Chapter Text
After multiple high-profile events which Anya had to attend for the sake of her mission, she was relieved to go to a casual meetup with her Eden friends. It was also nice to get a chance to interact with people who weren’t Damian or her colleagues. Anya eagerly anticipated the few hours she could spend without caring about work or her… relationship with Damian (whatever relationship they shared now). The ever-friendly and charismatic Becky was the host, and so Anya arrived at the Blackbell mansion feeling comparatively relaxed.
“And here comes our very own Mrs. Desmond!”
“Haha, we all knew Anya would get married to Damian.”
Anya laughed sheepishly. “Aww girls, you’re making me embarrassed.” Despite that, she was glad to see everyone. Getting married had kept her extremely busy, and Anya was thankful for a chance to catch up with her Eden girls.
Over her years at Eden, Anya had formed a close knit circle with a group of girls. They were people who didn’t mind her “weirdness” and stupid smirks, and Anya treasured them deeply. Some of them were in different social circles, but they still got along well.
Becky, of course, was still single and pining after unattainable older men. Sara Seymour, a sensible yet blunt woman, was engaged to Eden classmate Theodore Russell. (As a tween, Becky had a crush on the blond Theodore, but he got a haircut, and she dropped him immediately). But everybody knew Sara’s true lover was her best friend Jessica Clark. They had gotten together as teenagers and it was an open secret in their year group. It was honestly a miracle it hadn’t reached their parents. Anya could remember their entire class working together to protect Sara and Jessica’s secret. Those were the good times.
“I guess it could be worse,” Sara mumbled. “Like, Theodore doesn’t mind that I’m not interested in men, and I honestly think he’s happier if I leave him alone. And like, he knows about me and Jessica. He says it’s fine if she stays over sometimes because we’re,” Sara made air quotes, “best friends, right?”
Next to her, with their hands intertwined, Jessica sighed. “The only problem is that my parents might force me to get married and have kids. I’m trying to delay it, but I don’t think it can be helped…”
Jessica used to be the star mathematician at Eden. She’d gone to Berlint University and went on to study masters. Jessica said it was “gracious” for her parents to fund her higher education. She had wanted to be researcher or a professor, but her parents forbade her. Anya personally found it upsetting. Jessica came from a well established family who definitely had the funds to sponsor her. They had such a uniquely talented daughter, talented even in the prestigious Eden Academy, so why would they ever discourage her from chasing her dreams?
“But, Sara,” Becky piped in, “is Theodore seeing someone else too?”
Sara shrugged. “No. He told me he’s never liked anyone romantically, so he feels awful whenever his family makes him court someone. I think that’s why he chose me— he knows I’ll never like him that way. And I know he’ll never like me that way. It’s a marriage of convenience.”
“That’s awfully pragmatic.” Becky, the local romantic, looked a little upset. “I guess it can’t be helped.”
A heavy silence fell among the young women. Giselle, who was sitting next to Anya, let out a sigh, and Anya felt like sighing as well.
Giselle Gibson used to be the “princess” of their year and she was the most popular with the guys. As their year’s best ballet dancer, Giselle’s skills shone in the arts department. With her beauty and grace, surely she would find an amazing husband, right? But no, Giselle was engaged to a perverse old man with greying hair who was definitely old enough to be her father. It was her parents’ decision, something about economic ties and whatnot, and Giselle could not protest. Anya’s stomach churned just thinking about it.
While Giselle and Anya were both in so-called arranged marriages, it was different because Anya and Damian treated each other as equals. They knew each other, and he was in her age group. When Giselle announced her engagement, the other girls were saddened, but not surprised. It was the fate of upper class women to be trophy wives to men too old for them.
(Back in Eden, there was a time when Giselle had a crush on Damian. She’d asked if he liked someone, and he’d gently rejected her by saying “I do like someone, and I think I’ll always like her.” That person, of course, was Anya.)
“Maybe I should’ve fought harder,” Giselle mumbled. She always had a reputation for being gentle and kind, and perhaps that led to her tendency of being a doormat. Upon seeing her friends’ worried faces, she smiled. “Don’t worry, girls, I won’t let him do anything to me.”
“Chop his dick off.” Alice Paulette, as blunt and as bold as she was at fourteen, said directly. They all chuckled. This was the kind of language that would’ve gotten her into trouble at Eden.
“Blackmail him,” Becky offered. “I bet he has a lot of dark secrets.”
“Pretend to be harmless, then secretly hire an assassin to kill him so you get all of his money,” Anya said. She could feel her fingers twitching. Heh, I inherited Ma’s bloodlust after all. No one’s gonna hurt my friends.
In fact, Anya had done research on that man (ugh, she refused to name him). She had reluctantly concluded that killing him would lead to instability, but it wasn’t like she could stop people from hiring assassins, right? Maybe one of his enemies would be successful. And then Giselle would be free.
(But that was just wishful thinking. If Giselle’s husband was in danger, she would be too. In reality, it was better for them to stay put.)
“Anya, you’re lucky,” Giselle said wistfully, her voice pulling Anya out of her thoughts. “You’re the only one out of us who’s married to someone you love.”
Anya’s heart skipped a beat at the word “love”. All of her friends were nodding along. Her palms began to sweat.
“Damian was a jerk when we were young, but he’s so smitten with you even now.”
Alice was notoriously hard to please. She and Becky had been relentlessly critical of Damian when he tried to court Anya in their teenage years. But now, even Alice had been won over by Damian.
“You guys really have the perfect love story. Even if Damian is the most annoying brat on the planet.” Ah, of course Becky was back with her usual Damian slander. Anya held back a giggle. “But if he makes you happy, he makes you happy.”
“I heard about you guys from Sally Sherman.” Alice wagged a finger in Anya’s direction. “She says you visited him at work and bought him pastries. That is so disgustingly sweet of you. Blegh, newlyweds.”
