No Longer His Pillow

From the age of thirteen, I became the exclusive human pillow for wealthy young master Trystan. Tormented by trauma and severe insomnia, he could only fall asleep while holding me in his arms.​For ten years by his side, I was his solace in the dead of night, yet never more than a cheap tool and obedient subordinate in his eyes. He indulged himself in countless romantic affairs, trampling recklessly on my secret love, tearing up my diaries, and leaving nothing but cheques and cold warnings after taking what he wanted while drunk.​When the contract expired, his mother cast me aside without a second thought. My heart broken beyond repair, I left for London, built an independent life overseas, and bloomed into a poised and dazzling woman.​Without me, his insomnia spiraled out of control. He went to extremes searching for me across the globe, turning into a man consumed by obsession. A year later, he was hospitalized from an overdose of sleeping pills. On his knees, he begged me to stay, holding onto a cherished wish ticket just to ask for one last embrace.​I tore the slip of paper apart calmly — ten years of affection had long expired. Amid his endless pleas and remorse, I turned away without hesitation. No more lingering over old feelings; for the rest of my life, I live solely for myself.