Shen Yanzhi is seven years older than me.
Everyone says he is gentle and steady, the perfect husband.
Only I know that beneath his spotless, respectable, gentle facade lies a heart full of possessiveness he doesn't dare reveal.
I used to love teasing him, always trying to crack his cool reserve and leave my mark on him.
But he stayed silent and restrained, never revealing how he felt.
He never got jealous, tried to keep me, or confided in me.
Day after day, his coldness wore down my passion. Once I'd accumulated enough disappointment, I decided to divorce him.
Then, one day, I woke from a dream.
I was locked in a room he'd prepared long ago.
Golden shackles circled my ankles, and he was the only person I could contact in the entire world.
The untouchable flower had shed his mask. Eyes red, he cried and begged me to stay.
He was insecure, jealous, and terrified. He had secretly installed cameras to spy on my daily life and quietly built this cage around me.
He learned how to love me, how to be honest, how to show his possessiveness.
But at last, I understood:
Gentleness was the mask; possessiveness was the snare.
From the very beginning, this marriage had been his private treasure, hidden away for years.
