Trystan Brodrick had chronic insomnia, and I'd been his living pillow since I was a child.

He went from one fling to another.

But no matter how wild things got, he'd always send them away at night.

He was used to holding me while sleeping.

We'd been with each other so long that he thought I'd never leave him.

Just as my ten-year agreement with the Brodrick family ended, he fell head over heels for some woman.

He went crazy over her—street racing through the night, staying awake for three days straight.

His mother, Mireya Brodrick, slid the renewal contract across the table coldly, certain I'd sign it.

I stayed quiet for a long time that day.

Finally, I said softly, "No. Let's end it."

***

Late at night, when I arrived at the hotel suite, Trystan's latest girlfriend hadn't left yet.

The bedding had already been replaced, but a faint, intimate scent still hung in the air.

It gave away just how wild things had been in that room.

Alyssa Corben had a flushed face. "Are you sure you won't let me stay the night?" she pouted.

Just then, she spotted me walking in.

She frowned. "Sorry, we don't need housekeeping right now."

Trystan let out a short laugh, correcting her, "She's not here to clean. She's mine."

Alyssa froze for a second, then looked at him in disbelief. "You already have me. You're moving on that fast?"

Trystan leaned against the headboard, desire still lingering in his eyes as he looked over at me.

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on his lips. "Got a problem with me sleeping with my personal pillow?"

He pulled out two checks, scribbled on them quickly, and handed them to her. "Alright, you can go now."

I stood to the side, quietly waiting for her to take the money and leave, just like all the others.

Instead, she slapped the checks right back onto the table, lifted her chin, and snorted. "I don't want your money.

"I had a good time too. We both got what we wanted."

With that, she walked out of the suite without looking back.

Trystan ran his finger over the check, a rare flicker of surprise in his eyes.

But he quickly composed himself, pulling me into his arms with practiced ease.

He wrapped one arm around my waist, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

The scent in the air still clung to my nostrils, refusing to fade.

When I glanced down, I spotted a bright red lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt.

It was impossible to miss, as if marking him as Alyssa's.

He noticed my expression and asked, "Huh? What's wrong?" His voice was husky.

"You have lipstick on your collar," I said flatly, pointing at it.

Trystan seemed to be in a good mood tonight. "If it bothers you, I can change," he said.

I pressed my lips together and stayed silent.

"Alright," he said after thinking for a second. "Let's sleep somewhere else.

"How about we go to your place tonight?"

I was startled. I didn't know why he suddenly wanted to go to my apartment.

But since we'd shared a bed for ten years, letting him stay over didn't feel like a big deal.

Thus, I nodded.

After we got to my place, Trystan changed into the men's pajamas I'd kept for him, then walked straight to my bed and lay down.

Thanks to our size difference, he could wrap me up in his arms easily.

While we slept, he always held me face-to-face, one arm around my waist, the other around my back.

He pressed me tightly against him, as if I really were just a pillow.

I'd always been particular about sleep. My sheets and duvet covers had to be light-colored, the mattress soft.

Even my pillows were fluffy, soft, and freshly laundered.

I had all my favorite dolls lined up next to me, too. The bed wasn't huge, but it made me feel safe.

Right now, Trystan, in his deep black pajamas, was lying on my light pink bed.

He looked totally out of place.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing against my hair.

"Elyse," he asked after holding me for a while, confused, "why does your bed smell so good?"

I was already getting sleepy. "Everything's freshly washed," I mumbled.

But Trystan wasn't done.

He didn't seem tired at all. He sniffed around until his nose brushed against my sensitive neck.

"Turns out this is the sweetest spot," he murmured, his voice rough.

His warm breath brushed over my skin, causing a faint shiver.

My heart skipped a beat. I looked up to say something, but my lips accidentally brushed against his chin.

We both froze.

I was too nervous to speak, even afraid he might hear my pounding heart, so I quietly tried to move away.

But he pulled me right back, his grip firm. "What are you hiding from?" he said flatly.

His large hand rested on my thin shoulder. "Relax. I'm not into scrawny girls like you."

I always knew Trystan didn't particularly like me.

If anything, he was annoyed by me.

From age thirteen to twenty-three, I'd been by his side for almost a full decade.

The year he turned thirteen, he was kidnapped by a rival company. No one knew exactly what he went through.

We just knew that after he was rescued, he was traumatized, unable to sleep.

The doctors said he needed a constant companion to calm him down.

Then she saw the recruitment post from the Brodrick family.

Lots of people showed up for the interview. Parents brought their children, forming a long line.

I grabbed a number, huddled alone in the crowd in my tattered clothes, and waited quietly.

But I'd done too much work the day before and was utterly exhausted. Waiting there, I ended up squatting in a corner and falling asleep.

