She gently stroked my face and murmured,"Your beard isn't quite clean yet; you should shave it again."

An inexplicable shiver ran through me, and an unsettling feeling suddenly surged within. In a flurry, I spun around and hurried back to the bathroom, with her following close behind."Don't move, let me do it," she said, her expression serious as she picked up the razor. I watched her with nervous eyes, my heart racing.

The razor glided lightly over my throat, and I couldn't help but swallow. My Adam's apple bobbed under the edge of the blade."Don't move," she whispered, her voice carrying a subtle command.

In that fleeting moment, I felt as though I had been transported seven years back, to a time when she had gently shaved my beard in the same way. Although I had often feared she might seize the moment to make a swift strike across my neck, she always handled the task with such care and tenderness. After finishing, she ran her hands over my neck and face, checking for any missed spots."All done, you can wash your face now," she said, her voice as soft and warm as a spring breeze, snapping me from my reverie.

I quickly splashed my face with hot water, my heart pounding as if it were a drum within my chest. That damn woman had me in such a state, making my pulse race uncontrollably. I stepped out, and she spoke again,"Hurry, I'll go buy you a new outfit."

"No need," I quickly protested, wondering what scheme she was planning now.

"You're going to meet my mother," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument, her eyes filled with a firm resolve that made refusal impossible.

We went to the mall, where she led me to a designer counter, her eyes scanning the array of clothes with the precision of a predator choosing its prey. She selected a black suit and handed it to me."Try this on and let me see."

I had a fairly standard build, and when I emerged wearing the suit, her eyes brightened, as if she had uncovered a rare treasure."Does it suit you?" she asked.

"I think it's fine; there's nothing to worry about," I replied, though a knot of anxiety formed in my chest, uncertain whether she would approve.

"Try this blue one on," she said, handing me another suit to try.

When I came out in the blue suit, her expression faltered for a moment, a slight frown creasing her brow, as though she was lost in thought. Turning to the sales assistant, she instructed,"I'll take both of these." Then, she guided me to select shirts and a belt, adjusting the belt by punching new holes. She paid at the counter, and when I glanced at the prices, I nearly gasped—over sixty thousand for the suits, with the shirt and belt costing over four thousand. My God, I couldn't imagine such luxury, not even in my past when I would have feared wearing such expensive clothes for fear of my father's disapproval.

When she returned with the clothes, she handed me both pockets."Here, take them."

I whispered,"These clothes are far too expensive."

She shot me a look, and though I couldn't be certain, I swore I saw a touch of frustration in her gaze."Can you not say so much?"

She then took me to Ferragamo, where she bought me a pair of shoes, spending nearly ten thousand more. The speed with which she spent money left me feeling embarrassed, as if to her, money was nothing more than a series of numbers.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Grabbing my hand, she urged,"Quickly, we need to change. My mom will be here soon."

Back at the hotel, I hurriedly changed into the new clothes. She walked over in a daze, straightening my outfit, and even took a lighter from my pocket to burn off the price tag.

Watching her busy with these tasks, warmth flooded my chest, and I couldn't help but laugh."Why are you so nervous?"

With a helpless expression, she handed me the lighter."Let's go."

For the second time that day, we found ourselves at the airport, but this time to pick someone up. She checked the flight information on her phone, then stood up, her voice tense."The plane has landed."

We waited at the exit, and though I had no idea what Sophie's mother was like, an inexplicable nervousness took hold of me, as if I were about to meet my mother-in-law. I hadn't asked Sophie much about her mother, assuming it was all just part of a performance.

Her mother emerged, yet as Sophie led me to greet the woman before me, every image I had conjured of Sophie's mother was completely overturned. She appeared remarkably youthful, her skin smooth and taut, her face adorned with a confident, radiant smile. Her attire was impeccable, a far cry from that of someone lacking in means. She wore a pale blue silk dress, paired with exquisitely crafted high heels, and on her wrist, she sported a gleaming watch. I thought to myself, Sophie must truly adore her mother, for the price of such an ensemble would not be modest.

"Mom, this is Ryan. Ryan, this is my mom," Sophie said with a warm smile as she made the introduction.

"Good afternoon, Auntie," I quickly approached, taking her suitcase with respect and offering a polite greeting.

Her mother smiled warmly at me, "Ryan, I'm so glad to finally meet you. Sophie always says you're busy and never in the country, so I've been eager to meet you. It's a pleasure to meet my son-in-law; I must say, you're quite impressive."

"Mom, let's head to the hotel," Sophie gently urged, taking her mother's hand.

"Of course, we'll have plenty of time to chat later," her mother nodded in agreement.

Throughout the ride, Sophie and her mother chatted incessantly. Several times, her mother attempted to speak with me, but Sophie interrupted each time. They discussed family matters, reminisced about the past, and made plans for the future. Their laughter filled the car, leaving me feeling somewhat ill at ease and out of place.

Upon arriving at the hotel, I waited downstairs while they settled in. Soon, they emerged and were ready to leave.

Her mother, as she got into the car, remarked, "This time, you've certainly kept Ryan busy, haven't you?"

I quickly replied, "Auntie, it's the least I could do."

Sophie interjected, "Mom, stop saying that. Isn't this what he should do as my fiancé?"

I remained on high alert, silently reminding myself not to say anything that might expose a flaw. Sophie's mother seemed very perceptive, and one careless comment could easily give me away.

Once inside the private room at the restaurant, Sophie excused herself to the restroom. Seizing the moment, her mother drew closer, her gaze sharp and penetrating, as if she could read my innermost thoughts. "Ryan, have you and Sophie had a disagreement?" she asked, her tone laced with both concern and suspicion.

I was caught off guard, hastily shaking my head. "Auntie, there's no problem between Sophie and me. We haven't had an argument."

Her mother frowned slightly, clearly unconvinced. "Ryan, if something's on your mind, don't hesitate to tell me. I'm here to listen and to support you."

I forced a stiff smile, "Auntie, truly, there's nothing wrong."

She sighed, a trace of exhaustion and resignation in her eyes. "Ryan, I can't thank you enough for the help you've given our family over the years. I've always wanted to express my gratitude, but I never had the chance until now."

A sudden tightness gripped my chest, but I masked my unease and replied, "Auntie, you're too kind. I did it because Sophie and I are in a relationship—it's only natural." In truth, my heart was a storm of turmoil, knowing my actions had not been entirely virtuous.

Her mother nodded, a flicker of both gratitude and sorrow passing through her eyes. "Ryan, Sophie's father was a disappointment. After we divorced, I never imagined he would leave us with such crippling gambling debts. Sophie never told me a word—she would rather take on part-time jobs to support herself than burden me. If you hadn't paid off Sophie's debts all those years ago, where would she be today? Perhaps her life would have been ruined."