The Pain Behind Heartless
Zain walked out of the mansion and wandered into a deserted park.
The cold night breeze brushed against his face, ruffling his hair. Dim yellow streetlights stretched shadows across the empty benches. Exhausted, he sank onto one of them, elbows resting on his knees. But no matter how still he sat, the storm inside him refused to settle.
This park was not just a park for him.
It was the graveyard of his memories.
His gaze fell on the rusty swings swaying gently in the night wind, and suddenly, old wounds tore open.
At the age of twelve, Zain had been nothing more than a mistake in his father's eyes—an unwanted child. His father, drunk almost every night, lashed out with merciless fists on both him and his mother. Whenever his father's rage rose, little Zain would run outside, hiding beneath the old tree at the edge of their house.
That was where his childhood friend, Tiang, always found him—her small hands offering him chocolates, her smile trying to erase his tears. Her presence, and the kindness of his neighbor's daughter, had been his only shelter of peace. But even that fragile comfort was stolen too soon.
One evening, his real mother reached her breaking point. With trembling hands, she brought Zain to this very park. She stroked his head and whispered, her voice quivering—
"Wait here, my son… I'll be back soon. I'll bring you ice cream."
She had no idea those words would change his life forever.
Innocent Zain, full of hope, sat waiting on the bench. Minutes turned into hours. His small hands clutched the edge of the bench as his cries echoed into the night. But she never returned. Exhaustion finally dragged him into unconsciousness.
That very evening, Cheng Yan and Jia Yan were walking through the park with their children. Jia Yan held the hand of six-year-old Lian while Cheng Yan walked with their eight-year-old son, Adrian. Their laughter fell silent when they spotted a fragile boy collapsed on the bench.
They rushed to him, Cheng Yan lifting the unconscious child in his arms. Concern flooded their faces as they hurried to the hospital.
From a distance, his real mother stood hidden, tears running down her face.
Forgive me, my son. If you stay with me, your life will be nothing but hell. My only prayer is that you live happily… even if not with me.
When Zain finally woke up in the hospital, his weak voice cried for his mother again and again. Jia Yan cupped his face gently and asked softly—
"Son, where are your parents?"
But he only sobbed harder.
Her heart broke. She pulled him into her embrace. "Don't cry. From today, I am your mother."
Cheng Yan placed his hand firmly on Zain's head. "And I am your father."
From that day forward, Zain became their son.
And he never forgot it.
He owed his life, his everything, to them.
---
That night, by 9:30, all the wedding guests had gone.
Lu Anya stepped into the bridal room prepared for them. It looked like a dream—curtains in shades of red and white, twinkling fairy lights, roses everywhere, the air thick with their fragrance. On the table, champagne, chocolates, and candles glowed softly. A scene perfect for a wedding night.
Anya lifted her phone and clicked a picture. A faint smile touched her lips.
If Boss Yan sees this… will he laugh? Or… will he be angry? I'd better clear everything before he comes.
One by one, she removed the roses, folded away the curtains, and packed the decorations into a bag. Then she paused, a fresh rose in her hand. Its petals were soft, alive with beauty… everything her heart was not.
"Sorry… you're so beautiful," she whispered, voice breaking. "But I have no choice but to throw you away."
Her gaze flickered to the clock—10:15.
Why hasn't Boss returned yet?
By 10:45, a soft knock came at the door.
"Please come in, Mom," Anya said warmly.
Mrs. Yan entered, her eyes immediately catching the bag full of discarded flowers. "Daughter, why did you remove all this?"
Anya lowered her gaze, cheeks flushed. "I thought… maybe Boss wouldn't like it. He doesn't care for these kinds of things."
Mrs. Yan sat beside her, taking her hand. "My son looks cold on the outside, but inside… he is soft. Because of his past, he has become like this. Something I cannot tell you right now." Tears welled in her eyes.
Anya squeezed her hand gently. "It's okay… I understand."
Mrs. Yan's lips trembled with a sigh. "Forgive us. We rushed this marriage, and tonight you had to face humiliation at the dinner table. Don't take their words to heart. They are always like that. When I came as a bride, they said the same to me. But Zain… he stood by me against his father and silenced them all. If someday Zain ever says something harsh to you, just come straight to me."
Anya's eyes softened. "Alright… Mother."
Mrs. Yan's eyes shone with pride as she hugged her. "Good girl. You're my daughter now."
Warmth spread inside Anya's chest. For the first time, she felt like she wasn't entirely alone.
After Mrs. Yan left, Anya looked at the clock again. It was already 11… still, Zain hadn't returned. She exhaled sharply, pulling the blanket over herself.
"Whether he comes or not… what difference does it make?" she whispered.
But her restless heartbeat betrayed her words. Slowly, she drifted into uneasy sleep… still waiting for the sound of his arrival.
---
When Zain finally returned, the mansion was silent. Out of habit, he walked upstairs, pausing at his parents' room. Seeing them asleep peacefully, his heart softened. He peeked into Lian's room and quietly pulled the blanket over her, careful not to wake her.
I never want them to suffer because of me, he thought. I owe them too much.
Next, he pushed open Anya's door—it was slightly ajar. She hadn't even locked it, too tired to care.
His eyes caught the plastic bag in the corner, filled with discarded roses. For a long moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable.
After removing his coat, he glanced at the clock—11:30. The room felt icy; the AC was set to sixteen. Anya lay curled beneath the blanket, shivering in her sleep.
Silently, Zain walked over. He adjusted the AC to thirty, then tucked the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on her sleeping face—so fragile, yet stubborn. Something flickered in his eyes… something he refused to name.
Without a word, he stepped back and lay down on the sofa.
There, in the heavy silence, Zain closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.