My Neighbour Is My Cousin Brother

Another Hope Broken

Chapter Ten: The Cold Light of Reality

The sun rose over the Maldives with a brutal, unforgiving clarity. It wasn't the soft, romantic glow depicted in the dramas Mark had been watching; it was a sharp, piercing white light that cut through the glass walls of the villa and landed directly on Mark’s closed eyelids.

His first sensation was the throbbing in his temples—a rhythmic, dull ache that signaled the aftermath of the vintage wine. His second sensation, however, was much more alarming. He felt a weight across his midsection, a heavy, warm pressure that shouldn't have been there.

Mark opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurry. The first thing he saw was the polished mahogany leg of the coffee table. The second thing he saw was a broad, muscular chest covered in a faint sheen of morning sweat.

He was lying on the rug, his head pillowed on Leo’s shoulder. His own shirt was gone, discarded somewhere near the sofa, and Leo was equally bare, his silk tie acting as a makeshift belt for a pair of trousers that were barely hanging on his hips. The memories of the night before hit Mark like a series of rapid-fire punches: the wine, the BL drama, the clumsy challenge, and the way Leo’s lips had felt against his neck—not as a weapon, but as an exploration.

Mark tried to sit up, but the movement caused Leo to groan in his sleep. Leo’s arm, thick with muscle and radiating heat, tightened instinctively around Mark’s waist, pulling him back down. For a moment, Mark froze. In the silence of the room, he could hear the steady thrum of Leo’s heart. It was a human sound. It wasn't the sound of a CEO or a manipulator; it was just a man.

Maybe I was wrong, Mark thought, his mind racing through the fog of the hangover. Maybe this year doesn't have to be a war. Maybe we can find a way to exist that doesn't involve breaking each other.

The thought felt like a betrayal of his own revenge, but it was also a relief. He was tired of being angry. He was tired of the masks. He looked at Leo’s sleeping face—relaxed for the first time, the harsh lines around his mouth softened by sleep—and a dangerous spark of hope ignited in Mark’s chest. He decided, right then, in the quiet of the morning, that he would give this marriage a genuine try. Not for the parents, not for the reputation, but for the chance that something real could grow from the wreckage.

Slowly, carefully, Mark disentangled himself from Leo’s grip. He stood up, his legs slightly shaky, and found his sweater. He walked to the kitchen, his mind already planning. He would make breakfast. He would wait for Leo to wake up, and they would talk—sober, honest talk. No scripts. No games.

Two hours later, the scent of fresh coffee and grilled tropical fruit filled the villa. Mark sat at the dining table, his heart hammering a nervous rhythm. He had showered and dressed in a clean white linen shirt, looking every bit the "blushing bride" his mother wanted him to be, but with a newfound sincerity in his eyes.

Leo emerged from the hallway, looking like he had been dragged through a storm. He was wearing a fresh shirt, but it was unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair was damp and messy. He stopped when he saw Mark, his expression instantly shifting into a guarded, defensive mask.

"The wine was a mistake," Leo said, his voice gravelly and cold. He didn't look at the breakfast Mark had prepared. He walked straight to the espresso machine.

"Leo, wait," Mark said, standing up. "I know it was... a lot. But I was thinking about what happened. Not the drinking, but the fact that we actually talked. We weren't fighting for a few hours."

Leo turned, a cup of black coffee in his hand. "We weren't talking, Mark. We were hallucinating. We were playing out some fantasy our mothers forced into our heads. It didn't mean anything."

"It could," Mark countered, stepping toward him. "We’re trapped here for a month, Leo. And we’re trapped in this marriage for a year. Why spend it trying to destroy each other? I’m willing to start over. A real try. No more revenge from my side, and no more coldness from yours. Let’s just be... Mark and Leo."

For a split second, Leo’s eyes softened. He looked at the table, at the effort Mark had put in, and for the first time, he seemed to be considering a white flag. He opened his mouth to speak, but the chime of a satellite phone on the counter interrupted him.

It was a notification for a private, encrypted courier message.

Leo frowned and picked up the device. Mark watched him, the hope in his chest beginning to wither as he saw Leo’s face transform. The hesitation vanished. The softness disappeared. A look of intense, almost painful longing swept over Leo’s features.

"What is it?" Mark asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Leo didn't answer. He tapped the screen, opening a scanned image of a handwritten letter.

Mark stepped closer, his eyes scanning the elegant, flowing script on the screen. He didn't need to read the whole thing to know who it was from. The signature at the bottom was clear: Lily.

Leo, the letter began. I shouldn't be writing this. I know you’re on your honeymoon. I know I walked away at the mansion, but the sight of you with him... it haunts me. I’m back in the city, staying at our old spot. I realize now that the scandal doesn't matter. You are the only one I want. If there is any part of you that still belongs to me, please... find a way to see me when you return. I’ll be waiting.

The air in the kitchen turned icy. Mark felt like the floor had been pulled out from under him. The "try" he was about to offer felt like a joke. He was standing there with breakfast and a heart full of hope, while Leo was staring at a screen like it was the Holy Grail.

"She’s back," Leo whispered, almost to himself. He didn't even realize he was speaking aloud. His thumb brushed over the image of her signature on the glass screen.

"Leo," Mark said, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief. "I’m standing right here. We just spent the night in each other’s arms. I just told you I wanted to make this work."

Leo looked up, and the coldness was back, ten times stronger than before. "You heard what I said this morning, Mark. Last night meant nothing. It was the wine."

"And her?" Mark pointed at the phone. "Does she mean nothing? You’re married, Leo! You made vows! Even if they were fake, you gave your word to our families!"

"My word was coerced," Leo snapped, shoving the phone into his pocket. He looked at Mark with a sneer that cut deeper than any blade. "You were the one who brought the parents into the room. You were the one who forced this marriage. Don't act like the victim now because your 'prisoner' still wants his freedom."

"I was trying to save us both from a year of misery!" Mark shouted, tears of frustration pricking his eyes.

"There is no 'us,' Mark," Leo said, walking toward the door. "There is me, there is the company, and there is Lily. You are just a legal technicality I have to endure for twelve months. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to the gym."

Leo slammed the door behind him, leaving Mark alone in the beautiful, sun-drenched kitchen.

Mark looked down at the grilled fruit, now cooling and unappetizing on the plates. He felt a wave of nausea. He had been so stupid. He had let a few hours of drunken closeness trick him into thinking that a man like Leo could change. He had opened his heart, and Leo had used it as a stepping stone to get back to Lily.

Mark walked over to the counter and picked up one of the breakfast plates. With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled it against the wall. The ceramic shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, spraying fruit and juice across the white marble—a perfect mess to match his life.

"Fine," Mark hissed, his voice thick with tears he refused to let fall. "You want to chase her? Go ahead. But I’m not going to be the quiet little spouse waiting at home. You want a year of marriage? I’ll give you a year you’ll never forget. And by the time it’s over, Leo, I’ll be the one walking away, and you’ll be the one left with nothing but a letter and a broken heart."

He sat back down at the table, picking up a fork with a shaking hand. He began to eat, every bite tasting like ash. The "try" was over. The ceasefire was dead.

The island was no longer a honeymoon destination. It was a training ground. Mark realized that if he wanted to survive the next year, he had to become even colder than Leo. He had to learn how to play the game so well that Leo wouldn't even realize he was losing until the very end.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Mark stared out at the ocean, his gaze as hard as flint. The "blushing bride" was gone. The "hopeful lover" was dead.

In their place was a man who understood the true cost of a beautiful lie. And he was ready to pay it, as long as it meant Leo would eventually lose everything.