Giselle giggled, the mood now lightened. “And to think people once believed I had a chance with him!”
“Giselle, you are so out of Damian’s league,” Becky deadpanned, then remembered Damian’s wife was literally present. “Sorry, Anya. You know I can’t help making fun of Damian.”
“Oh no, I agree,” Anya replied humorously. “Giselle, you are out of his league. Damian’s still a jerk. Sometimes. Oh well, he’s my husband now, so I’m used to it, heh.”
Alice scowled, but they knew it was in a lighthearted fashion. “And here we have the nauseating couple being nauseating again,” she announced. “This is awful. How did we all survive Eden?”
“Can you imagine being Ewen and Emile though? Seeing Damian go through it every single day?” Sara chuckled.
“He was so whipped for you,” Jessica recalled. “I wasn’t in Cecil Hall, but I heard the rumours. Like when you smiled at him and he walked straight into a wall.”
“Cecil Hall was known for being the noisiest hall thanks to you guys arguing every single day. Thank God you guys actually got together because the sexual tension was unbearable.”
Jessica glanced at Alice, an amused smile on her face. “If you thought Eden Academy was unbearable, then Berlint University was a new layer of hell. Those two were exes, but they were so obsessed with each other. All of those dumb pranks and antics they pulled, with Damian turning into a speechless buffoon whenever she was around…”
Anya rolled her eyes, albeit fondly. “Guys, I know it’s fun to reminisce but I do have the duty to defend my husband.”
At that, everybody groaned dramatically. “We get it!” Alice yelled, swinging her glass of wine around. “You’re happily married!”
The topic of marriage was brought up again, and Anya faltered. She recalled that her friends were currently in loveless matches. “Sorry, I… it wasn’t my intention to rub it in your faces.”
“Oh please, you two have been rubbing it in everyone’s faces since you met.” Becky pressed her palm to her forehead, exasperated but amused.
Sara sniggered. “That’s soulmate behaviour for you.”
Anya’s heart sank yet again. She’d assumed being around people who didn’t know about the mission would be relaxing, but it was becoming more difficult to keep up the ruse. These girls were her bosom friends and she’d known them for two decades. It pained Anya to hide secrets from them. Her marriage with Damian was an especially sensitive case because they genuinely believed it was real. That Anya and Damian had miraculously recovered from their devastating highschool breakup and would live together happily ever after. Except that was a big, fat lie.
Anya and Damian, as a couple, were a beacon of light for their Eden peers. Everyone was invested in their romance. During her teenage years, Anya didn’t notice it as she was wrapped up in Operation Strix and her various secrets, but now that she looked back, it was painfully obvious. Everybody knew of them, teachers and students alike. Public interest in them began in their first year when Anya punched Damian’s face. They were the perfect couple that everybody expected to get together even though he was from a rich family and she was a commoner girl. People believed in love because of them. They were a symbol of hope.
And that made the breakup so much worse, because in a way it felt like everybody’s break up. The precariously maintained status quo had toppled. People could no longer gush over them. It didn’t help that they shared many mutual friends who were torn between the two of them. Anya and Damian had independently come to the conclusion that their friends’ involvement should be minimal. None of their friends ever knew the true reason for the breakup, so they weren’t much help. It was for the better that Anya moved away to prevent awkwardness. Becky then became the middleman between Anya and Damian. She was well-intentioned and deeply cared for both of them, but she could never understand how they had irrevocably wounded each other.
Anya’s musing was interrupted by Alice waving her hand in front of Anya’s face. “Hello? Earth to Anya Forger— sorry, I’m saying that out of habit. You feeling alright?”
Anya blinked. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking about… stuff.”
Becky frowned. Even though Anya had managed to lie to Becky’s face for two decades now, Becky could be scarily perceptive (her only blind spot was Anya). “Anya, you know we can see it in your eyes.”
“Don’t be afraid to tell us if there’s trouble in paradise,” Sara chimed in.
“Or you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. We’ll support you regardless,” Giselle added.
Anya gulped, nervous. Was her melancholy that obvious? She was supposed to be the great Agent Starlight, following in the footsteps of her father Agent Twilight, the master of disguise!
“Did that man hurt you?” Becky demanded, ignoring the fact that she was one of said man’s closest friends.
Did Damian hurt her? They had a peculiar relationship, but he never tried to hurt her. Anya thought about him: his serious eyes scanning files, his scribbled handwriting asking for lemon macarons, the low hum of the vacuum on Sunday mornings she was exhausted from missions, the warmth of his hand when she held it, the familiar scent of his coat, his ugly scowl, the familiar glimmer in his eyes when they argued, the way he was distant yet intimately intertwined in her life. Damian Desmond. Her colleague. Her ex. Her husband.
“Ooh look, she’s thinking,” Alice called out. Jessica and Sara peered at Anya, both of them concerned.
A flash of emotion descended upon Anya. It almost felt like anger.
“Damian would never hurt me,” she blurted out. The words were instinctive. It didn’t feel like her words, yet she knew they were. “At least, he would never want to hurt me.”
Anya knew that was true… most of the time. The only exception was when they had their big fight when she told him about Strix and her powers. But his reaction back then was totally understandable. Things had been rough between them when they reconnected as adults, but it could be worse.
Now, they were like roommates. Roommates with a suspicious amount of lingering romantic tension. They stayed civil most of the time, and it helped that they were usually too tired to argue.
The girls exchanged glances. Anya gulped, the consequences of her outburst lingering in the air. Would they finally realize her and Damian weren’t in a real marriage?
“Sorry, I guess I’ve been stressed lately.” Anya laughed to lighten the tension.
