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'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. Chapter 2 The Government Got a Match for You The minute Ava got on her Holoband, she set up a burner account on a forum and posted, 'Broke up with my boyfriend the night before my twenty-fifth birthday. Just got a government notice telling me to register for marriage. Does anyone know how to dodge the fine—or jail?' She hit post, snapped the band shut, and yanked on her running shoes. Her head was spinning, and she needed air before she did something stupid. She ran five full laps around the man-made lake before heading back to her dorm. Two stale bread rolls and a half-empty carton of milk would do for breakfast. She sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through the comments while chewing. She'd assumed her post would drown in the endless flood of online noise. Instead, it had blown up. Netizen 1: 'You serious, sweetheart? I'll volunteer! Fifty-eight years old, about six-one, Rank A mental power, 170 pounds, seven figures in savings—still strong as an ox!' Netizen 2: 'Ignore that old timer! I'm forty, successful, handsome, with a full head of hair, and still got my charm!' Netizen 3: 'Come on, this is clearly bait. New account, no history, one post, and you're drooling? Grow up, simps.' Ava groaned. She hadn't even posted a picture, and the comments section already looked like a singles ad gone wrong. She wasn't looking for a date, yet here she was—free entertainment for bored strangers. She spotted one user with a daisy icon and typed back, 'Sorry to disappoint you, but this isn't bait.' The reply came instantly. 'Wait—you're actually a woman?' Her brow twitched. 'Yeah. Female. Not pretending. Whoever fakes being a girl? Enjoy dying single.' Another ping followed. 'Dang, girl, how'd you end up that bad off? You're making us look weak!' Ava's thumb hovered above the screen. Seriously? Since when was getting dumped a national embarrassment? The daisy icon commented again, 'Listen, I don't know your story, but if you're scared of the fines, just find a placeholder husband. Register, ride it out, divorce later. Everyone does it.' Ava rolled her eyes. Yeah, sure. If I have a backup guy, I won't be here begging the internet for advice. She clicked the daisy icon and sent a private message, 'I'm just a regular woman. Not Awakened, not rich, no backups. I didn't see anyone else while I was with him.' The daisy icon replied fast, 'Oh, girl, he totally messed with your head. Can't believe it—still some good girls left in this galaxy after all. 'Anyway, that ten-day deadline's flexible. You can push it until you're twenty-six, worst case. You'll get fined a few hundred grand, tops. 'That jail's all bluff—they just make you sit through a mandatory "relationship re-education" class. Basically, a brainwashing session where they sell you government-picked men. But trust me, none of those guys is worth your time. Stay off that thread; half of them sound like creeps.' 'Thanks for the heads-up,' Ava typed back. 'But I'm broke. I can't afford even one fine.' Three minutes passed before the next ping. 'Then, let me lend you some. Pay me back whenever. No pressure.' Ava froze. The offer hit her like a punch to the chest. Her throat tightened, and she blinked fast to keep from crying. 'That's kind of you, but no. I'll figure it out.' No reply came. Still, something about that stranger's kindness warmed her chest. She didn't even know this girl, but something about her felt... bright like sunlight. Then, another message arrived. The daisy icon warned, 'You still there? Delete that post, quick! Some guys are trying to track your IP. The second they smell a woman online, they lose their minds. Don't give them the chance. I'll ask around for something safer. Hang tight.' Ava's pulse spiked. She jumped back to the thread—sure enough, a few users were bragging about tracing her location, threatening to find her. Panic surged up her throat as she deleted the post in a heartbeat. … Ten minutes later, the daisy icon messaged again. 'Alright, here's what you can do. Try the Match Bureau. It's old-school, but it's legit. They've got every unmarried man on record. Plug in your preferences, and the system will pair you with someone decent.' Relief hit Ava so hard she almost laughed. 'Thanks. What if the match already has a girlfriend?' The daisy icon replied, 'That's covered. If he's in a stable relationship, it's flagged in his profile. My mom says set your compatibility filter to eighty percent or higher—those matches tend to be better quality.' Ava smiled, a rare flicker of hope in her eyes. 'Appreciate it. Where are you from? If you're nearby, I owe you dinner.' The daisy icon replied, 'I'm not on Alayna Planet. I'm from Capitol Planet. I only joined your forum to argue with some guy from your region and ended up stumbling across your post. Honestly, I thought you were catfishing. You're a year older than me—let's add each other. I don't know why, but you seem... real.' Ava chuckled softly, that small, sharp tooth peeking out when she smiled. They exchanged Holoband contacts and chatted for a while longer. Her new friend's name was Lianne Mercer—the first genuine friend Ava had ever met online. A glance at the date made her heart skip—three days until New Year's Eve. Once the holiday hit, every government office would shut down. If she didn't register by then, she'd be completely screwed. She got on her Holoband again, searched the Match Bureau, and dialed. The automated voice walked her through the steps like a bank loan hotline. By the time she hung up, she had a plan. Fine. If the government's in the matchmaking business, let them do it. It can't be any worse than the idiots I've picked. Chapter 3 Matched with Five Husbands The Marriage Bureau stood at the far edge of the city, where glass towers gave way to half-abandoned transit lines and windswept concrete. It took Ava nearly an hour and a half to reach it. The building loomed ahead, twelve stories of gold-plated nostalgia. Its broad parking lot sat mostly empty, only a few hovercars floating silently in standby. The place was so still she could hear her own footsteps echo. Ava stopped at the bottom of the marble steps and looked up. Once, this bureau symbolized social order—a place every adult woman passed through without question. Now, it was an artifact, forgotten and unwanted. She almost pitied it. Guess that makes two of us, she thought, then took a deep breath and climbed the steps. Inside, the air was cool and sterile. A lone security guard jerked awake at the sound of the door. His eyes flicked up, expecting another maintenance drone—and froze. A young woman stood there, tall and poised, dressed in a cream beret and a black mask. Only her eyes showed, dark and sharp like ink on glass. