Chapter 3: Chasing Beauty

I’m an honest person, but I’m a sucker for good looks.

I’m plain-looking, but I love handsome men. Whenever I imagine an ugly man on top of me, I’d rather die.

So I worked extra hard from a young age. Because I knew that, with neither looks nor family background, a handsome man would never like me in this lifetime.

I did well on the SATs, but it wasn’t enough. In America, if you’re not from a top school, you’re just another face in the crowd.

A master’s degree wasn’t enough, so I went for a PhD. With my honest face and obedient attitude toward my advisor, I racked up excellent grades and landed a job at a top research institute.

The break room always smelled like burnt coffee and microwaved leftovers. I’d take that over awkward small talk any day. The place hummed with the sound of data crunchers and echoing footsteps. I felt at home among the overachievers and the eternally sleep-deprived.

I thought that was enough. But the moment I saw Ethan Blake, I realized—it was still far from enough.

I drank with the bosses, worked overtime after happy hour, spent weekends writing reports for the bosses’ kids. Finally, while still young, I reached the rank of assistant director.

I was finally qualified to pursue Ethan!

While I was chasing him, people tried to set me up with other men. I went to meet them. And every time, I became even more determined to chase Ethan. After every blind date, I’d go find Ethan to cleanse my eyes.

One time, at two in the morning—He happened to need a designated driver, and I didn’t hesitate for a second.

Ethan asked, "Do you really like me that much?"

As he spoke, there was a drunk beauty in the passenger seat of his convertible, her bare shoulder half-exposed. The city lights reflected off the shiny hood as I slid into the driver’s seat. My hands trembled on the steering wheel, not from nerves, but from excitement. I nodded hard, no hesitation.

Because I don’t have a thing for ugliness.

I said, "Ethan, I love you!"

Everyone loves beauty. That’s what that phrase really means. If it just means loving to dress yourself up, that’s a bit too shallow. No matter how I look, I love myself.

Ethan was amused by my sudden confession and burst out laughing. His messy hair was blown back by the wind, revealing long, thick lashes—so beautiful it was ridiculous. I suspected he’d had some work done, but I didn’t mind. His pinkish knuckles held a slender, menthol cigarette, the ash trembling to the ground as he laughed.

"Natalie Carter, you’re the first person to make me laugh in a long time!"

Yes, even my name is that plain.

From that night on, he started to give me a little bit of attention. From rejecting all ten of my invitations, to occasionally saying yes once or twice if he was in a good mood. Sometimes, he’d even graciously eat the food I brought him.

But in the end, we got together. It wasn’t like some rom-com where he was moved by me and turned over a new leaf. He was just tired of playing around, and his family was pressuring him to get married.

I had a high degree, wasn’t in his social circle, had a decent job, and was responsible and good at managing a household. Everyone in Ethan’s family except him liked me.

At Thanksgiving, his mom handed me a plate loaded with sweet potato casserole and whispered, "It’s so nice to finally see Ethan with someone real." The Macy’s parade blared in the background.

I didn’t care about the reason. I just knew I’d never have nightmares about ugly husbands and ugly sons again.

The day I posted our marriage on Instagram, my phone buzzed with likes and heart emojis. For once, I let myself enjoy the attention. I held my head high—slapping the faces of all those who said I was delusional!

At the wedding—Looking at Ethan’s face, which could’ve been a sculptor’s masterpiece, I was so excited I was burning up. His abs showed faintly through his shirt, tempting me. When the officiant told us to kiss, I deliberately brushed against his broad chest and little pink nipples.

If only I could tie him up—not in a creepy way, but just to keep him close for once. I’d settle for a diamond-patterned rope harness and a guarantee he’d stay the night. The more I thought about it, the weaker my legs became.

Ethan didn’t notice a thing. After all, I’m an honest person! He kissed me perfunctorily—he had technique, but no feeling. I didn’t mind. I could make myself happy.

That night—I was so happy I could burst. My heart felt like a sponge soaked full of spring water. I let out a satisfied sigh. The only flaw: Ethan had zero sense of service, never considered my feelings at all. After all, I might be the plainest person he’d ever slept with.

Outside, the streetlights looked like artificial stars, making up for humanity’s regret at losing the night sky. Looking at Ethan’s sleeping face, I couldn’t help but smile. Those sharp, thick eyebrows, that high nose bridge, those perfectly shaped lips—Damn, so good-looking. Even better than celebrities.

Except he doesn’t like me—otherwise, he’d be perfect. But who’s perfect, really? As long as he doesn’t get disfigured, I love him! We honest people are just that loyal.