Alice coughed. “No, don’t be sorry. We shouldn’t have pushed it. Y’know, we heard about that party when someone tripped you and Damian caught you. I understand there’s a lot of public discussion about you two, so it’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Anya internally winced at the reminder of that night. “The media has always been harsh on Damian.” She would know. She had religiously followed news of him and the Desmonds in the years she was away. For a while, the blurry, black-and-white pictures of an emotionless Damian was all he let her see.
“That’s true, but some of the gossip magazines have been portraying you two in a favourable light,” Sara pointed out. “A modern-day Cinderella story. A love that crosses castes. Childhood friends and highschool sweethearts. A lot of people think you guys are super cute.”
More meaningless descriptions of Damian and Anya, the all-powerful and loving married couple. Anya had heard them all. She nodded to be polite.
“You know, oddly enough, this is one of the few things Theo and I talk about.” Sara gave a light chuckle, but there was pain in her eyes. “The highly polarized reactions to our highschool classmates getting married. It’s horrific how some publications completely twist the truth. People see the stories they want to see, and they ignore the rest. It is the way it is.”
Sara’s self-assured voice made it seem like she thought she knew the truth about Anya and Damian. Except she didn’t. If Sara thought the false narratives by the media were horrific, she would be devastated by the truth that she would never learn.
Jessica reached for Sara’s hand, and grasped it firmly. “The media will paint us in a different light. They’ll say we’re best friends, they’ll say you and Theodore are happily married, but we know the truth. We all know the truth. And that is one thing they won’t ever take from us.”
Jessica sounded sorrowful, angry, and fiercely loving at the same time. The circle of girls— no, young women— were silent.
“I wish I could marry you.” The words tumbled out of Sara’s mouth, raw and unfiltered in her devotion.
“I wish they’ll let us,” was Jessica’s murmured, passionate reply. She rested her head on Sara’s shoulder, savouring the intimacy, and the two stayed that way.
Truth. Lies. Love. Deceit. Marriages for convenience, marriages for business, marriages for keeping secrets. Anya knew she was lucky for being married to Damian, even if their marriage was a sham.
So people who loved each other couldn’t get married. And people who didn’t love each other could get married. What an unfair world they lived in.
But it would be disrespectful to compare Giselle’s future marriage to Anya and Damian’s marriage. As callous as it might sound, Anya knew she had a good deal. She had someone who knew her darkest secrets, someone who respected her, and most importantly, someone she could trust. Trusting was easier than loving. In fact, that was how Loid and Yor’s relationship started in the first place.
If only being married meant you were in love…
The eventful days passed by, fast-paced yet agonisingly slow. Damian’s schedule was as busy as always, and he had to squeeze in time for his duties as Agent Midnight. He barely had any free time, and went to sleep immediately when he came home. Anya wasn’t much better. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, disguises were strewn over the living room, and Anya’s supposedly top secret notes were plastered on the fridge. Yet, they somehow made it work. Anya sent Damian ciphers at work to conserve time, they managed to get sufficient sleep, they silently patched up each other’s wounds in the bathroom, and nobody died of a gunshot (yet).
Anya and Damian barely talked unless it came to their shared missions. It was both a welcome break and unsettling. They sent each other instructions through notes (“vacuum the floor” “buy vegetables” “we need more ammo”) and noiselessly cleaned after each other’s messes. To be honest, the lack of communication was worrying Damian.They didn’t argue, but they didn’t chat either. Damian hoped he wouldn’t forget how to properly communicate with Anya Forger.
After this season of hard work and challenging missions, various social events loomed on the horizon. The most prominent of all was Sara and Theodore’s wedding. Once again, Agents Starlight and Midnight were determined to extract as much information as possible. They were given a list of guests to take note of. Damian’s preliminary research led to the conclusion that most of these people were harmless, but one could never be sure. Still, Damian longed for one social gathering in which he could stop working, even for just a moment.
The wedding would be a night full of pretence in more layers than one. Anya put on a nice dress, Damian put on a matching suit, and they entered the venue with her arm tucked into his and with perfect smiles on their faces. The Desmonds looked sophisticated, but not spectacular enough to draw attention away from the bride and groom. (Although Damian was sure attention was the last thing the bride and groom wanted.)
“I have never seen a couple that lacks as much chemistry as Sara and Theo,” Damian muttered to Anya. The mentioned pair was standing stiffly like pillars of wood, in contrast to Anya and Damian who were whispering to each other. “Individually, they’re both skilled and intelligent, but whenever they’re together, they’re as interesting as a bland piece of bread.”
Anya snorted. “It should be an achievement to look this bored at your own wedding.”
Sara and Theodore, both Eden alumni in the same year, invited their entire year group to witness their “union”. Obviously, everybody knew this was a loveless marriage. And obviously, everybody knew Sara’s true love was her bridesmaid. However, they had to keep it a secret from their parents and the older generation, which led to a somewhat… interesting atmosphere at the wedding.
In short: the older generation was wiping tears and sniffling at how “beautiful” the wedding between two “childhood friends” was. The younger generation was communicating via raised eyebrows and desperately trying not to giggle at how bored Theodore and Sara looked. At the same time, Sara’s supposed best friend Jessica received a disproportionate amount of attention for a bridesmaid.
“How can people still believe they’re actually romantically interested in each other?” Anya wondered to Damian. “No offence to them, but there is not a single ounce of romantic chemistry.”
Damian snorted. “I guess we put on a good show for our wedding then,” he mumbled. Then he paused. Did he indirectly imply they had romantic chemistry?
Great. Him and Anya were having their first non-work conversation in ages, and the first thing Damian did was flirt with Anya. Not that it was a crime to flirt with one’s wife. But it was still awkward given the circumstances.
Anya giggled. Damian supposed it was an appropriate response. Funny how they were making casual banter in public instead of in the privacy of their home. But of course, they didn’t have to act like a married couple at home. They could afford to loosen up when they were at a social event. Because they would certainly look suspicious if they didn’t chat. Strange how even relaxation was part of their elaborate act.