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Ava scanned the empty lobby. The front desk looked more like a museum display than a working office. Only the guard remained, slouched behind a terminal. She crossed the floor toward him. A faint scent drifted in her wake—clean, subtle, nothing showy. It startled him more than it should have. He straightened, rubbing his palms against his uniform. "Morning, miss. How can I help you?" Ava answered evenly, "I'm here to register for a match. Where do I begin?" "You're... here to match?" His voice wobbled before finding its footing. "Right. Second floor. Fill out the intake forms first, then they'll need samples—hair, blood, and basic checks. Routine stuff, nothing scary." "Appreciate it." Her tone stayed calm. "I can manage." He watched her head upstairs, muttering under his breath, "A young lady coming here... This galaxy's really losing its mind." … The second floor was no busier. A few clerks lingered near their desks, trading weekend plans until Ava appeared. Conversation froze mid-sentence. She met their stares with practiced calm. "Excuse me. I'm here to register for a match. Where should I start?" A young man jumped to his feet so fast his chair nearly toppled. "Right this way, miss." His ears flushed red. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Working at the Match Bureau might have been a dead-end job, yet for an artificial-born human like him, it meant food and a roof. He led her to a small lounge, hands shaking slightly. "Please have a seat. I'll bring the paperwork." He rummaged through a drawer, gathered several printed sheets, and gestured to a door nearby. "You can fill this out privately." "Thanks." Their fingers brushed when she took the pen, and he went bright red before pretending to check his data pad. When the door closed behind Ava, he let out a slow breath and glanced toward the room she'd entered. Men like him—manufactured in labs, built for maintenance and low-risk labor—rarely drew a woman's glance. Most saved credits to buy a synthetic embryo from the ReproTech Institute just to raise a child alone. It wasn't love, but it was something. He rubbed his neck and sighed. Natural-born humans don't know how easy they've got it. His coworkers exchanged silent smirks but didn't dare joke aloud while a guest was in the next room. … Inside the private room, Ava dropped into the chair and unfolded the questionnaire. Heat crept up her neck within seconds. You've got to be kidding me, she thought. Half the questions were so personal they made a nun faint. They dug into compatibility sliders, personal preferences, emotional tripwires, and prior intimacy. Her jaw tightened. She was twenty-five, still untouched—no first kiss or real hug—and her only "relationship" felt more like a glorified friendship. What was she supposed to write? She had never even seen the equipment up close. Thank God I'm alone. This is mortifying. She let a slow breath out. Alright, girl, think. Human Biology. Sophomore year. I've got this. Still, nothing came to mind. Searching her Holoband was out of the question; for all she knew, the walls had eyes. The last thing she needed was a government alert for "inappropriate educational research." So, she filled in vague answers that sounded official but revealed nothing. After completing the form, she took a long sip of water and composed herself before stepping out. The young man took her form, scanned it into the system, sealed the original in a brown envelope, and then courteously smiled before guiding Ava to the third floor for the scan. … The third floor looked more like a medical facility—white walls, humming lights, the faint tang of disinfectant. After a few routine tests, he led her to a capsule scanner that dominated the room. "Ms. Morren, please remove your hat and mask," he instructed softly. "Also, any jewelry." Ava set her beret on the rack, loosened her hair, and took off her mask. The young man froze mid-step. The light hit her features—serene, poised, quietly breathtaking. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. He wondered, How does a woman like her end up here? Every guy out there must be blind—or this world's lost its soul. He remembered glimpsing her file earlier: twenty-five, freshly turned. Figures. The system probably flagged her birthday and dropped her into the mandatory list. Poor thing doesn't even get a choice. Ava reclined on the scanner bed. The capsule hissed shut, the hum deepened, and darkness folded around her. When she opened her eyes, it felt like waking from sunlight after a long nap. Her head felt clear, and her limbs light. The young man's voice came softly. "Ms. Morren, your compatibility data is being processed. Please wait in the lounge." She re-masked herself, tucked her hair back under the beret, and returned to the waiting area. … Thirty long minutes crawled by before a round, middle-aged man came hurrying over, his face glowing like he'd just hit the jackpot. His grin was so wide his eyes nearly disappeared, already dreaming of the fat year-end bonus heading his way. Ava had unknowingly handed him his annual quota on a silver platter. "Ms. Morren!" he greeted, voice bubbling with excitement. "Congratulations! The system just matched you with five compatible candidates." ------------------------------------- 👉 Readers' opinions: "It's so intriguing!" 💕 It's really ALL FREE, just click the button below!!!👇