When The Fire Went Out | chapter 2

The next morning, Aves called the second I opened my eyes, demanding to know whether I’d hidden Henry’s jade cicada last night.

I told her the truth.

She practically exploded through the phone.
”You’re out of your mind. You only keep him around because he’s pretty. He’s useless—totally useless!”

Well… she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Henry really wasn’t much use in the traditional sense.
If anything, he was a pretty little thing I kept around—my kept man.

I met him two years ago. I’d been dancing at a bar, and he was sitting alone in the corner, wearing a plain white shirt that made him look painfully out of place.
One glance, and that was it—I wanted him.

He came from a rural village, barely finished school, couldn’t get a stable job.
I took him home, and to his credit, he adapted fast.
Volunteered to do the housework.
Kept everything spotless, organized to a degree I never managed myself.

Men can keep women; women can keep men.
It’s the same principle.

We’re all visual creatures, and the one with resources gets to choose.
Otherwise, you’re the one being chosen.

I made the money.
He took care of the home.
From that angle, we worked well together.
I never had to worry about a single domestic task—meals appeared, laundry vanished, life ran smooth as glass.

But Aves absolutely hated him. Honestly, she hated every guy I’d ever dated.

She’s a hardcore singleist—her word, not mine.
Always telling me to ditch men and grow old with her in some girly retirement pact.

Two years ago, she even told me she’d written a will and made me the beneficiary.
She literally brought it over for me to read.
I was touched. Told her she should list her parents instead.

She refused.
Said they were old and would definitely die before her, so naming them was pointless.
Said that since my parents were already gone, extra financial security would ease her mind “from beyond the grave.”

The truth?
My family was wealthy.
Several properties, eight-figure savings.
I didn’t need her inheritance—especially since her “estate” was just her grandfather’s small shop.

But the fact that she thought of me—wanted me to have everything—moved me deeply.

For a moment, I even considered writing my own will, making her the beneficiary.

Then reality kicked in—if I got married someday, had kids, I’d obviously want them to inherit something.
So I shelved the idea.

I figured—I’m young. When I’m actually ready to draft a will, I’ll just divide things into portions and give her one of them.

But I never told her that plan.
I’m not the type to make empty promises when nothing is set in stone.
No point dangling a “future pie” in front of someone.

“Still, Aves, if he really turned into a corpse, I’d drop dead from fear in the middle of the night.”
I tried to calm her down as she ranted.

“Then take his jade cicada during the day!”

“He carries it with him everywhere. How am I supposed to steal it?”
Just thinking about it gave me a headache.

She paused. I could practically hear gears grinding.

“Fine. After work, take him shopping for clothes. Leave the rest to me—I have a plan.”

Under her relentless pressure, I reluctantly agreed.