The Pain Behind Heartless
Zain walked out of the mansion and wandered into a deserted park.
The cold night breeze brushed against his face, and the dim yellow streetlights scattered across the empty benches. Exhausted, he sank onto one of them, resting his elbows on his knees. The storm inside him refused to settle.
This park wasn't just any place for him.
It was a graveyard of his memories.
The moment his eyes fell on the old swings and silent paths, his past wounds began to bleed again.
At the age of twelve, Zain had been nothing more than a mistake in his father's eyes—an unwanted child. No love, no support. His father would come home drunk and mercilessly beat both him and his mother. Whenever his father raised his hand, little Zain would run outside and cry for hours beneath the old tree standing at the edge of the house.
That's where his childhood friend, Tiang, would find him. Tiang always brought him chocolates to calm him down, and his little sister, Minami, would play with them too. Their tiny circle of friendship was Zain's only shelter of peace. But even that comfort didn't last long.
His real mother had reached her breaking point. One day, with trembling hands, she brought Zain to this very park and made him sit on a bench. Stroking his head, she whispered—
"Wait here, my son… I'll be back soon. I'll bring you ice cream."
She had no idea that her words would change his life forever.
Innocent Zain, full of hope, sat waiting on that bench. Minutes turned into hours, but his mother never returned. His helpless cries echoed through the night, until finally, exhaustion pulled him into unconsciousness.
That very evening, Cheng Yan and Jia Yan came walking through the park with their children. Jia Yan held the hand of her six-year-old daughter, Lian, while Cheng Yan walked beside their eight-year-old son, Adrian. Suddenly, their eyes caught sight of the unconscious boy lying on the bench. Both of them rushed to him and immediately carried him to the hospital.
From a distance, his real mother stood hidden, tears streaming down her face.
"Forgive me, my son… if you stay with me, your life will be nothing but hell. I have no other choice. My only prayer is that you live happily and have a better life than I could ever give you."
When Zain finally woke up in the hospital, he kept crying out for his mother. Jia Yan cupped his face in her hands and asked softly—
"Son, where are your parents?"
But he only wept harder. Jia Yan's heart melted. She pulled him into her arms and whispered—
"Don't cry… from today, I am your mother."
Cheng Yan placed his hand gently on Zain's head and said—
"And I am your father."
From that day forward, Zain became their son.
He never forgot it.
He knew his entire life belonged to them, and he would forever remain indebted.
That night, at exactly 9:30, all the guests had left. Lu Anya slowly entered the room that had been decorated for them. The room looked like something out of a dream—red and white curtains, twinkling fairy lights, and the fragrance of roses filling the air. Champagne, candles, chocolates… everything was arranged as if for a perfect wedding night.
Anya picked up her phone and clicked a few pictures. With a faint smile, she whispered,
"I don't know… what Boss Yan will think if he sees all this. It's better if I clear everything before he comes."
One by one, she removed the roses, folded the curtains, and packed all the decorations into a bag. Then she picked up a fresh rose in her hand. Its soft petals felt completely opposite to the emptiness in her heart.
"Sorry… you're so beautiful," she sighed, "but I have no choice but to throw you away."
Her eyes went to the clock—10:15 p.m.
"Boss hasn't returned yet… why is he so late?"
At 10:45, there was a soft knock at the door. It was Zain's mother.
"Please come in, Mom," Anya said warmly.
Mrs. Yan's eyes immediately fell on the bag full of flowers. "Daughter, why did you remove all this?"
Anya lowered her gaze, her cheeks turning a little red. "I thought… maybe Boss wouldn't like it. He doesn't care for these kinds of things."
Mrs. Yan sat beside her and held her hand. "My son looks cold from the outside, but inside he is very soft. Because of his past, he has become like this… something I cannot tell you right now." Tears glistened in her eyes.
Anya gently pressed her hand. "It's okay… I can understand."
Jiya Yan sighed deeply. "Forgive us. We rushed this marriage, and tonight you had to face humiliation at the dinner table. But don't take their words to heart. They are always like that. When I came as a new bride, they said the same to me. But back then, Zain stood by me in front of his father and silenced everyone. If someday Zain ever says something harsh to you, just come straight to me."
Anya smiled softly. "Alright… Mom."
Mrs. Yan hugged her tightly. "Silly girl, don't call me 'ma'am,' call me mother."
In that moment, a strange warmth spread in Anya's heart. After Mrs. Yan left, she looked at the clock again. It was already 11… but Zain had not returned.
She took a deep breath, wrapped herself in the blanket, and whispered,
"Whether he comes or not… what difference does it make to me?"
But the beating of her heart betrayed her words.
Slowly, she drifted into a restless sleep… still waiting for the sound of Zain's arrival.Zain returned to the mansion. The house was completely silent. Out of habit, he made his way upstairs and peeked quietly into the rooms. His heart softened when he saw a rare moment of peace—his mother, Jiya Yan, and his father were asleep.
Then he went to Lian's room. Zain gently pulled the blanket over them without waking anyone. He never wanted his family to be sad because of him; he owed them too much.
Next, he went to Anna's room. The door was slightly ajar—Anna hadn't locked it, too tired to care if Zain returned late. His eyes fell on a plastic bag lying in the corner, filled with discarded red roses. Zain just stared at them, his expression unreadable.
After taking off his coat, he glanced at the clock—11:30 PM. The room felt freezing; the AC was set to sixteen degrees. Anna lay curled up under the blanket, shivering. Without saying a word, Zain raised the temperature to thirty degrees, tucked the blanket up to her shoulders, and went to lie down on the sofa. There, in silence, he fell asleep