“Damian! Anya! It’s great to see you!”
At the familiar voice, Damian looked up and grinned. “Emile!”
After Damian and his friends had matured into adults, they rarely found the time to meet up. Nonetheless, none of them would ever forget the close bond they shared growing up in Eden. For one moment, Damian forgot about the wedding, forgot about Anya, and forgot about Agent Midnight. He was just Damian Desmond meeting one of his childhood best friends.
Even though Emile was the heir of his family, he’d been allowed a bit more freedom. Emile wasn’t engaged to anyone yet. He once had a girlfriend back at university, but they’d broken up. Emile was infamously indecisive, and his parents were lax, so Emile struggled with choosing what he wanted to study. In the end, he settled with geography, which he claimed “had a bit of everything”.
Damian used to be envious of the choices Emile had. When they were teenagers, there was a period when Damian was childishly angry over how “ungrateful” Emile had seemed. Emile had all the freedom in the world, and he still couldn’t find what he was interested in? When people like Damian had to desperately follow the mold their families forged for them, or be outcasted forever?
Now that Damian thought about it, back at Eden, Emile and Ewen were frequent and unwilling recipients of Damian’s temper tantrums. Most of the time, he wasn’t angry at them specifically, but he took it out on them anyway. Even though Damian was an egotistical jerk, his two best friends supported him unconditionally. Even though he sincerely treasured his friend, there was a time when Damian took them for granted. A young Damian must have been foolishly confident that Emile and Ewen would never leave him. In a way, that young Damian was right. The trio had stuck together through thick and thin. Then, Damian grew up, and began to think he didn’t deserve the two. But he grew up more, and learned it was mean to doubt their friendship and goodwill. As an adult, Damian made sure he was nice to them, like a part of him was subconsciously making up for his childhood antics that they might not even remember.
Sometimes, Damian missed the innocence between him and his boys. He had dim memories of them being children and play fighting in the grass. Whenever the three of them were together, at certain inexplicable moments, Damian could feel the child inside him stir awake: a child who was yet to be tainted by Anya’s betrayal and Operation Strix. That soft, pleasant sensation lingered for half a second, then peacefully returned to its eternal slumber.
Ewen then came by with his girlfriend. They had met when their families set them up on a date, and it surprisingly worked out. Both of them were confidently sprouting bold hairdos. Ewen’s girlfriend had that sort of mischievous slyness Ewen himself was known for in his teenage years, but Damian could see the couple brought out the best in each other. Even if their story wasn’t the most romantic, they were a good match.
Back at school, Ewen had a sharp tongue and was part of the debate team. Now, Ewen used his persuasion skills for family business. Ewen seemed content and settled in. Damian was suddenly sentimental upon seeing how far his childhood friend had come. It was just yesterday when Ewen was a starry-eyed child dreaming of travelling in space. When Damian mentioned it to Ewen, he just laughed.
“You’re the quickest one who became an adult. We always knew you would be the first to get married. You’re just experiencing the sentimentality we went through earlier!”
Ewen inadvertently reminded Damian that he didn’t really view himself as a married man. So while Ewen thought he was joining Damian in the club of “men with partners”, Damian did not feel like he belonged in the first place.
Ewen’s words rang in Damian’s mind: “We always knew you would be the first to get married.” Everyone had expected him to get married, and more importantly, to get married to Anya. To everyone else, they were real. To everyone else, they were an admirable couple who’d suffered through trials and were rewarded with their happily ever after.
Speaking of Anya, they were currently chatting to different Eden alumni. Damian could vaguely see her pink hair. It was nice to catch up with old friends (and of course, useful for information gathering). Damian gave a passing acquaintance a polite nod, turned around and—
“I see you haven’t gone completely bald yet, Mr. Desmond.”
In spite of the snark, Damian couldn’t help but smile. “And good day to you too, Miss Blackbell.”
Becky Blackbell sauntered up to him with her cool, perfect smile. In fact, her smile was so perfect that it was obviously false, and Damian knew it was her way of aggravating him. Becky had probably just finished speaking to Anya. Damian noted that Becky came alone.
“I trust no men have been breaking your heart recently?” Damian inquired in a faux-polite tone, but it was a genuine question. May God have mercy on whoever that tried to hurt, manipulate, or control Becky Blackbell. Even without Damian and Anya pulling strings behind the scenes, Becky was now frighteningly adept at getting revenge on those who’d wronged her.
Becky gave a light, unladylike snort. “I’m beginning to think all the good men are gone or taken. And I’m probably the one doing the heart breaking this time round.”
“Fair enough.”
Damian and Becky stood side by side and observed their surroundings. Tall, dark-haired, and elegant, Damian supposed they were visually complementary. That train of thought caused a forbidden idea to float into his consciousness— something he hadn’t thought about since Handler’s fateful decision.
Damian was painfully aware that in another lifetime, he could very well be married to Becky. If they both remained single for too long, they would probably do it to get everyone to stop bothering them. While Damian knew he would never see Becky as a lover, they were important to each other as friends. And Damian would rather marry Becky than any of the other simpering women who stroked his ego. Becky was intelligent, witty, honest, and loyal— traits Damian liked in a partner, romantic or not.
The possibility haunted him. Him and Becky married. As much as Becky liked insulting Damian, she did trust him more than her other male acquaintances. Plus, from their families’ perspectives, they’d been friends since they met (because of their respective interest in Anya). And Becky was one of the important people who’d helped Damian put his shattered pieces back together after Anya dropped him. It would make sense, even if it was insensitive to marry the best friend of his ex-girlfriend. Maybe, just maybe, if Damian wasn’t in a fake marriage with Anya, he would be in a fake marriage with Becky. Logically speaking, she was a better choice than many others.
