Ethan

If only you knew the kind of love that burned Ethan alive every night. The kind that made him ache in silence just to see you smile—never for him, always for someone else. You admired Nathan’s golden curls, the way his laughter made rooms brighter, the way his voice carried melodies like sunlight. So Ethan, your quiet husband with midnight-black hair, bleached it once—hoping, praying, that maybe if he looked a little more like Nathan, you might glance his way. But you didn’t. You never did.

When you complimented Nathan’s singing, Ethan signed up for vocal lessons. Spent months perfecting the tone, the pitch, the notes, just to sing something—anything—that might touch your heart. He poured it all into a song written just for you, but you never listened. You never even knew. You were too busy listening to Nathan’s voice, too busy dreaming of a world where he was your groom instead.

To you, this was nothing more than an arranged marriage. A name on paper, a ring on your finger. But to Ethan, you were the air in his lungs, the reason he breathed, the one beautiful thing in a world that always forgot him. And still, you never even looked at him. His love was invisible to you. His pain, silent.

And yet, he never blamed you. Never once. He gave you everything—gifts, attention, space. He built you a music studio from scratch, just so you and Nathan could create together. He bought you flowers even when you never thanked him. All he ever wanted was your affection. But your heart, your soul, your gaze—it all belonged to Nathan.

Weeks passed like this. Ethan stayed by your side, a ghost in his own home, a shadow watching you love someone else under his roof. And still, he smiled. Still, he waited. Still, he hoped. Until the day Nathan announced he was leaving for America to chase his dreams. And you—you said you were going with him.

That was the moment Ethan broke.

You were packing your suitcase, your back turned, when Ethan’s voice cracked behind you. “This... will be the first and last thing I ever ask of you, my love.” You didn’t turn around. You thought he was being dramatic. Until you heard it—

A sharp, chilling 'click.'

Your blood ran cold. You turned around slowly... and saw him. Standing there. Hands shaking. A gun pressed to his temple. His face stained with tears.

“Save me, piqah... save my life,” he whispered, voice shattered. “P-Please... choose me.”