Chapter 1 The Government Wants You Married
‘Let’s call it quits.’
Ava Morren stared at the glowing text on her Holoband until it faded out. She reread it once, twice, four times… No mistake—it really came from Daniel Crowe. Her boyfriend. Or, well… ex-boyfriend now.
Weirdly enough, her heart didn’t even hurt.
She’d braced herself for this moment weeks ago. Ever since Daniel had gone back to the Capitol Planet, their letters had grown scarce—once every few days, then once a week. The last one had come ten days ago.
Silence had already told the story.
Her fingers paused above the Holoband before she tapped out a single word, ‘Alright.’
The Holoband blinked and went dark.
Ava kept staring at the empty thread, the ghost of their past conversations hanging like cobwebs in her mind.
They’d met in a way that almost sounded scripted—the kind of nonsense one only saw in cheap romance scrolls. Daniel had taken a teaching post at Larkwell Academy. They boarded the same shuttlecraft, carried identical luggage with the academy crest, and somehow ended up swapping them at the station.
Daniel had that clean, scholar’s charm: tall at six-one, refined, with soft ash-blond hair and those thoughtful amber eyes that caught light like honey. His voice carried a calm confidence that made people listen. He’d laughed easily, moved gracefully, and spoken as though every word was worth something. Of course, she’d been drawn to him.
They’d known each other for a year, secretly dating for half of it. Ava now studied her reflection in the mirror—or rather, the face she let the world see: plain, thin cheeks, dull skin—a forgettable girl in every sense.
Did he ever regret dating someone like this? she wondered.
She knew why she’d agreed to him in the first place. Daniel belonged to a noble lineage, and his mental power was Rank S—an uncommon, formidable, and hopeful trait. He had a stable job and posed no threat. Everything about him screamed safe bet. Among all the men she knew, he was the best she could hope for. That’s why, when he confessed, she didn’t hesitate for long.
Too bad fairy tales still lied, even in a galaxy where one wife could legally collect multiple husbands. Princes didn’t save girls like her. Cinderellas still swept floors.
Ava reached up and peeled off the thin layer of mimic skin from her face. Beneath the illusion shimmered a face she barely recognized—delicate features, bright eyes, a beauty that once turned heads. She hadn’t seen that face in years.
A small, crooked smile tugged at her lips as she thought, Guess even I forgot what I look like.
She pressed the mimic skin back on. The illusion fused seamlessly, turning her once-stunning face back into the dull, worn mask she’d chosen for safety. Easier to stay invisible that way.
Just as she went to power down the Holoband, it chimed again.
‘You bumpkin from the outer rim colony, stay away from my brother! He’s marrying Susan soon. Don’t embarrass yourself.
‘You really think a scholarship girl can trap a noble? My family would never approve. Unless you’re an Awakened, you’ll never be one of us. Wake up, colony girl.’
Attached was a glowing image—Daniel smiling at a green-haired noblewoman with a face that could melt court gossipers in seconds. His eyes were gentle, alive in a way they never were with her.
Oh. So, he can look at someone like that, Ava muttered to herself.
She’d known, deep down, that his affection had never run deep. He admired her, maybe pitied her resilience. He once called her “ivy”— the kind of plant that kept growing no matter how many times life trampled it.
Ava’s jaw clenched. She typed back a reply, ‘Maybe ask your perfect brother who chased who first. Even through your words, I can smell the jealousy. It’s not a good look.’
Message sent. Block applied, and she locked down her Holoband so no stranger could ever ping her again.
Then, she reopened Daniel’s thread.
‘You’re something else, you know that? Playing the faithful lover while collecting side stories on the way. Does your fiancee know you’re trash? Crawl back to your perfect little world and stay there.’
The message went out. A block followed. One tap, and his name vanished from her list.
Perfect. Problem solved, or so she thought.
Barely a second passed before her Holoband pinged again. Ava glanced down, and as the words lit up before her eyes, a bitter thought crossed her mind—sometimes it really did feel like the universe hated her guts.
‘To Citizen Ava Morren: Tomorrow marks your twenty-fifth year of life. Congratulations on reaching the legal age of majority. Please appear at your district hall within ten days to complete your marital registration. We wish you a prosperous and harmonious marriage—Central Marriage Authority.’
Ava blinked twice. You‘ve got to be kidding me.
As if breaking up before her birthday wasn’t tragic enough, now the government itself wanted her married.
She sat there for a full ten minutes, staring into the space before her brain finally caught up with reality.
In this shiny Age of the Stars, people barely aged anymore—natural-born humans lived past two hundred, high-tier humans with mental power hit three hundred easily.
The interstellar law stated that women were considered adults at twenty-five. Everyone knew that much. Everyone also knew this was a world where men outnumbered women and marriage meant one wife to several husbands. What no one had ever bothered to mention—at least not to Ava—was that turning twenty-five came with a wedding deadline stamped by the d*mn government.
Ava dashed to her desk, ripped open the drawer, and dragged out a dust-covered tome: “The Royal Code of Interstellar Law.” The thing had been sitting there for years, untouched, and now it felt like judgment day. She flipped through the pages until she hit the Marriage Statutes and began reading word for word.
By the time she reached the last line, she dropped the book onto the desk and just stared at the ceiling.
She thought, Unbelievable. All those years busting my ass for grades and scholarships, and I never once thought to check the law that could screw me over—nice going, genius.
The words on the page left no room for denial: being single after twenty-five wasn’t just frowned upon—it was illegal. The punishment? Jail time and a fine big enough to make her ancestors weep.
She checked the balance on her Holoband. Barely one thousand coins. That was it.
A girl from the outer rim colony couldn’t even dream about paying that off. In ten days, she’d owe the hospice another round of fees for her grandfather’s treatment. The translation gig she’d just finished—deciphering ancient Terran language—would net her maybe 30,000 coins, and most of that would vanish the moment the bills hit.
The fine for staying single? Several hundred thousand.
Ava let out a dry laugh.
Of course, she didn’t have the money.