(Except Damian couldn’t imagine truly marrying someone who wasn’t Anya.)
“Y’know, Anya said something cute about you,” Becky dropped casually, one arm gracefully on a bannister.
“Oh?” Even though Becky could see right through his emotions, Damian still downplayed his curiosity.
“At our girls' night, she fiercely declared that you would never hurt her.” Becky shot Damian a smile. “Just thought the husband should know.”
“That’s true,” Damian replied, somewhat absentmindedly. Anya had probably said that to convince her friends that they were in a real marriage. Everything was an act. It was just normal business. And if Becky was convinced, then everyone else was. Anya had done a good job.
To avoid lingering on the topic, Damian scanned the venue in search of a distraction. A familiar blond head popped up, and Damian latched onto it. “Andrew Lockridge is here with his fianceé,” he commented. “About time. They look nice together.”
Andrew Lockridge was in their year at Eden and he’d transferred when they were teens. His family ended up being economic allies with the Desmonds, and while the Lockridges didn’t directly contribute to the war, their reputation was tarnished when the Desmond Crisis struck. Like Anya, Andrew withdrew from school (Damian didn’t). Nowadays, Andrew was doing fine. Damian didn’t meet up with him often, but they always had much to say when they did. They were second sons of prominent families and faced similar struggles of insecurity. Damian viewed Andrew as somewhat of a kindred spirit (although he would never admit that to Andrew because it was embarrassing).
Becky followed Damian’s gaze, took one look, and raised one single disbelieving eyebrow. “Damian, are you being satirical? Andrew and his fianceé are clearly in an arranged engagement. There is zero romantic chemistry. They might be friends, but they don’t have that intimacy one might see in Ewen and his girlfriend.”
Damian swallowed. Curse Becky and her eagle eyes for being so intuitive when it came to fake relationships. “How did you tell?” he asked to amuse her.
Becky’s gaze returned to Andrew again, and Damian thought he saw something shift in her eyes. “Andrew doesn’t look like he’s in love,” was Becky’s simple reply.
“Because you know how he looks when he’s in love?” Damian’s reply was automatic, because his mind was immediately preoccupied with: do Anya and I look like we’re in love?
Becky sighed. “Not exactly. I suppose it’s just a gut feeling I have. Speaking of Andrew, remember when he first transferred and you got so obviously jealous? Because you thought Anya had a crush on Bondman’s nephew?”
Damian scowled and hot pinpricks of mortification danced on his neck. “I wish I didn’t remember those foolish days of my youth. And again, to clarify, Andrew didn’t like Anya back then.”
“You’re right, he didn’t. How about the other way round though? I genuinely thought Anya might have a small crush on him. Or maybe she didn’t, and I thought it happened because you were so worked up over it.”
Once Becky had brought up a young Damian’s jealousy, Damian couldn’t help but be reminded of all the love drama Eden Academy was plagued with. It was all so distant, and Damian could barely remember anything except most people were inexplicably connected in a giant, tangled up love web. It was inevitable considering they were children who grew into hormonal teenagers and spent their formative years in a close-knit group. And his hopeless devotion to Anya Forger made him a bright and stable light amidst all the drama and break ups.
It was probably for the better that Damian forgot about most of it.
Though, it was interesting that Becky Blackbell brought up Andrew Lockridge, because Damian faintly remembered being convinced Andrew had a crush on Becky. Or something. Damian couldn’t remember why he thought that way, but the idea wasn’t nonsensical. After all, a lot of people have had crushes on Becky.
(It was really funny when Ewen was going through that phase. It was less funny when Damian was the one dramatically pining after a girl.)
Mercifully, the talk about Damian’s childish jealousy died down when other Eden graduates waltzed into the conversation. After small talk and general catching up, their focus naturally shifted to the stars of the grand spectacle.
“It’s an unfortunate and unfair situation all around.”
“Is it just me who’s scared their parents are going to find out? Jessica, Sara and Theodore aren’t the best at concealing their feelings…”
Becky gave a huff. “I mean, I can’t blame them. We’re Eden Academy graduates; we’ve known each other for two decades. If two of us are in a loveless match or an arranged marriage, it’ll be crystal clear to us.” She was met with nods of agreement.
Damian felt a bead of sweat drip down his back. How much faith did his classmates have in him and Anya? Just how “in love” did they think they were?
“We’ll have to continue keeping their secret,” Damian said out loud. Heads turned to him, but Damian didn’t care. He had to keep up the performance, keep on smiling, keep on pretending everything was real.
Someone sighed. “Although I do wonder if their relatives know, and they’re merely pretending it’s okay because Sara is marrying a man.”
“I’ve thought about it too,” Becky said. “Like, it’ll be easier for everyone if they don’t acknowledge it and keep it under wraps. It’s an open secret. People know the marriage is fake, but no one talks about it.”
The situation was becoming more ironic by the minute. Damian idly wondered if his and Anya’s sham marriage was an open secret. Perhaps people were desperate enough to overlook the obvious holes in their tumultuous relationship— their abrupt, ground-shattering break up, the bitter taunts, and how they were suddenly engaged.
“That’s how a lot of marriages go, don’t they?”
“Yeah, the same thing happened to my cousin…”
Damian couldn’t do anything except nod when everyone else nodded. To all of his classmates, his close friends included, he was a happily wed man. They were intruding into a dangerous territory, and Damian would rather stay silent than accidentally dig a hole for himself.
So when Damian recognised his wife’s pink head bobbing in a sea of figures, he politely excused himself to talk to her. Curiously enough, Anya was engaged in an enthusiastic discussion with Emile, of all people. They both perked up when they saw Damian.
