Those Obsessed With Love Don’t Need A Job

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Late at night, after I let out a satisfied sigh, Dante Vale finally rolled gently off me.

He had been unusually attentive lately.

I figured he was probably about to leave me.

I sighed quietly, turned over, and went to sleep.

After all, everyone knew.

I was the most useless kind of woman in love.

When the sky wants to rain and a man wants to leave, what can I do?

Beg bitterly? Cry, scream, threaten to die?

That was what a real lovesick fool would do.

But I was fake.

A long time ago, I understood one truth.

Everyone despised a woman who lost her head over love.

Pretending to be one, however, was advanced strategy.

At 5:30 in the afternoon, I shut down my computer and got off work on time.

Behind me came the confused voice of a new coworker.

Didnt they just announce an all-hands meeting? Shes leaving just like that?

Shes different, an older coworker said meaningfully.

Different how?

If she gets home late, her husband hits her.

The new coworker sucked in a sharp breath.

Then why doesnt she divorce him?

Shh.

The older coworker lowered her voice.

Shes one of those women who cant live without love.

A wave of helpless, sympathetic sighs filled the office.

I strode toward the door, unable to suppress the corners of my mouth.

Overtime?

Absolutely not.

I was not actually hopelessly lovesick.

I only pretended to be.

And I enjoyed every convenience it brought with a clear conscience.

At the company, my persona was that of a poor woman who had to clock out on time to go home and cook. If I was even a little late, my drunk, bad-tempered husband would hit me.

Whenever people mentioned me, they shook their heads and sighed, their voices full of anger at my lack of spine and pity for my suffering.

Thanks to that persona, I was very popular at work.

After all, I brought gossip and conversation to a dull office. I gave everyones fragmented sympathy and kindness somewhere to go.

In a way, I provided excellent stress relief and emotional value.

And unnecessary overtime, business trips, and social dinners automatically skipped me.

The cafeteria lady always gave me half a portion more braised pork than others.

Even my managers spoke to me gently, afraid of triggering my psychological trauma.

What did I pay in return?

A few hesitant lowered gazes.

A pair of reddened eyes, full of unspeakable grievance.

A few tears that came whenever I needed them.

The return on investment beat every financial product on the market.

Of course, maintaining a persona required a certain level of mental discipline.

Once, Ms. Keller from the executive office complained to me about her boyfriend. I almost blurted out, Use guilt to control him.

At the last second, I changed it to, Maybe you didnt do enough? You should be more understanding of him.

Ms. Keller glared at me like she wanted to shake some sense into me.

I lowered my head in shame and slapped myself internally.

Too close.

Rule One of pretending to be lovesick: keep the acting steady and the character contained.

If you hold it in, youre a harmless little bunny.

If you dont, you become a scheming snake.

At six sharp, I stepped through my front door.

Dante had his back to me in the kitchen.

He was shirtless, a loose apron tied around his waist, showing broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The muscles of his back shifted with every movement. Sunset spilled through the window, softening him like a filter.

I leaned against the doorframe and admired the view happily.

Then I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek to his back, and adjusted my voice to its sweetest setting.

Darling, you work so hard. You cook for me every day. It makes my heart ache.

Dante turned his head to look at me. A smile rose in those naturally melancholy eyes.

I made your favorite sweet and sour ribs. Go wash your hands.

My eyes curved into two little crescents as I looked up and smiled.

Okay.

I had a soft, round little face.

I knew I looked adorable when I smiled like that.

And I knew he liked it.

Of course.

Dante had no idea that I had turned him into an abusive husband in the eyes of my company.

And my coworkers had no idea I wasnt even married.

What did it matter?

They would never meet anyway.

This was the power of information gaps.

That night, I was lying in bed watching a show when a firm chest silently pressed against my back. His breathing was heavy as he nibbled my earlobe.

Before long, I had no idea what heaven or earth was anymore. I was floating somewhere above the clouds.

Recently, Dante had been trying far too hard in bed. His sense of service was almost absurd.

But whenever his dark, emotional eyes looked at me, there was always something complicated in them.

Guilt, maybe.

Or reluctance.

After I sighed in satisfaction, Dante got up gently, wrung out a warm towel, and cleaned me with careful, focused movements.

I sighed inside.

Dante was probably going to leave.

Two years ago, I met him while running by the river at night.

He was sitting alone on the railing, staring at the water. I thought he was about to jump, so I rushed over and hooked him off the railing with one arm.

The world is beautiful, handsome. Dont give up.

