Chapter 1

Christopher Quinn came by again, holding my favorite book, The Little Prince.

He turned to the dog-eared page. His voice was soft, like he was coaxing a child, as he asked, "Do you want to hear the story about the stars today?"

I shook my head, but I couldn't help stealing glances at him—the man who promised he'd always be by my side.

Noticing my gaze, he paused for a moment and let out a soft laugh. He asked, "Why aren't you kicking me out today?"

I grabbed onto my blanket, remembering how the doctors always said I would never learn how to love. But this time, my heart was racing with a feeling I'd never known before.

For the first time, I felt the urge to confess my feelings.

I said, "Christopher, I think I..."

Just then, my attending physician, Evelyn Summers, walked in and said, "Mr. Quinn, could you step outside for a moment?"

Christopher ruffled my hair, gentle as always. He said, "I'll be back soon."

But I didn't want to wait anymore.

I ran to the door, only to hear Christopher gently congratulating Evelyn. He said, "Evelyn, looks like your project's about to wrap up. Congrats.

"Who would've guessed someone with such a severe emotional disorder could actually form an attachment?"

I stood behind the door, and a chill swept over me.

Christopher's voice carried on, "Her emotional responses turned out just as expected. The data should easily back up your findings."

Evelyn gave a soft laugh and said, "All thanks to your devoted care these last six months."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, "But Christopher, are you sure you haven't caught feelings for her?"

"Don't joke around," Christopher replied, his tone was so casual it almost stung, "this is just an experiment."

I dug my nails into my palms, but I didn't feel a thing.

So all that kindness, all those hours he spent with me—none of it was out of pity or sympathy. It was just part of the experiment.

Evelyn looked genuinely pleased with his answer. She wasn't the strict, professional doctor I knew anymore; now she wore a playful smile, the kind she only showed to someone she was close to.

She said, "Don't forget about the engagement party next week. My parents flew in from overseas just for it."

Christopher reached over and ruffled her hair. He said, "Relax, everything's taken care of."

In that moment, my whole world shattered. My mind went completely blank.

My ears were ringing, and my vision started to blur. Evelyn was still smiling, her lips moving—was she still talking? I couldn't hear a thing.

I couldn't even remember how I ended up back in my room.

All I knew now was that Christopher already had a fiancée, and I was nothing more than a test subject in their experiment.

After I got diagnosed with my emotional disorder, the doctors used to say my brain was a solid wall, shutting out everything—joy, grief, anger, all locked outside where I could never truly feel them.

But right now, pain, despair, rage, shame, betrayal—countless emotions I'd never felt before were all slashing into my heart at once, each like a vicious blade.

Back in bed, I numbly picked up The Little Prince from my desk. Opening it, I saw the words Christopher had written himself on the title page: [To my forever star—Jane.]

The ink hadn't even dried yet, but all I could taste was the bitter irony of it.

I used to love this book because the Little Prince was lost, drifting among the stars, awkwardly searching for what love and responsibility were all about.

That innocent little prince kept asking, "What really matters?"—the same way I was always wondering, "What is love?" Only, neither of us ever found the answer.

But now, I wished I'd never even tried to understand it.

My fingers shook uncontrollably as I tore that page out, shredding it into tiny pieces, one by one.

That was when I finally understood what the rose must have felt—being tamed and then tossed aside hurt so much more than never being special to anyone at all.

Tears fell onto the shredded page, blotting the ink that hadn't dried yet.

So everything was just a lie.

When Christopher stepped inside again, I was already back to my cold, distant self, face as empty as ever.

"Why did you rip the book?" he asked and frowned, stepping closer. When he caught sight of my reddened eyes, his own flashed with panic.

He asked, "Why are you crying? Are you feeling sick? I'll call the..."

"No need," I cut him off, my voice eerily calm, "I just don't like it anymore."

Christopher froze for a moment. I stared into those eyes, sparkling like a thousand stars. I demanded, "Christopher, would you ever lie to me?"

He looked a little awkward, then moved closer, squatting by my bedside so our eyes were level. He asked, "Why are you asking me that?"

I didn't answer, just kept repeating my question, "Would you ever lie to me?"

He reached out, like he wanted to touch my face, but stopped in midair. Finally, he gently hooked his pinky with mine and said, "I'd never lie to you."