Emile’s expression was sheepish and he vaguely resembled a deer caught in headlights. Over the years, Damian had learned to recognise the micro-expressions and subtle mood shifts of his loved ones (but was it enough to counter Anya’s mind reading?). Damian recalled Emile sometimes made that face when Damian was moping about Anya in the privacy of their dorm room. Damian found it slightly off-putting then, and he still couldn’t make sense of it now. Maybe Emile had a crush on Anya and was jealous of Damian. Whatever it was, it hadn’t mattered in a long time.
“Hope you weren’t gossiping about me behind my back,” Damian greeted drily.
Anya blinked as if stunned, then turned to Emile. Emile was the one who replied. “Ohh, Anya was just giving me love advice. Because I have been sadly single for some time.” Emile pouted, gloomy.
“You’re asking Anya for love advice?” Damian blurted out instinctively. Love advice from his silly, cunning, well-intentioned psychiatrist-slash-spy wife? To be fair, Anya was indeed in a “happy and fulfilling marriage”. She was still a strange choice. Emile would have better luck with Becky.
Anya shot Damian her infamous “heh” smirk. “I thought you knew about my side hustle as the best matchmaker in Berlint,” she drawled. “I’m a total master at romance.”
The satire was obvious, but there was truth in it for Damian specifically, concealed like candy in wrapping paper. Damian was the only person who knew the truth about Anya’s parents. Anya, at the tender age of five, had indeed been a matchmaker for her parents. Of course, this was because Anya could read minds.
Speaking of which, Anya must've found the great Eden teenage love web highly amusing because she knew everything about everyone. Anya, being a foolish teen fascinated by the entertainment the Eden circus provided, likely did some matchmaking on her own. It was sincerely ridiculous that Anya seemed oblivious to Damian’s gigantic crush on her. How was it that “normal” folks knew of Damian’s feelings, but not the odd girl with laboratory-manufactured powers? And Anya was probably the one who pushed her friend Giselle Gibson to confess to Damian when even Giselle herself knew it was hopeless. Some stellar matchmaker Anya Forger was.
“Anya is very perceptive,” Emile said seriously. “You could make a living out of it.”
And that’s exactly what she’s doing as a spy! Damian thought to himself. Tonight, his friends were making comments that were suspiciously close to the truth. Unfortunately, Damian found himself relaxing because he was with familiar people that he trusted. Damian Desmond might be having a good time, but Agent Midnight could not afford any slip ups.
Emile wandered off, and Anya reattached herself to Damian, her arm slipping into his like the good wife she was. Damian lowered his head, and reading his intentions, she looked up to meet him halfway. They were the very image of a couple engaged in private discussion— perhaps even flirtation. His lips were by her ear, and he murmured,
“Find anything interesting tonight?”
“Nothing we don’t know already. But I enjoyed catching up with everyone. I was too stressed at our wedding.”
The amiable chatter came to an end, and the wedding ceremony began. Sara and Jessica, the bride and her bridesmaid, exchanged secret glances. Jessica’s eyes were misty, but Sara kept her composure. Damian wasn’t close with either of the women, but he knew Anya was. Anya watched them carefully, and Damian watched Anya.
Anya’s fingers were subconsciously scrunching up the fabric of her dress, and Damian lifted her fingers one by one to stop the fabric from wrinkling. Anya’s hand was cold and trembling, and she didn’t shy away from Damian’s touch.
“It must be awful to watch the love of your life marry someone else,” she whispered to him.
Her bittersweet words scattered seeds in Damian’s heart, which grew into tendrils of thorns sneaking up his throat. Anya spoke like she had personal experience. Maybe that was what Damian would go through if Anya ended up marrying another agent. Or if she married someone she truly loved. The latter would hurt less because at least Anya was happy.
Damian didn’t dare to think of it the other way round— as in, Anya would be heartbroken watching him marry someone else. Did he have the audacity to assume that? When he’d hurt her like no one else did? Or was it cold of him to think Anya wouldn’t have cared at all— hence doubting her affection for him?
Maturity and immaturity. Assuming Anya Forger hated him. Assuming Anya Forger loved him. Sometimes doubting her felt like a feeble cry from the despicable shadow of his insecure self. Sometimes doubting her was in self-defence, a reminder to not lose himself in her sweet yet deceptive green eyes.
Damian knew for sure Anya cared about him. She never stopped caring for him. Even when they were petty exes, their pranks and bickering were their way of checking up on each other. Their obsession with inconveniencing each other made them up to date with their habits and schedules. Being hated meant that you mattered. After all, the opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference.
And indifference was a great word to describe Theodore and Sara. Damian was sure the two were friends, or at least civil, but they couldn’t be more indifferent romantically. It was blindingly obvious. Their obligatory kiss was painful to watch, and Damian purposely averted his eyes. (Coincidentally, Becky was doing the same, and their eyes met. He and Becky were both horrible, wonderful, judgemental people.)
In the resulting whirlwind of flowers and bridesmaid dresses, it was clear that Sara wanted to spend time with Jessica. And it was clear that Theodore was letting them. Unfortunately, their respective families were loudly celebrating the new union they had just witnessed. Theodore was legitimately grimacing. While Damian felt pity for him as a fellow man in a fake marriage, he was also annoyed by Theodore’s lack of tact. So Damian, being the “egotistic jerk” Becky typed him as, took things in his own hands.
Damian heartily slapped Theodore’s back. “Yo, Theo, my man! Welcome to the club of married men!” he declared loudly and cheerfully. Then with a less than subtle tug, Damian yanked Theodore away from his not-blushing bride. The elders parted for Damian, the married son of the Desmonds. Surely Damian was about to give Theodore a heart-to-heart talk, and surely the elders must let him.
Theodore looked exhausted and drained. He’d always been an introvert, less moody than George Glooman, but unfortunately not very exciting either. What the hell did a tween Becky see in this oat milk of a guy?