He got up from the ground and looked at me.

The wind lifted the hair on his forehead, revealing an outrageously beautiful face.

I froze.

Expressionless, he said three things.

I was enjoying the wind.

Take your hand off my waist.

And my ankle is injured. Because of you.

He said he had nowhere to go, so I had no choice but to reluctantly take him home to recover.

That recovery lasted two years.

At first, he was silent, distant, and indifferent.

Later, he reluctantly spoke a few sentences.

Then came soft whispers and tangled intimacy.

Now, he handled all the housework.

All of this came from my daily sweet talk, top-tier emotional support, and acting skills polished to perfection.

You could say he had been cultivated pretty well.

But not long ago, I accidentally learned that Dantes real identity was that of a super-rich heir.

He had run away from home for two years because of family conflict.

That day, through the glass, I saw his face turn so cold it was almost unfamiliar as he spoke into the phone.

Dont worry. Ill go back for the arranged marriage.

Her? Im just casually dating her. I can break up anytime.

No need for you to intervene. Shes a hopeless romantic. If I say it directly, shell make a fuss. Ill just leave quietly.

I walked three laps around the residential complex in silence.

Before I finished the third lap, I had already figured it out.

The gap between our backgrounds was too wide. Dante and I were not possible.

Our feelings were not deep enough for either of us to fight the world.

If I were truly lovesick, maybe I would beg, cry, and threaten to die so he wouldnt leave.

But I was fake.

Adults should leave with dignity.

Part peacefully. Keep the door open.

If I fell on hard times later, maybe I could still rely on our old affection and ask him for a favor.

Once I figured that out, I went upstairs, opened the door, and sweetly called him darling.

See?

This was the advantage of pretending to be lovesick.

Even when abandoned, I could stay intact, keep my heart and lungs in place, and deal with the matter rationally.

As for Dante.

After two years together, he probably felt some guilt.

These days, he had been finding every way to be good to me, cooking different dishes for me, and making sure I was satisfied in bed.

I knew this was his way of saying goodbye.

I accepted every bit of it and enjoyed the premium service brought by his guilt with a clear conscience.

Rule Two of pretending to be lovesick:

Never fight someone elses guilt.

I took two days of annual leave.

By day, we curled up on the sofa and watched movies.

By night, we tangled together and whispered sweet words.

Even if separation was inevitable, I wanted to leave myself a beautiful memory.

On the third day, I returned to work.

My coworkers told me a piece of news in excited fragments.

Mr. Grant had been dismissed for accepting bribes, and headquarters had parachuted in a new boss.

Mr. Grant loved calling meetings right before closing time.

Now that he was gone, everyone was thrilled.

That afternoon, Ms. Keller sent a message in the group chat saying the new boss was treating everyone to a seafood feast tonight.

Eight hundred and eighty-eight per person.

The group filled with kneeling emojis and thank you, boss.

I struggled internally for a long time.

Then gave up.

I could not ruin the persona over temporary appetite.

The character had to stay steady.

Steady meant victory.

The next day, I was called to the general managers office.

The young boss sat behind the desk in a crisp suit, his face cool and refined, flipping through a file Ms. Keller had given him.

When I entered, he did not lift his head. He spoke lightly.

You were the only one who didnt attend last nights dinner. Any reason?

I pressed my lips together and slowly lowered my head.

Two seconds of silence.

Sure enough, Ms. Keller spoke up for me.

Mr. Price, her husband has a bad temper and controls her strictly. I mentioned it briefly before

A bad temper?

Across from me came a very soft chuckle.

What, does he hit her too?

I raised my head, prepared to show my familiar pale, resigned smile.

Then I suddenly narrowed my eyes and hesitated.

I think Ive seen you somewhere

Ms. Keller jabbed my lower back with one finger.

Ivy Hart, this is not the time to network.

I stared at the young man across from me.

He sat back in the leather chair with one leg crossed over the other, lips lightly pressed, head slightly tilted. His expression was almost a smile but not quite.

That expression.

Rowan Price? Chubby Rowan?

I blurted it out.

The corner of Rowans mouth twitched. With a mocking expression, he spoke slowly.

So youre saying Ivy Hart, the class monitor who once chased boys around the schoolyard with a pointer, is now a lovesick doormat who gets hit by her husband if she gets home late?

My heart sank.

It was over.

Back then, my nickname was Ivy the Tyrant. I had been entrusted by our homeroom teacher with the glorious duty of managing all the unruly boys in class, and I had been very arrogant about it.

