You’ll Stay With Me, Won’t You?Chapter 1

To ensure the heroine's successful conquest, the System faked my death.

I woke up six years later.

Penniless, I stood on the street, the hero and heroine already living a blissful life. I'd just escaped a fire, so disheveled I’d lost a shoe.

Feeling a bit lost, I messaged Henry Darcy.

"…Could you pick me up?"

The call came back quickly.

But it wasn't Henry speaking.

A child’s voice, after a moment of silence, spoke with forced aloofness:

"Oh, another one pretending to be my mom."

* * *

He still came though.

A kind passerby had told him my location.

The breathing on the other end of the line hitched.

The soft voice, however, hung up decisively.

"Be there soon."

Returning the borrowed phone to the passerby, I silently thanked them.

A fever in my youth had damaged my vocal cords, and ever since, I couldn't speak.

Soon enough, a car pulled up in front of me.

A little boy jumped out, his legs kicking.

When he saw my face, his eyes flickered. He kept a poker face, silently assessing me for a moment.

His gaze fell on my shoeless foot.

Disheveled, dirty, covered in soot.

Because I had just escaped a fire.

I'd woken up to find myself six years in the future.

My fingers curled, and I belatedly felt a pang of embarrassment.

But I pretended not to care, signing:

"I didn’t mean to bother you."

"Could I borrow some money? I'll leave right away."

Six years had passed; the hero and heroine were already living happily ever after.

Even my own child now called someone else 'Mom'.

Mid-sentence, I remembered Alan Darcy couldn't understand sign language.

I borrowed the driver's phone, about to type, but Alan, looking rather unhappy, pulled me into the car.

It was rush hour, and I thought he was upset because of the impatient honking from the cars behind us.

He turned his head, staring out the window, saying nothing. So I handed him the phone.

Alan, his small face serious, asked me:

"How much money do you want?"

I typed: "One thousand dollars."

Alan stared at the three words for a moment, then, a little unsure, said:

"Ten million?"

My vision went black.

My eyes widened in disbelief, and I quickly waved my hands.

Alan pursed his lips, his voice childish:

"Not enough?"

"I don't have that much money, I'll ask Dad to give it to you when we get home."

I tapped furiously on the phone screen.

But he pushed the phone away, his tender voice muffled:

"Too many words I don't know, I can't read it."

How many words could a six-year-old really know?

Just moments ago, he understood complex words like "borrow money," but now he couldn't distinguish between "thousand" and "million."

I sighed in frustration. Looking down, I noticed Alan's shoes were on the wrong feet, and his socks were mismatched.

Was he too rushed to leave?

I bit my lip, feeling a little sad, and pointed, wanting to remind him.

But he seemed to misunderstand, tilting his head and asking:

"You want to hold hands?"

He frowned, looking conflicted, but still extended his hand.

"Fine, I guess I can let you hold my hand for a bit."