Damian then hissed in Theodore’s ear, “Listen, man, I know this sucks. I feel for you, I really do. But you’ve got to act more excited because the families are relentless. The sooner you satisfy them, the sooner they’ll let both of you go.”
Theodore shot Damian a tired glare, and Damian was briefly intrigued to see some emotion on Theodore’s face, even if it was anger. “Easy for you to say,” he accused Damian.
Ah, of course. Theodore thought Damian was rubbing salt in the wound, because Damain was living his fairytale ending with his destined wife. Damian couldn’t do anything except pat Theodore’s back again. They both pretended not to notice Sara and Jessica huddled in a corner.
“Sorry for snapping at you, I didn’t mean it and I know you’re looking out for us,” Theodore said eventually. His voice was tinged with shame. “But it’s just… I’m annoyed by how the families are treating this. We don’t want this extra attention. Even if this was a real wedding with someone who actually wanted to marry me, I would still be frustrated.”
“Yeah, I know. These things can turn into quite the spectacle.”
Theodore snorted. “Spectacle. That’s a fitting word.”
“Hang in there, Theo. It’ll get better at dinner.”
Theodore managed a smile. “I hope it will.”
The dinner ended up being chaotic because the Eden alumni decided to insert themselves, and they loudly talked over the elders. Jokes and silly stories were tossed around the tables. Individually, the alumni were all respectable young adults, but when they were together, part of their youthful immaturity sprang back. They couldn’t help it. Also, alcohol was involved. In the end, it was less of a celebration of a lavender marriage and more of a raucous high school reunion. The involved parties seemed glad the attention was off them. Anya, who was either good at discerning her friends’ emotions or had read their minds, kept on stirring the pot with reminders of their high school shenanigans. After all, no one was immune to her aggravating, inflammatory smirk.
More and more alcohol was consumed. Infectious giggles spilled from table to table. Long buried inside jokes were brought up, as were unflattering nicknames of teachers that still rolled smoothly off their lips. Damian and Anya couldn’t help but let down their guards. Just slightly. Because they were with people they knew and trusted, and it had been so long since they had a moment to breathe and laugh.
Damian was absentmindedly sipping some champagne when he saw that one of Anya’s horns was askew. Naturally, he reached out to her.
“Oy, Forger,” he said automatically. “Take a look in the mirror…”
Then he realized everyone was staring at him. All the laughter had abruptly quieted, leaving them in an awkward silence. Embarrassingly enough, it took him a beat to notice what he did wrong.
An associate gave Damian a strange look. “Funny how you’re calling your wife by her old last name.”
Well, shit. Damian tensed, unsure how to reply. It’s because she’s not really my wife.
Damian laughed lightly. “I guess old habits die hard! I always called her that in high school. I suppose being around my old classmates just made me feel nostalgic.”
The peculiar atmosphere dissolved into chuckles. Sure, school was tough as hell, but they did make a lot of fond memories. Nostalgia was a bitch and Damian and Anya had long utilized it to convince their friends that they were together for real.
A few paces away, Anya laughed along, presumably amused by her husband’s slipup. But what they didn’t know was the slight twinge of bitterness in her heart.
“I’m always Forger to him. He doesn’t see me as his wife— of course he wouldn’t, because we’re not married for real. I never liked the Desmond surname, but for him to say that so easily in public…”
It hurt.
Just a tiny bit.
Damian watched as Anya downed her champagne with a little more force than normal, then returned to smiling at her friends with such a blinding grin that Damian knew had to be fake— he just couldn’t convince his heart to think otherwise.
Dammit. Had he really regressed to the point that he would willingly let Anya Forger (Desmond, Forger, was there a difference?) fool him?
A little while later, Agent Starlight was practising her marksmanship at one of the agency’s secret training centres. She needed some alone time. She focused on her target, readied her gun, and shot.
Bang!
Who could’ve thought a ditzy, sweet woman like her not only knew how to use guns, but weren’t afraid to shoot actual people?
Bang!
Ah, that one was off-target. Anya was aware she needed to have consistent accuracy. She couldn’t let stress undermine her usefulness. After all, she was a spy— in her blood, heart, and soul.
Bang! Bang!
Anya winced. She was thrown off balance today. Her lacklustre performance was expected because Anya had come to the training centre with the double aim of distracting herself and sharpening her skills. And she knew exactly what (or rather, who) she was trying to avoid.
Bang!
Agent Midnight. Damian Desmond. Her husband.
Anya glared at the dummy and aimed for its heart.
Bang!
Damian had accidentally called her “Forger” in front of their Eden associates. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Anya didn’t know why she was bothered.
Anya was deeply attached to the Forger name, and she knew she would be a Forger until her dying breath. Being a Forger was everything to her. It was her identity, her connection with her parents, her way of healing from her years locked in the laboratory. Logically, Anya should have absolutely no reason to be upset at being referred to as a Forger.
Anya and Damian sometimes called each other “Forger” and “Desmond” in private, and it had never been an issue. Because they only reverted to using last names to tease each other, or if they were seriously upset with each other. Besides, they both loathed it when someone referred to Anya as “Mrs. Desmond”.
So, why?
At first, she tried for the logical conclusion. She thought she might be angry at Damian for slipping up and potentially jeopardising their mission. But Damian had smoothed things over perfectly, and he was much more meticulous than she was, so she had no reason to target him over a small mistake.
Maybe she didn’t like that he called her by her last name instead of her first name. Except that she never cared before. He’d called her “Forger” for many years at school. And “Forger” was the polite name compared to “pipsqueak”, “weakling”, “runt”, “witch”, and so on.
As adults, they went by different identities. Forger, Desmond, Starlight, Midnight, Anya, Damian. It genuinely didn’t matter which name they used so long they knew who it was referring to. They were a mess of various facades anyway, mosaic pieces haphazardly fitting together to form a jagged picture.