The Rowan Price before me had been one of the boys I hit the hardest.

Not only because he was fat and ran slowly, but also because he had a sharp mouth.

Every time I pinned him to the ground, he would still crane his neck and shout, Ivy Hart, youll never get married in this life, or, Dont come begging me to marry you later.

Who would have thought boys changed this much?

That chubby kid had transformed into a tall, handsome rising executive. Even his once-grating voice had become a low baritone.

I adjusted quickly.

Surprise, regret, nostalgia, then red eyes. Finally, a self-mocking smile.

Thats all in the past. We were young then. I can only say well, everyone meets their match.

Rowan folded his arms and said nothing.

A sarcastic curve hung on his mouth. His face clearly said:

Do you think Im stupid?

After I left the general managers office, Ms. Keller looked at me with a complicated expression.

Ivy, are you doomed?

Ms. Keller was right.

A person close to leadership was close to leadership for a reason.

Her judgment was sharp.

For the next period of time, Rowan went insane.

He targeted me everywhere.

Matters that could have been synced by email had to be reported verbally in his office.

I had never done fieldwork, yet he made me accompany him to inspect factory lines.

I was in planning, yet he named me to take meeting minutes.

My workload suddenly multiplied several times.

Finally, I couldnt help it.

Dont you have a secretary?

He lazily spun a pen without even lifting his eyelids.

Shes busy. Dont you have a secretarial certificate? Did you take it for decoration?

I ground my back teeth while screaming internally.

This was clearly revenge.

Personal revenge dressed up as work.

So petty.

What, I hit him a few times when we were young?

What mischievous chubby boy hadnt been beaten by a class monitor in childhood?

Most infuriating of all was that his tongue had become even sharper than before.

His words were cutting, always stabbing right into my lungs. Several times, he left me speechless and nearly exploding.

I knew he wanted to provoke me on purpose.

Of course, I couldnt let him succeed.

How could I let the persona I had worked so hard to build collapse?

So I gritted my teeth and swallowed it all. In front of him, I was always obedient, tolerant, and pitiful.

And he merely tilted his head and looked at me with that faint smile, as if saying:

Act. Keep acting.

Fortunately, when I went home, I had Dante.

That day, Rowan called me into his office again to revise a proposal. I got home forty minutes late.

When I opened the door, steak, red wine, and flowers were already on the table.

Dante wore a formal white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing firm lines. In the candlelight, he smiled at me.

Ivy, happy second anniversary.

Darling.

I flew toward him like a little bird and wrapped my legs around his waist.

He caught me steadily.

That night.

At the moment my eyes lost focus, Dante suddenly gripped my wrists. His strength was startling.

Ivy.

Mm

If one day I suddenly leave, what will you do?

He stopped there. His breathing went abruptly light.

Caught in that unbearable, unfinished tension, I blurted out, Ill wait for you forever.

Dante stared at me. His eyes were bright in the dark, like two flames.

Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my ear, sighing with something like relief.

It doesnt have to be that long

That night, he was almost wild.

As if he had become someone else.

The next day at work, my waist and legs were so sore I almost couldnt straighten up. I kept hissing under my breath.

The coworker beside me asked carefully, Did your husband, uh, drink again last night?

I pulled at the corner of my mouth.

He did drink a little.

This drew a wave of sympathetic gazes.

My phone buzzed.

Dante sent me a message.

I need to leave for a while. I dont know when Ill return. Take care.

I stared at the screen for a few seconds.

My suspended heart finally died.

I got up and went to the pantry, made a cup of hot coffee, and leaned against the counter in a daze.

Dante had returned to his original world.

Returned to his arranged marriage.

Of course he would not come back.

Those words were only meant to pacify me, the hopeless romantic, before he left.

Ha.

Good thing I wasnt really lovesick.

So it wouldnt hurt that much.

I tilted my head back.

I didnt move for a long while.

What are you doing here during work hours, posing like a swan?

A cold voice sounded.

I jumped and met Rowans eyes.

He leaned against the doorway, holding a cup. His gaze was sharp, like a cat that had smelled blood.

I casually brushed the corner of my eye with my little finger.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

You cried?

No. Steam got in my eyes.

He scoffed and said sharply, Youre not deliberately acting pitiful here to make people sympathize with you, are you? Ivy Hart, you can fool everyone else, but you cant fool

He suddenly stopped.

His gaze landed on my wrist.

I looked down.

A ring of bruises circled my wrist, stark against my pale skin.

Marks from last night.