My Sweetheart Is the Male Protagonist of the Pornographic Novel

Standing at the doorway with my suitcase in hand, I murmured softly, "She’s different."

My words were so faint, carried away by the breeze, leaving no trace.

Yet, in the vast silence of our villa, each syllable resonated clearly.

Young Eleanor, at the age of eighteen, had all of Benjamin’s love. Secure in being loved, she was confident that Benjamin would never love anyone else.

But at the age of thirty-eight, I was slowly being discarded by him, left with nothing, and eventually even committed to a mental institution.

The intense love we once shared had faded over the past decade, becoming as fragile as thin paper, crumbling at the slightest touch.

Once, Benjamin couldn’t bear to let me carry anything heavy. Now, I could lug my suitcase with both hands.

"I believe Benjamin won't change.

"He won't."

The eighteen-year-old Eleanor’s face was set with determination, her voice brimming with unwavering trust in Benjamin.

I glanced at her youthful, innocent face beside me, suppressing the bitterness rising in my chest. I didn’t want to shatter her beautiful illusions. But the harshness of reality wouldn’t change. It would continue to cut into us like a knife, leaving deep, painful wounds.

It hurt a lot.

Eighteen-year-old Eleanor was full of vitality. Her eyes were full of love and trust, as well as expectation and longing for the future.

But now, those memories were like stinging slaps, leaving me humiliated and unable to lift my head.

I had turned her future into a mess.

I ruined her expectations.

Realizing this, it felt like a massive weight pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My body trembled, trying to endure the searing pain that pierced my heart.

Choking back tears, I forced a smile, my voice hoarse and laden with guilt. "He... doesn’t love me anymore.

"I’m sorry... I’ve let you down."

After that, young Eleanor didn't show up for a long time, and I focused on my pregnancy in the villa.

My health had always been fragile, plagued with illnesses since childhood. Finally conceiving a child made me exceptionally cautious.

Every day, Mia, who cleaned our house, would look at me with reddened eyes, full of guilt and hesitation.

I simply ignored her and focused on my own thing.

Mia seemed eager to make amends, bringing me pastries and cakes, which I consistently refused, and Benjamin saw it all.

Benjamin noticed my repeated rejections and frowned, instructing her, "Eleanor doesn’t like these. Don’t prepare them anymore."

Mia’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Benjamin, stubbornly tilting her head to keep them from falling. A hint of desire flickered in his eyes as he smirked and said in a low voice, "Make them for me tonight."

Clink--

The sound of a fork hitting a porcelain plate echoed in the room.

Both of them were startled by my actions. Benjamin asked me, "What's wrong?"

I said calmly, "It's a bit disgusting."

Benjamin's expression changed. "Would you like to try something sour?"