The White Moonlight

Preface：（My wife's first love was kidnapped by a criminal gang abroad.

My wife threatened suicide by starvation, forcing me—an Interpol agent—to rescue her white moonlight.

But when I barely survived and rescued my wife's first love, the two of them stole my international credentials and fled back home.

When I desperately called my wife to ask why she did this, she looked completely impatient: "Aren't you with Interpol? Can't you handle this little trouble? Can you stop pretending?"

In the end, I had nowhere to escape and was tortured to death.）

The moment I closed my eyes, my soul was pulled by a powerful force to my wife Rebecca Meyer's side.

Before I could even process my death, I watched her sprint out at lightning speed and throw her arms around a man's neck, cheering: "Brandon! You're safe! Thank God!"

That was her white moonlight, Brandon Shaw.

The two of them were intimately affectionate, looking exactly like a couple who had nearly been separated by death itself.

Rebecca looked at Brandon with a tenderness in her eyes that I had never seen in our three years of marriage.

She had always been condescending toward me, showing nothing but disgust and contempt.

Several times I had barely made it back from missions, and when she found out, instead of showing concern, she sneered: "You got yourself all banged up on a mission? How useless can you be?"

This time was no exception. She didn't worry at all whether I was okay. Instead, it was Brandon who mentioned me first.

"Rebecca, has Daniel made it back? Those people were so brutal, he should be... okay, right?"

Hearing him mention my name, Rebecca's expression visibly soured with irritation: "Oh! Why are you bringing him up? He's a cop—what could happen to him? He's probably out celebrating somewhere right now!"

A flash of smugness crossed Brandon's face, quickly masked by manufactured concern: "You should still call and check. He went in there alone, and who knows what those criminals might do. What if..."

His suggestive words left room for dark imagination. Rebecca looked increasingly upset: "Ha! When I called him that day to rescue you, he actually said he was powerless to help. Can you believe that? You're too kind-hearted—that's why selfish people like him take advantage of you!"

"It would be better if someone like him actually died out there!" After saying this, she tightly held Brandon's hand, her tone shifting: "Brandon, I've scheduled a full medical exam for you. Look at you, your face is so thin. You were held captive for so many days—I hope nothing's wrong with your health."

I stared blankly at Rebecca's two faces. Her words were like sharp knives, carving up my heart until it bled, the pain piercing to the bone.

For three years of marriage, I had cherished her like a treasure in my hands.

As a detective, I took all the hardship and suffering myself, never letting her touch any dirt.

She was always so annoyed with me, afraid that if she showed me any kindness, I would cling to her.

Yet the first time she asked me for something was for Brandon.

That place wasn't safe—dangerous enough that military intervention was required. Without careful planning, going there rashly was a death sentence.

I refused, but Rebecca threatened me with her life.

I loved her more than I loved myself.

So I compromised.

I made escape routes, prepared a helicopter, and brought them to a safe location.

I begged her to wait for me, to give me a little more time, and I could bring back our trapped compatriots together.

But at the last moment, Rebecca and Brandon boarded the plane ahead of me.

The deafening roar attracted the leader's attention. I was captured.

Myanmar is hell—that's not just talk.

Perhaps because my identity as a cop was particularly sensitive, it triggered their extreme hatred.

That very night, I was dragged into the leader's private chamber.

I was tied up and hung from the ceiling beams. They stripped off my shirt and whipped my back with long lashes, broke my bones, destroyed my eardrums and eyes.

They wanted to use me as bait to lure Brandon out.

However, in the last second before I lost my hearing, what I heard was Rebecca's cold questioning: "Daniel, stop putting on an act in front of me. I don't believe you can't handle something this small."

I thought three years would be enough to melt the ice. But now I understood—gratitude is not love.