Back then, thirteen-year-old Trystan was surrounded by people as he came out. His face was sullen as he scanned the crowd.

His eyes landed on me, fast asleep.

Full of impatience, he pointed arbitrarily. "Her."

And just like that, I became his human pillow for the next ten years.

But as I got older, my features fully developed.

Mireya's frown deepened.

She repeatedly warned me, subtly, not to entertain any illusions.

So, I quietly buried my crush for him, making sure no one would ever notice.

As we grew up, I watched him date one fling after another.

Every time before he could fully enjoy himself, I'd knock on the door and say routinely, "Mr. Brodrick, it's time to sleep."

In his eyes, I was no different from all those girls.

We were all just after his money.

But they could make him happy, while I was boring and just a buzzkill.

Thus, he grew more and more annoyed by me, even trying to sleep without holding me.

But he soon discovered, with frustration, that ten years had made holding me a habit he couldn't break.

The doctor said staying in a good mood would help him fall asleep faster.

Therefore, for ten years, I carefully coaxed him, went along with him, all to keep him somewhat content.

"You're just here for the money," Trystan would snap when he was in a bad mood. "Quit pretending you care about me."

"Yeah, I'm just here for the money," I'd say numbly, taking his harsh words in stride, hiding my feelings deeper each time.

I hid my crush well.

Even in my diary, I'd address him formally as "Mr. Brodrick", keeping him at a distance.

When I was 19, he coldly stepped in to deal with those debt collectors.

That day, in my diary, I finally allowed myself to write his name, carefully tracing each stroke.

When I came to my senses, the entire page was covered with "like" and "Trystan", scribbled all over.

I panicked and reached to tear the page out.

But my hand hovered over the diary for a long time, and I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I decided against the idea.

The diary had a lock. It was hidden in the very bottom drawer of my bedroom desk.

I believed no one would ever find it.

When I woke up the next morning, I saw Trystan sitting quietly in a chair.

The drawer was wide open.

"What's this?" he asked flatly, pointing at the open diary.

I was completely stunned.

At 23, my five-year secret crush on him was laid completely bare.

The one reckless feeling I allowed myself in my youth had now become my deepest humiliation.

After a long moment, I managed a strained question. "H-how did you open it?"

"I tried all morning," Trystan said, half-smiling. "Turns out the password's my birthday."

He held up the diary, squinting. "An entry from four years ago... Baby, you really hid this well."

His voice was so soft, but it made my heart race.

I threw in the towel, lowering my head, silently waiting for him to pass judgment on this ridiculous secret I'd carried.

Then, the sound of tearing filled the room.

Trystan tore that page out, his face expressionless.

He shredded it, piece by piece, taking my teenage feelings with it.

"What were you dreaming of?" he scoffed, tossing the pieces into the trash can.

"Elyse, you didn't actually think this lousy page would make me settle down, did you?"

"Those girls will play any game I want. Can you do that, huh?"

After that day, Trystan didn't contact me for three whole days, which was a rare occurrence.

Maybe I'd disgusted him that much.

I never could track him down anyway, so I had no idea what he was up to.

On the evening of the fourth day, I was home alone when Trystan's assistant knocked on my door.

"Mr. Brodrick had a bit too much to drink tonight," he said, nodding politely as he supported the wasted Trystan. "Could you please take care of him, Ms. Gilman?"

My job was technically just to help him sleep.

But I'd always ended up taking care of him when he was drunk or sick at night.

But I remembered Trystan had a high alcohol tolerance. How much had he drunk to end up like this?

After helping him into the room, I turned to go make some hangover soup in the kitchen.

I was spacing out while waiting for the water to boil when a scorching body pressed against me from behind.

Trystan wrapped his arms around my waist with practiced ease, leaning down to rest his chin on my shoulder.

"Lysie," he murmured, his voice rough.

I stiffened slightly.

He rarely called me that.

He usually called me by my first name. Only when he was in a particularly good mood would he occasionally use "baby" or "sweetheart" just to tease me.

He wasn't cold and distant like he'd been four days ago. His tone was soft, almost placating.

"Are you feeling bad?" I replied gently after a moment's silence. "The hangover soup will be ready soon. Just wait a little longer..."

Before I could finish, he kissed me.

Warm and soft, his kisses landed on my cheek, the corner of my lips, and the nape of my neck, setting off waves of tingling shivers.

The scene I'd dreamed of a thousand times as a teenager was happening, rendering me completely speechless.

When I finally snapped out of it, I frantically, tremblingly, tried to push him away.

But Trystan buried his face in my shoulder, his drunk voice thick with desire as he repeated, "Lysie... Lysie..."

