, just like my parents had.

A terror I’d never known seized me. Screaming, without a second thought, I jumped in after him.

Icy water swallowed me instantly. I couldn’t swim, just flailed helplessly. Before everything faded, I saw Mark moving with frantic, desperate energy, swimming toward me, grabbing my hand.

We were pulled out. Mark held my soaked body and sat by the riverbank all night, shaking harder than I was.

As dawn approached, he held me tighter, as if trying to press me into his very bones.

“Sharon,” he murmured over and over in my ear. “I was wrong. I’ll never leave you again. For you, I’ll live. I’ll live.”

From that day, Mark changed. The deadness in his eyes was replaced by a burning fire. He began working desperately, taking any dirty, exhausting job he could find.

In three years, he went from a penniless cripple to rebuilding a business empire. We moved back into a villa even larger and more beautiful than before. His legs healed. He could stand again, hold me in his arms once more.

He spoiled me like a princess. Everyone said Mr. Mark valued his idiot more than his own life.

I thought, after all the bitterness, only sweetness remained.

I was wrong.

The real nightmare was just beginning.

After Mark’s comeback, his social calendar filled rapidly—and he began taking me everywhere with him.

He would dress me up like a doll, take my hand, and introduce me to each new face. “This is Sharon,” he’d say. “My love.”

People would look surprised, then quickly offer smiles and compliments. Pretty, they called me. Adorable.

I knew what they were really thinking.

For a long time now, strange colored words had drifted now and then before my eyes.

【A fool like her—worthy of Mark?】

【Just playing pitiful… scheming underneath.】

【Poor Mark, stuck with such dead weight.】

These words hovered like ghosts only I could see.

They showed me people’s true thoughts.

I couldn’t grasp complicated sentences, but I felt the malice seeping from them.

Scared, I’d shrink deeper into Mark’s side.

He would hold me tighter, sweep the room with an icy glare, and the words would vanish. “Don’t be afraid, Sharon,” he always murmured. “I’m here.”

I believed him.

Until Andrea appeared.

It happened at a charity gala.

Andrea wore white, her long hair flowing, smiling with a gentle grace as she walked straight toward us.

“Mark,” she said, her voice lovely. “Long time no see.”

I felt Mark stiffen beside me the moment she spoke.

He looked at her with a complicated expression—nostalgia, resentment, and something else I couldn’t name.

“Why are you back?” His voice was cold.

Andrea smiled, her gaze settling on me. “To see you. And to meet… this young lady.”

Above her head, words floated into view.

【So this is the fool? Pretty, but empty. How could Mark want this?】

【Doesn’t matter. Soon, he’ll be back with me.】

A sense of danger prickled over me. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on Mark’s sleeve.

Noticing my unease, he pulled me into his arms and said to Andrea, “We’re over. Stay out of my life.”

Then he turned and led me away.

Glancing back, I saw Andrea’s smile vanish—replaced by pure venom.

I thought that was the end.

But Andrea clung to us like a stubborn shadow, appearing more and more in our lives.

She “ran into” us while shopping. Visited our home as Mark’s old friend. Gave me beautiful gift after gift.

She was so nice to me—so nice that everyone thought her kind and generous.

Only I could see the vicious words above her head.

【Fools are so easy. A few trinkets and she thinks I’m a saint.】

【Just watch, Mark. I’ll show you—the one you cherish is just a mimicking monster. She doesn’t understand love at all.】

Little by little, she began leaving hints in front of Mark.

“Mark, your Sharon is adorable. She copies everything you do—you drink coffee, she drinks coffee; you frown, she frowns. I suppose that’s how she shows affection?”

“Look, she barely glanced at the doll I gave her. She only cares about what comes from you. Like a kitten that knows only its owner.”

At first, Mark would just frown and tell her not to talk nonsense.

But slowly, I noticed a new look in his eyes when he watched me—a hint of scrutiny, of doubt.

He started asking me out of nowhere, “Sharon, do you love me?”

I’d nod hard. “Love. Sharon loves Mark.”

“How?”

I didn’t know how to answer. I could only hug him clumsily and kiss his cheek.

He would hug me back, but in his deep eyes lingered a weariness—a disappointment I couldn’t understand.

The subtitles above my head grew stranger, too.

【The male lead is doubting now. Does a fool truly understand love, or is it just dependency and imitation?】

【Here it comes—the heartbreak arc begins.】

I couldn’t decipher these words, but I could feel something shifting quietly, irrevocably.

Mark seemed to be drifting further and further away.

The straw that broke the camel’s back—and what finally shattered Mark and me—was a kitchen knife.

Andrea came to visit again that day.

Mark was handling business in the study, while she kept me company in the living room, watching TV. Peeling an apple, she handed it to me with a gentle smile. “Here, Sharon. Have an apple.”

