From Breakup to Vows, Marrying My Ex to Prove a Point - Chapter 1

I was the one who broke up with Mu Shi.

He had been operating nonstop for three days, even missing my birthday.

I waited at home until midnight, ate more than half the cake by myself, and ended up sending myself to the emergency room that night, on an IV drip until dawn.

After sunrise, I returned home, clutching my aching stomach. Just as I sat down on the sofa, the door opened again.

Mu Shi walked in, his face pale. The lingering smell of blood clung to him, mixed with the faint scent of disinfectant.

He leaned back on the single-seater sofa, completely exhausted, and closed his eyes as if he hadn’t seen me sitting right there.

I couldn’t believe it. “Mu Shi, are you just going to pretend I’m not here now?”

He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze hazy. “I’m sorry, Nanjia. I’m just so tired.”

The rest of the birthday cake was still on the coffee table. He couldn’t even be bothered to wish me a happy birthday.

By the time Mu Shi woke up, I had already packed my things. Two suitcases stood side by side in the entryway.

I lifted my chin and announced solemnly, “Let’s break up.”

Having rested, he had regained his composure and reverted to his usual cool and distant self.

After hearing my announcement, he said nothing. He just leaned against the wall and said calmly, “You don’t drive. Should I help you take your things home?”

“No need.”

The fact that he showed no intention of trying to win me back made my heart ache even more. “I called a car from an app.”

“Then send me the license plate number,” Mu Shi said, his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tense. “Be safe on the road.”

That was the last thing he said to me during our relationship.

Mu Shi and I met on a blind date.

Three years after graduating, I was about to turn 25. My mom, at the end of her rope, started arranging blind dates for me.

I had met six men in a row, with no follow-up.

Mu Shi was the seventh. The matchmaker said he came from a good family, was handsome, highly educated, and a doctor with a promising future, not even thirty yet.

Before meeting him, I complained to my best friend, Susu, “For someone with such great qualifications to end up on a blind date, either the information is fake or he has a major flaw.”

As it turned out, the qualifications were real, and so was the flaw.

He was too busy.

Mu Shi was an obstetrician-gynecologist who graduated from a prestigious university. He spent nearly all his time at the hospital.

His personality was also too cold; he didn’t know how to charm girls, which was why he was still single.

Even on our blind date, before we had even finished our meal, he took a call, paid the bill early, and then bid me a polite farewell.

He was tall and handsome, definitely my type in terms of looks, but judging from his placid demeanor throughout the meal, he wasn’t interested in me.

To my surprise, the next day, the matchmaker told my mom that Mu Shi thought I was very nice and was willing to see where things could go.

And just like that, we dated for six months.

Mu Shi was truly busy. During our few dates, he would often take calls to handle work matters, and several times he had to end our dates early.

To see him more, I moved in with him.

He gave me his salary card to use as I pleased, let me look through his phone whenever I wanted, prepared painkillers for me in advance when I had cramps, and bought me expensive gifts for holidays.

But that wasn’t what I needed.

“You’re just never satisfied,” Susu chided me. “He’s handed his entire fortune over to you, what more could you possibly want? Do you remember your ex who called you a gold digger because you didn’t split a hot pot bill?”

After the breakup, my mom was furious and wanted to drag me back to get back together with Mu Shi.

I cried in front of her. “I’m not going! When he’s busy, he can forget my birthday. I send him a dozen messages and he replies with a single word. I can’t take this kind of neglect!”

My mom sighed, and in the end, didn’t force me.

When I got home, I opened WeChat and saw a message from Mu Shi: “Did you get home safe?”

I replied with a stiff “Yeah,” just like he used to reply to me.

“I’m sorry. I saw the slice of cake you left for me. Happy birthday.”

That one sentence almost brought tears to my eyes again. I fought them back and typed, “Thanks.”

“Okay.”

And the conversation ended.

I didn’t block Mu Shi, and he didn’t delete me. We remained tacitly on each other’s friend lists.

Mu Shi never posted on his Moments. I, on the other hand, could post ten times a day about every little thing.

I knew nothing about his life after the breakup, while he probably knew everything, right down to what I ate for every meal.