Beginning: A Moth Beneath Cold Moonlight
At first, Emma was dazzling— And dangerous.
She was the golden Alpha, Unrestrained, magnetic. Her pheromones were sharp cedar and burning liquor— A scent I had never encountered, Aggressive, intoxicating.
I was just a perfumer, Drawn to quiet, To purity. My scent was white tea— Gentle, refined.
I knew approaching her might burn me, But I was the moth, Drawn to flame.
Her pursuit was bold, direct, Laced with Alpha confidence. She pierced through all my defenses with ease.
I thought I had caught the moon. But that moonlight— Was cold.
Fracture: Ice Beneath the Moon
By our third year living together, I felt the shift.
Her impatience. Her dismissive tone. The deliberate distance.
Each small indifference Was an icicle, Silent and sharp.
As a perfumer, I'm sensitive to scent. I could smell it— The growing bitterness in her pheromones. The scent of boredom.
I tried to fix it. With quiet tenderness. Her favorite meals. A clean home. Gentle care during her rut.
But my efforts sank like stones in a deep lake— No ripple. She even began to avoid my touch.
That was when my white tea Began to freeze.
Descent: Blizzard and Ruins
That night during her rut— Her roughness broke me.
It wasn't bonding. It was violation. It was humiliation.
Her regret afterward may have been real, But it was followed not by comfort, Not by responsibility, But by the words I had feared:
"Let's break up."
Even the mark meant nothing to her. Just a fleeting impulse, Easily discarded.
My heart died. And nothing is more painful than a dead heart.
All our warmth, All our love— Shattered.
Only trampled dignity remained. And hatred, deep in my bones.
If she wanted freedom, If she was tired of me— Then I would show her What destruction felt like.
First Heart Capital became my weapon. I forged my pain into ruthless precision. I watched her falter, Watched her bend, Watched her sign that humiliating marriage contract.
I thought I'd feel triumphant.
But at that absurd wedding, Looking at her pale, stiff face— I felt nothing but emptiness.
The cage I built from hatred Had trapped me too.
Turning Point: Light Beneath the Ice
Life after marriage was a frozen chamber. I armored myself in silence, Kept her out.
I never expected the child— That unexpected spark— To crack the ice.
When she cried silently over the ultrasound, My heart stirred.
That tear didn't feel fake.
I watched her change— Clumsy, quiet.
She adjusted my meals. Padded the furniture. Offered warm water in the night.
She shed her thorns, Like a child trying to make amends.
I told myself not to soften. But pregnancy's fragility, The terror of premature labor, Her hoarse but steady voice in the delivery room, Her hand that never let go—
All of it Melted me.
Especially after Ai Nian was born. Her eyes brimmed with pure joy. She learned to be a mother— Even if biologically she was the father.
I could no longer see her As the cold, selfish Alpha she once was.
Rebirth: Sunlight and Renewal
What truly healed me Was her unwavering presence.
She massaged my legs during cramps. She shielded me at banquets, Defending me without hesitation.
During the financial storm, She bore the pressure alone— Yet still kept the porch light on for me.
And when she used First Heart To support me without question— I knew.
She didn't say "I love you." She didn't need to.
Her eyes, Her gestures, Her silence— All spoke of love.
The perfumery studio she built for me Wasn't compensation. It was understanding.
She knew I had never let go of my dream. She wanted me whole.
When our daughter Ai Nuan was born, In love and anticipation, I saw her hold our child With eyes soft enough to melt glass.
I saw her juggle two children With grace and strength.
She had returned— No, she had become more.
Steady. Reliable. Gentle. Powerful.
Her love was no longer loud. It was rooted— Deep in the soil of our shared life. Silent, But essential.
Now: White Tea Meets Warmth—A Life Complete
Emma is my partner. My children's mother. My soul's home.
Her cedar scent is no longer sharp. It's like a forest after rain— Calm, fresh.
It blends with my white tea, Creating the scent of our home.
Sometimes I remember the past. But the pain is buried Beneath the weight of joy.
I once thought I had caught moonlight— But nearly froze.
Now I know— She is not the moon. She is the sun— Warm, enduring, Who stayed.
And she doesn't know— She is also my first cup of white tea.
Bitter at first, But endlessly sweet in the aftertaste. Lingering. Unforgettable.
Day by day. Year by year. With her, With our children—
This is what it means To be complete.