Chapter 1

He claimed he couldn't marry her. A wife's duties would cage her: preparing daily meals, tending to husband and children, serving in-laws. He said he loved her too much to limit her freedom.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening until I could barely breathe. Yet I remained silent, composed.

The next morning, I returned to the TV station. What Jackson didn't know was that I had my own form waiting to write – a transfer request to become a war doctor in Continent of Azora. As I signed my name, I drew in a deep breath. The one I truly loved still waited on those distant battlefields. I was going to find him.

"You're returning to medicine?!" The startled voice echoed through the hospital hallway that morning.

I handed over my reassignment papers with steady hands. "Yes, I'd like a permanent position in the Nyara Republic."

The director paused, taking the form. His brow furrowed as he read. "Zoey..." He exhaled softly, searching for words. "Your work in the Nyara Republic three years ago was exceptional. But now? You're on marriage leave! You're about to be married – how can you make such a risk?"

He watched me, expecting justification.

I lowered my gaze, fingers intertwined. "I'm not getting married anymore."

"What?" His face registered shock.

Meeting his eyes firmly, I stated, "I'm calling off the wedding."

The night before, Jackson had gone shopping for wedding tableware, asking me to send him the list from his computer. Opening the "Wedding Plans" folder, I'd stumbled upon another spreadsheet – his relationship ledger.

Six women, each meticulously cataloged: height, appearance, family background, personality traits. My entry topped the list.

Name: Zoey

Background: Orphan, limited social connections

Personality: Dutiful, maternal, unambitious

Notes: Proficient in household duties, suitable for childbearing Highlighted in yellow: "Ideal for marriage"

My fingers hovered over the keyboard as heat pricked my eyes. After a moment, I scrolled down.

His assessments of the others were equally clinical: "Excessive spending habits - rejected" "Poor work ethic - rejected" "Has dependent sibling - rejected"

Until the final entry: Sara. Her page held no ratings, no analysis. Just a single line: "You are a bird, meant to soar proudly into distant skies."

This time, I didn't waver. I closed the folder, erased the files, and opened another document – my unfinished application for a medical position in the Nyara Republic, where they desperately needed surgeons.

As I signed my name, clarity washed over me: I wasn't meant for a cage built to ground a free spirit. More importantly, the man who truly held my heart was still there, waiting.

Chapter 2

I remembered how Jackson had wavered over Sara's name while finalizing our wedding guest list. Adding it, deleting it, over and over. When I asked why, he just smiled and said, "She's traveling the world. She wouldn't come back just for this."

So she was his first love.

His Instagram was still open on the screen. I found Sara's profile and clicked through. Their message history was gone, but her latest post made my heart sink:

"The man I love is getting married? Well, I'm going to sabotage his wedding car and crash the whole thing!"

Jackson's response below: "It wouldn't change anything. I still won't marry you." "Fine! Must mean you've found your soulmate, right?" "What are you talking about?" "Whatever! With your controlling family, being your wife would be like being a servant. No thanks!" "I know. That's why I'm marrying who they want me to marry." "I just couldn't bear to see you trapped like that."

"Couldn't bear to." Those words felt foreign coming from Jackson.

We'd met through a matchmaker. He was everything on paper - young, successful, the youngest associate chief physician at a prestigious hospital, with movie-star looks. But his controlling parents were why he remained single.

They wanted the perfect traditional daughter-in-law: submissive, hardworking, intuitive, and servile.

Because the moment I first saw Jackson, I thought: for that face, I'd do anything.

Two years together. His parents adored me. He grew accustomed to coming home to spotless floors, hot meals, and freshly pressed shirts. But he remained distant, politely detached.

Until his birthday this year. I decided to bake him a cake. The oven exploded during preheating.

When they rushed me to the ER, arm covered in glass shards, he came running. For the first time, I saw panic in his eyes. He held my face, voice shaking: "You don't have to do all this for me... Please, you don't have to..."

I thought then that he truly cared.

Later, he proposed.

I foolishly believed it was love, that he wanted to build a future together. Until last night, when I saw his exchange with Sara.

Sara - the one he loved enough to let go.

The screen's harsh glow illuminated my face. In that moment, I knew - this had to end.

Chapter 3

Back home from the hospital, I unearthed several dusty camera bags from the back of my bookshelf - relics of a life I'd deliberately buried. The camera felt foreign in my hands, its batteries long dead.

While the charger did its work, I slipped the memory card into my computer and opened the forgotten photos. The first showed me treating a woman for cholera on a dirt road in Congo. The second captured a child soldier, barely five, dwarfed by his rifle. The third revealed refugees in East Meridian Province, huddled under tattered shelters...

The scent of smoke and dust seemed to seep through the screen, yanking me back. My chest tightened, pain spreading like tendrils through my body. I leaned back, eyes closed, willing my pulse to slow. A wry smile crossed my lips. Would Jackson still call me "obedient and docile" if he saw these?

My phone buzzed - Jackson texting the restaurant address. Tonight was the dinner with his wedding party. I had few close friends, so they were all his people. But this wasn't just any gathering. Sara had come home.

By the time I arrived, they'd ordered. Jackson sat at the head of the table, Sara beside him. No place had been set for me.

Sara noticed my arrival with a smirk, looking me up and down. "Just grab a chair wherever," she said casually.

I pulled one to the furthest corner. Jackson watched impassively, saying nothing.

"Sara, we didn't think you'd make it back!" someone broke the silence.

"Miss Zoey's wedding? I'd crawl here if I had to - just to see who he's marrying."

Knowing looks passed around the table, laughter tinged with mockery.

"Well, you two do have history."

The conversation centered on Sara after that. She regaled them with tales: Celestial Sea tuna fishing, hiking the Camino de Santiago, scaling Uluru. They hung on every word, eyes shining with admiration.

"Zoey, how can you go to such dangerous places as a woman?"

"Hmph!" Sara shot me a glance, voice dripping with disdain. "Some of us think beyond cooking and playing housewife."

The words cut deep. I knocked back a shot of tequila, its burn numbing my tongue until the food lost all taste.

She commanded the room, and Jackson... Jackson watched her with such tenderness his gaze could melt butter.

During her story about Saharah Kingdomian scammers, she turned to him suddenly. "Want to learn how to say 'my darling' in France?"

Jackson hesitated, then shook his head.

"I'll teach you!" She leaned into his shoulder, whispering in his ear. "Chérie~"

He gently straightened her, ears flushing pink. "Sit properly..."

"Say it with me!"

He sighed, yielding to her playful persistence. "Chéri..."

"Perfect! You're my chérie~"

Her eyes danced mischievously before fixing on me. "Ever been to Continent of Azora?"