My hands froze mid-push.

I'd never been a saint.

Worse, I'd even been selfish and greedy for money.

And I'd be lying if I said I could resist when Trystan called me like that.

Thus, I followed my heart, carried away by my last shred of genuine feeling.

I turned and actively wrapped my arms around his neck.

This wasn't our first time, actually.

Four years ago, things between us weren't so strained.

Back then, we studied together, planned to apply to the same college.

We'd both included each other in our future.

That all ended when Trystan overheard me assuring Mireya, "It's just for the money. I have no other feelings for Mr. Brodrick."

I even had the nerve to ask for a raise.

It was the first time Trystan gave me the cold shoulder.

Later that night, he dragged me into the room roughly, gritting his teeth. "You're only here for the money? Fine.

"If I paid you enough, would you even spend the night with me?"

We were both inexperienced back then.

His movements were clumsy but fierce. He never once tried to soothe me with a kiss.

He just kept asking, "Anyone could do this, as long as they paid you. Right?"

I bit my lip, not knowing how to respond, terrified of revealing even a hint of my true feelings.

In the end, I gave up and nodded. "Yes."

The memory of that night wasn't a good one. All it left me with was pain, both physical and emotional.

Thus, when Trystan, softened by drink, kissed me gently and whispered my name, I could barely resist.

We got on that tiny light pink bed.

I tried my best to keep up, giving in to his ridiculous demands one after another.

My body, which he'd once mocked as scrawny and pale, was now rubbed raw and flushed.

I gave up on finding the truth behind the pretense in his drunken eyes.

At least the name on his lips was mine.

All those women he'd hooked up with over the years just did that for money.

It was just like that messy night four years ago—no tenderness, no comfort, not even a single kiss.

But tonight, after what felt like forever, when it was finally over, he actually pulled me into his arms, kissing my lips softly.

His hand wrapped around my waist easily.

I was still in a daze, trembling slightly in his arms.

"Your waist is so tiny," Trystan teased. "How'd you handle it earlier?"

He gently stroked my back, soothing me.

Held in his arms, I thought quietly: Maybe I meant something to him after all?

For once, Trystan slept incredibly soundly and peacefully.

It was almost noon, and he still hadn't woken up.

Then his phone rang.

Afraid of waking him, I dragged my tired body over and picked up his phone.

And then, I saw the caller ID clearly: Lissie.

In that split second, my blood ran cold. I couldn't even hear the ringtone anymore, only a loud buzzing in my ears.

A ridiculous, unbelievable thought popped into my head.

Clutching at one last shred of hope, I looked down and met Trystan's cold eyes.

He was always grumpy when woken up, but now he showed no trace of irritation as he took the phone from me.

Then a flirtatious, familiar female voice came from the phone, "Trystan, I heard you didn't sleep for three days. You didn't even hold your comfort pillow, and you went on a late-night drive just to chase after me?"

"Well, since you're so sincere, I suppose I can forgive you.

"I'm up for anything you want to play tonight."

I recognized her voice. It was the woman from the hotel that day.

A smile played on Trystan's lips as he murmured his replies.

After a long while, he hung up.

His smile faded, and he looked at me with a critical eye, frowning. "Why was it you last night?"

I clenched my hands so tight that my nails dug into my palms.

I finally realized all that tenderness last night had been meant for someone else.

After a long silence, I closed my eyes. "It was me. Who did you think it was?"

Trystan didn't answer immediately.

"Baby, you really can't live without me, huh?" He sighed eventually.

He pulled out a few more checks, slapping them roughly onto my body with a laugh. "You were pretty obedient last night. This should be more than enough, right?

"But stick to being my pillow from now on. Don't daydream about anything else."

Trystan didn't come looking for me that night.

Instead, Mireya showed up at my door.

When she slid that renewal contract across the table, it hit me.

I'd known Trystan for ten years already.

The contract was renewed every five years.

When the first five-year term ended, I was just eighteen.

To stay in the high school the Brodricks funded, I'd worked desperately to please Mireya, just to secure the next five years.

Now, Mireya coldly pushed the renewal toward me.

"Stan's new girlfriend says she can help him sleep, too," she said casually.

"Maybe we won't need you anymore.

"Your pay's cut in half. Sign it if you want it."

She sounded so sure I'd beg to keep the job, just like I had five years ago.

I really was grateful. The Brodrick family had given me this job when I had nothing, letting me finish high school and college smoothly.

But now, I stared at the renewal contract, lost in thought for a long time.

Memories from the past ten years flashed through my mind, one by one.

After a long silence, I pushed the contract back toward her and shook my head gently.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Brodrick," I said gently.

"Let's end this contract."