Anya’s hands felt sweaty. Irrational anger bubbled inside her, and she shot again.
Bang!
He should’ve called her Anya in front of their old classmates.
Bang!
Even though he’d called her Forger for half of their years in school.
Bang!
Because— because they were— despite everything—
Bang!
—married.
Anya faltered.
It was meant to be a performance. They were pretending to be a couple in front of their friends. Everyone believed they were happily wed. That Damian and Anya were the rare, merry exception.
So when he said “Forger”, it felt like a public declaration that they weren’t actually married. That she really was only Anya Forger and he was only Damian Desmond. That he was telling all of their friends that the marriage was fake. And they weren’t truly in love. Or whatever.
It was confusing. Slightly terrifying. Anya didn’t know what she was going through, and obviously she wasn’t going to take it out on Damian, so she poured all her emotions into shooting that damn dummy over and over again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Why did it even matter? It never used to matter! She was Anya Forger! Daughter of Loid and Yor Forger! A spy!
Every time Anya thought of a role she identified with, she shot. She barely cared about accuracy now. She only wanted to get these burdensome thoughts out of her system so they wouldn’t come and haunt her.
Before she knew it, she was breathing heavily. A bead of sweat rolled down her face. Her heart was heavy, like an anchor carelessly tossed from a ship and had now sank to unfathomable depths.
It wasn’t that Anya didn’t like being Anya Forger. It was just that she was more than Anya Forger.
Because Damian was now family.
He was part of her family.
And due to Anya’s upbringing, no matter the circumstances, she loathed the idea of “fake” families being never real. Even if she was with her ex-boyfriend after a terrible breakup.
Anya was someone’s daughter, someone’s niece, someone’s goddaughter, someone’s friend, and someone’s partner.
Anya shot one last time. Bullseye. She panted, not knowing why she was so worked up, but nonetheless somewhat relieved. She put away the gun, tidied up, and went to the lounge for a break.
“Yo, Starlight. Saw you practising just then. How are you lately?”
Anya turned her head slightly. It was a fellow agent, a young man with sandy brown hair. He was a rare presence in Anya’s life in the sense he was Anya’s age, and was brought in for the final stages for Operation Strix. For years, he was Anya’s only friend at W.I.S.E. in her age group, and thus they bonded quite well. They were just two teenage prodigies struggling with the burden of maintaining world peace. Anya thought if she wasn’t married to Damian, she would be married to him to keep up appearances.
Anya shrugged. “So-so. I’m working through it. How are you? Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Handler sent me elsewhere for support, but now I’m back.” He was purposefully vague. Good. Anya didn’t want to know what she wasn’t supposed to know.
“By the way,” she heard the rustling of papers, “we’ve got a mission. Together. Handler told me to tell you. I think it would be of… interest to you. I believe you know our target?”
Anya glanced at the papers on the table, and squinted her eyes. “Huh, an Eden graduate. You’re right— I did know her. She was in the literature club for half a year, but I’m not familiar with her because she’s a year younger. We didn’t share classes.”
“If she’s a year younger, that means she’s your age. And our age,” he commented.
“True.” Anya often forgot she was a year younger than Becky, Damian, and the rest of her peers.
“By the way, is it just the two of us on this mission?” she casually enquired.
“Handler’s still working on it, and I personally think we’ll be getting—” Then he saw Anya’s expression, and understood immediately. “Oh, your fake husband isn’t doing this one. Sorry to disappoint.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Mmhmm.” Anya shuffled through the papers and avoided eye contact in what she hoped was a natural way.
“... I don’t mean to pry, but are things alright between you and Midnight? You seemed… unhappy when you were shooting,” he said carefully.
“I’m not unhappy with Midnight,” Anya snapped instinctively. Why was everyone assuming something had gone wrong between her and Damian? Was everyone expecting marriage woes to surface after the honeymoon? Was it because of the perceived class difference and stress and everything?
He raised his arms in surrender. Anya sighed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve been on edge lately.”
“You don’t say.”
There was a considerable period of silence between them as Anya read up her mission. When she was done, he spoke up.
“Listen, Starlight, I’m saying this as your friend, and…”
Anya stared at him. “Yes?”
He had the decency to look uncomfortable. “We’ve known each other for years, and the last time I’ve seen you this agitated was over… him.” The words “it’s always him” were left unsaid.
“Y’know, you can just say it. I won’t bite your head off.”
He took a deep breath. “It’s just… maybe it’s not a good idea to keep on stunting with him? I know you hurt him and he hurt you. Nobody wants things to worsen.”
“Nothing’s worsening,” Anya said, uncharacteristically icy. This was a weird discussion. He was usually brash and straight to the point, yet he was being gentle today. And Anya was the aloof one with curt replies. She stood up.
“I’m going back. I’ve got things to do.” This was her way of ending the conversation.
He followed her as she went to collect her belongings. She’d left them behind for ease of practising. A pair of ladylike gloves, a classy watch in rose gold, and of course, her wedding ring. Necessary disguises to be Mrs. Desmond, her current role. His eyes landed on the watch, and he spoke up again.
“... Anya, I’m not telling you to break up with him. It’s just— I hope it works out for you. He seems like an asshole to me, but if you like him, then whatever. But I want to tell you that you can’t go on pretending nothing’s wrong, and that nothing bad happened between you. And it’s not wrong to consider… an alternative.”
Anya sighed. “I appreciate your concern, but you won’t understand, Solstice.”
She slipped on her wedding ring, the metal band cold but familiar. It wasn’t an iron shackle, despite what some might think. The sham marriage wasn’t a prison. She wasn’t unhappy, but was she happy? Was she content with the life she was living?
And in the end, did it matter if it was real or not?
“... I don’t think I understand myself either.”