Seven years.

Seven years of marriage, seven years of hope, seven years of convincing herself that persistence could melt even the coldest heart. And yet, Ethan Carter still could not forget his white moonlight.

That was what they all called her—Daisy Whitmore. The girl he had loved first. The girl he had never truly lost.

Lily used to think time would win. That staying by his side day after day, caring for him, loving him, would eventually carve her place into his heart. She believed that if she endured long enough, Daisy would fade into nothing more than a distant, youthful memory.

But she had been wrong.

Because the moment Daisy announced her return to Country A, Ethan didn’t hesitate.

He simply waited.

A month ago, the restaurant glittered beneath crystal chandeliers while soft piano music drifted lazily through the air. The long dining table shimmered with polished silverware and wine glasses that reflected light like tiny shards of stars. Ethan sat at the center, relaxed and composed, his presence commanding without effort. Beside him, Lily wore a pale blue dress he had once casually remarked looked “decent.” She had chosen it carefully tonight.

Their friends laughed and raised their glasses. “You two are still so in love after all these years!” one of the men joked. “Ethan, you really dote on your wife.”

Lily smiled shyly and lowered her gaze. She was used to this performance. To outsiders, they were perfect—wealthy, stable, untouched by scandal. Ethan’s arm rested lightly behind her chair. It looked intimate. It wasn’t.

“You’re too kind,” Ethan replied calmly, swirling the wine in his glass. “She takes good care of the house.”

Just the house.

Lily told herself not to overthink it.

Then someone cleared their throat. “Oh, by the way, have you heard? Daisy’s coming back next month.”

The atmosphere shifted almost imperceptibly. Lily’s fingers tightened around her fork. She didn’t look at Ethan immediately—she was afraid to—but eventually she forced herself to turn. She searched his face for something: surprise, joy, anticipation.

He remained composed.

“Oh?” he said evenly. “Is she?”

“She finished her Ph.D.! At twenty-six! That’s insane.”

“She’s brilliant,” someone else chimed in. “And beautiful. Honestly, a rare gem.”

Ethan gave a faint smile. “That’s good. We should organize a welcome party for her when she arrives.”

We.

Lily’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. He sounded pleased. Too pleased.

A woman at the table laughed lightly. “Of course you would. You and Daisy were inseparable back then.”

Another voice added teasingly, “If Daisy hadn’t gone abroad, who knows what would’ve happened?”

A few chuckles followed, casual and sharp.

“Seriously though,” someone sighed, “getting a Ph.D. overseas at that age? Daisy is incredible.”

The same woman glanced at Lily, lips curling slightly. “Not everyone can be like Daisy. Some people are more suited to… domestic life.”

The word lingered in the air.

Domestic.

Housewife.

The humiliation stung, quiet but vicious. Lily waited—waited for Ethan to say something, to defend her, to clarify that she had chosen this life, that she was capable, that she mattered.

But Ethan only took another sip of wine.

He said nothing.

The conversation moved on as if nothing had happened. Lily forced herself to breathe steadily. This wasn’t new. He had never once spoken up for her during these subtle humiliations.

It’s okay, she told herself. He’s just not that kind of person. He’s always been quiet. It doesn’t mean he agrees with them.

Right?

When they returned home, the mansion was silent. The staff had long since retired to their quarters, and shadows stretched across the marble floors beneath dim hallway lights.

Lily changed into her nightdress and lay beside Ethan. He scrolled through his phone for a while before setting it down. “Sleep,” he said simply.

She turned off the lamp.

In the darkness, she stared at the ceiling.

Daisy is coming back.

The words echoed endlessly in her mind until exhaustion finally pulled her into a restless sleep.

Sometime past midnight, Lily stirred. The space beside her was cold. She reached out instinctively and touched nothing but empty sheets.

Her heart skipped.

She sat up and glanced at the clock.

2:17 AM.

The house was silent, but a strange unease crept into her chest. Ethan rarely left the bedroom at night. Slipping out of bed, she draped a thin shawl over her shoulders and stepped into the hallway. All the lights were off, except for a faint glow seeping from beneath the study door.

She approached slowly, unsure why her steps felt so heavy. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the narrow crack, she saw Ethan sitting at his desk, his back slightly hunched—a posture she had rarely seen from him.

On the desk lay a small stack of photographs.

Her breath caught.

He picked one up carefully, almost gently, and his fingers traced the edge. Lily leaned closer despite the pounding in her chest.

It was a picture of Ethan and Daisy from years ago. They looked younger, freer, smiling brightly beneath a summer sky. Daisy leaned toward him naturally and confidently, as if she belonged there—as if she had always belonged there.

Ethan’s expression in the photo—

Lily had never seen him smile like that. Not in seven years.

He stared at it for a long time. His eyes softened, and there was longing in them—undisguised, unrestrained. More photographs followed: a graduation ceremony, a birthday, a seaside trip. In every single one, Daisy stood close to him, radiant and irreplaceable.

Lily’s nails dug into her palm.

So this was why he had seemed calm at dinner. He didn’t need to show emotion in front of others. He could indulge in it alone. Before Daisy had even set foot back in the country, he was already unable to restrain himself.

Her vision blurred. She stepped back quietly, afraid that if she stayed another second, she would collapse. Returning to the bedroom mechanically, she slid beneath the blanket and turned away from the door, clutching the pillow tightly to her chest.

For seven years, she had lived carefully. She learned his preferences, memorized his routines, cooked his favorite meals, hosted his friends, smiled when she was supposed to, stayed silent when she was supposed to. She thought devotion would create love.

But perhaps she had only been keeping a place warm for someone else.

The bedroom door opened softly sometime later. She felt the mattress dip as Ethan lay down beside her. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak. As if nothing had happened. As if her world had not just cracked open.

Tears slid silently from Lily’s eyes into the pillow. She didn’t make a sound.

She had cried like this before.

Quietly. Alone.

Seven years of marriage.

And she was still nothing more than a substitute.

Her husband’s heart had always belonged to his white moonlight.

And soon—

The white moonlight was coming home.