The train rattled into Willowbrook Station, its brakes screeching like a reluctant confession. Haru Nakamura stepped onto the platform, his worn sneakers scuffing against the cracked concrete. The air carried the familiar scent of pine and damp earth, a nostalgic pull that twisted his stomach into knots. Willowbrook was his hometown, a place he'd sworn never to return to. Yet here he was, dragged back by a promise to his mother—a promise he already regretted.
Haru was twenty-four, but the weight of his past made him feel older. His dark hair fell into his eyes, hiding the storm brewing within. Shy and introverted, he'd always been a shadow in his own life, especially under the cold gaze of his father, Kenji. His mother, Hana, was the only warmth he'd known, her gentle smiles a lifeline through the years of his father's disapproval. But even her love couldn't erase the memories of why he'd fled Willowbrook after high school. Those reasons—painful, jagged—clawed at him now, whispering that coming back was a mistake.
The Nakamura house loomed at the end of a quiet street, its wooden facade as unyielding as Kenji himself. Haru's heart thudded as he approached, his backpack slung over one shoulder like a shield. He hadn't been here in years, not since the incidents that had shattered his fragile confidence. He braced himself for his father's usual scowl, the sharp words that always found their mark.
But when the door swung open, Hana's arms enveloped him in a hug that smelled of lavender and home-cooked meals. "Haru, my sweet boy," she murmured, her voice trembling with joy. Behind her, Kenji stood, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Haru tensed, waiting for the familiar frost in his father's eyes. Instead, Kenji's lips curved into a smile—a rare, unsettling sight that made Haru's skin prickle.
"Welcome home, son," Kenji said, his voice gruff but oddly warm. "We've got news."
Haru blinked, caught off guard. "News?" His voice was barely above a whisper, his throat tight with unease.
Hana beamed, guiding him inside. The living room was unchanged—faded floral curtains, a worn couch, the faint hum of a radio in the kitchen. But the atmosphere felt charged, like the air before a storm. Kenji clapped a hand on Haru's shoulder, a gesture so foreign it made Haru flinch.
"Congratulations, Haru," Kenji said, his smile widening. "We've arranged your marriage."
The words hit like a physical blow. Haru froze, his breath catching. "W-what?" he stammered, his wide eyes darting between his parents. Marriage? He hadn't even known they were planning this. His heart pounded, a caged bird desperate to escape.
Kenji chuckled, mistaking Haru's shock for excitement. "He's my friend's son, a businessman. Handsome, successful—you've met him before, though you might not remember. It's a perfect match."
Hana handed Haru a photograph, her expression soft but expectant. Haru's hands trembled as he took it. The face staring back at him was all too familiar—sharp jawline, piercing green eyes, a smirk that had haunted his nightmares for years. Lucien Caldwell. The name alone sent a shiver down Haru's spine, a flood of memories crashing over him. College. The taunts. The betrayal. Lucien, the charming playboy who'd turned Haru's life into a living hell.
Tears pricked Haru's eyes, hot and unbidden. Kenji laughed, oblivious. "Look at that! Happy tears, eh? I knew you'd be thrilled." He waved off Haru's attempt to speak, his voice booming with finality. "The wedding's in two days. No time to waste."
Haru's knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, the photo slipping from his fingers. His father left the room, still chuckling, while Hana fussed over him, oblivious to the storm raging inside her son. Haru's mind screamed. Why him? Why Lucien? Why now? The past he'd tried so hard to bury was clawing its way back, and there was no escape.
That night, alone in his childhood bedroom, Haru curled into a ball, tears soaking his pillow. He thought of running—grabbing his bag and disappearing into the night. But then he remembered his mother's smile, the way her eyes had lit up when she saw him. He couldn't break her heart. Not again. "Why does it have to be him?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "Lucien… he ruined everything. And now he's my… my husband?"
The wedding day dawned gray and heavy, mirroring Haru's heart. The Nakamura house buzzed with guests, their laughter a cruel contrast to the deadness in Haru's eyes. He stood before a mirror, dressed in a tailored suit that felt like a straitjacket. His reflection was a stranger—pale, hollow-cheeked, with eyes that had lost their spark. This is your fate, he told himself, closing his eyes against the ache. You can't fight it.
Kenji appeared at his side, his face glowing with pride. "Get ready, son. It's time."
Haru followed his father, each step heavier than the last. The marriage hall was a blur of faces, their whispers buzzing like flies. "Such a beautiful groom," someone murmured. Haru's lips twitched, but it wasn't a smile. Beautiful? He felt like a sacrifice led to slaughter.
And there, at the altar, stood Lucien. Tall, impeccably dressed, his golden hair catching the light. He didn't look at Haru, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, as if this marriage was just another inconvenience. Haru's chest tightened, hatred burning through the numbness. He doesn't even care.
Kenji placed Haru's hand in Lucien's, the contact sending a jolt of revulsion through him. Lucien's head snapped up, his green eyes locking onto Haru's. "Haru?" he said, his voice soft with disbelief. A smile broke across his face, bright and genuine, as if he hadn't spent years tormenting Haru. "Haru, it's you? You're the one I'm marrying?"
Haru's gaze was ice, his eyes blazing with unspoken accusations. He said nothing, his silence a wall between them. Lucien's smile faltered, the weight of Haru's hatred sinking in. He knew. He knew what he'd done.
The ceremony passed in a haze. Vows were spoken, rings exchanged, but Haru felt nothing but the cold grip of resignation. Their fathers embraced, laughing, while Haru stood like a statue, his hand still trapped in Lucien's.
In the car afterward, Lucien opened the door for him, but Haru's glare stopped him cold. He slid into the opposite side, pressing himself against the window, as far from Lucien as he could get. Lucien settled beside him, his presence suffocating. "Haru," he said softly, "we're married now. I… I'm happy. I didn't know it was you, but I'm glad."
Haru stared out the window, his face a mask of stone. Lucien's words were meaningless, empty promises from a man who'd already broken him once. He didn't respond, didn't move, didn't breathe too loudly. He was a ghost in his own life.
They arrived at the Caldwell mansion, a sprawling estate that screamed wealth and power. Haru followed Lucien inside, his steps mechanical. Lucien's parents greeted them warmly, but Haru barely registered their words. When Lucien shouted from the hall, "I'm stepping out for an hour, okay?" Haru didn't answer. He didn't care.
In the bathroom, the dam broke. Haru sank to the floor, the shower's spray mingling with his tears. "I'm in hell," he whispered, his voice raw. "Why him? Why me?" The memories of college—of Lucien's cruel games, his mocking laughter—played on a loop in his mind. He'd thought he'd escaped, but fate had other plans.
When he emerged, his eyes red and swollen, he dressed in silence. He grabbed a pillow and blanket, curling up on the sofa in their shared room. Lucien's bed loomed across the room, empty and mocking. Haru closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. Instead, he saw Lucien's face—those green eyes, that smile that hid a thousand lies.
As the clock ticked past midnight, Haru made a silent vow. He didn't know how, but he would survive this. He would endure Lucien, this marriage, this unwanted fate. Because if there was one thing Haru Nakamura knew, it was how to keep going, even when everything inside him screamed to give up.