I was about to take it when I saw the words float above her head:

*Stupid girl. You love copying Mark, don’t you? He’d give his life for you. So tell me… would you have the courage to scar your own face for him?*

Then she held out a sharp kitchen knife toward me.

“Look, Sharon. Isn’t this knife pretty?” she coaxed, her voice smooth as silk. “Mark says he loves brave girls most. If you just take it and give your face a little scratch—just one—he’ll love you even more. I promise.”

I stared at the blade, cold and gleaming under the lights, and shook my head in fear. “No… hurts…”

“It won’t hurt,” Andrea went on, tempting me. “Just for a second, and Mark will stay with you forever. He’ll never leave you. Aren’t you terrified he’ll abandon you?”

*Mark would abandon me…*

The words echoed in my mind like a curse.

I hesitated.

Just as I reached out, my fingers nearly brushing the handle, the study door swung open.

Mark walked out.

He saw the knife in Andrea’s hand. He saw my outstretched fingers.

His face turned ashen.

“What are you doing?!” he barked, his voice sharp.

Andrea immediately put on a startled expression, her hand trembling so that the knife clattered to the floor.

“Mark, it’s not what you think…” Her eyes welled up with practiced tears. “I was just peeling an apple for Sharon. She said… she said she wanted to learn how I do it. I was afraid she’d hurt herself, so I was putting it away…”

Above her head, the words scrolled frantically:

*Perfect! Mark hates nothing more than someone using his affection to harm themselves. This idiot is done for.*

I tried to explain, frantic, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy. I could only point at Andrea, stammering, “She… she told me…”

“Enough!” Mark cut me off. His gaze was cold as ice. “Sharon, when will this stop? Is this really how you get my attention? By hurting yourself?”

*Sharon.*

He used my full name—something he only did when he was utterly furious.

My heart clenched as if caught in an invisible fist, squeezing so tight I could barely breathe.

“No… Mark…” I shook my head, tears streaming.

“I saw it with my own eyes. And you still want to lie?” The look he gave me brimmed with disappointment and disgust. “How did I never see how manipulative you could be?”

*Manipulative?* I didn’t know what that meant.

I only knew he didn’t believe me.

That day, he lost his temper with me for the first time.

He smashed the most expensive vase in the living room, then locked me in the dark room—the place I feared most.

No matter how much I cried, no matter how hard I pounded on the door, he ignored me.

The next day, Andrea came to see me.

Or rather, she stood outside the door, her voice a soft, victorious murmur. “Sharon, don’t blame Mark. He’s just so tired. Taking care of someone like you… it’s exhausting.”

*See the difference? I can make him happy. You? You’re just a burden.*

From that day on, Mark’s attitude toward me plummeted.

He stopped holding me. Stopped smiling at me. Stopped even talking to me.

Once, he fought with me again because of Andrea.

Blinded by rage, he shoved me to the ground, got in his car, and sped away.

Outside, rain poured down in sheets. I just sat there in the middle of the cold, wet road, watching his taillights vanish into the downpour.

At that moment, the words above my head flashed blood-red:

*WARNING! WARNING! Male lead has abandoned female lead in a hazardous area! Approaching vehicle! Female lead must seek shelter immediately!*

I didn’t understand the words. I only knew Mark had abandoned me again.

Curling up on the ground, I sobbed until my chest ached.

A truck, out of control, careened toward me. Its blinding headlights made me squeeze my eyes shut.

At the last possible second, a black car swerved violently, slamming to a stop between me and the truck.

It was Mark.

He’d come back.

His car was crumpled, and he was hurt—blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.

But he scrambled out, ignoring everything, scooped me up from the ground, and crushed me against his chest.

“Sharon! Sharon, are you hurt?” His voice shook uncontrollably, raw with the terror of a near miss.

I didn’t answer him. I just cried.

“I’m sorry, Sharon. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you… I’m sorry…” He apologized over and over, pressing my face into the damp fabric of his shirt.

I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, fast and frantic, as if trying to escape.

I thought, after this brush with death, he would believe me again.

But I was wrong.

My forgiveness, my surrender, only bought me worse cruelty.

He locked me outside in a thunderstorm all night because Andrea said she was scared of the thunder and needed him.

He hit me for the first time because I clumsily spilled a bowl of soup Andrea had brought.

It was just a light slap, but it burned against my cheek like a brand, searing straight into my heart.

I covered my face, staring at him in disbelief.

He froze too, looking at his own hand, a flicker of regret in his eyes.

But Andrea, standing beside him, immediately covered her mouth with a gasp. “Oh, Sharon, don’t be angry with Mark. He didn’t mean it. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t come, you two wouldn’t be fighting.”

Above her head, however, the words were gleeful:

*Good! Mark, see? This is the useless burden you’ve protected all these years! All she does is cause trouble!*

In that instant, the regret in Mark’s eyes hardened into something cold and unyielding.

He didn’t apologize.

He just said to me, coldly, “Go to your room. And think about what you’ve done.”