Three years of marriage, and Marcus cheated on me ninety-nine times. I endured it all in silence, keeping my head down and swallowing the humiliation. Until his mistress’s dog got pregnant. Marcus brought the pampered beast back to our house, demanding that I, despite my life-threatening allergies, act as its full-time nanny. And because I once accidentally locked the woman and her dog outside in the yard, Marcus grabbed a handful of loose dog hair from the floor and rammed it deep into my throat. As I choked on the dry fur, my eyes bloodshot and straining for air, his mistress made a pathetic, half-hearted attempt to play peacekeeper, telling him not to go too far. Marcus merely shrugged, his eyes cold and empty. “Why worry? She is just a barren hag. Who else would want her besides me?” Later, the boy from next door, who had loved me in secret for years, seized the chance to pull me out of that hell. And Marcus went completely mad with regret. He ended up dragging his shattered body from beneath the wheels of a semi-truck, clinging to his last agonizing breath just to beg me to look at him one more time. But I was already gone. 1 Just as I lifted my foot to walk out the front door, Marcus’s sharp, impatient voice cut through the foyer. “Take your trash with you when you leave. It is an eyesore.” Standing beside him, his mother let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Marcus, why even waste your breath on a useless waste of space like her? Three years in this house and she couldn’t even give us a child.” She sneered, looking down her nose at me. “She is not even worth as much as Maggie’s dog. We should have never let her through our doors in the first place.” Maggie, standing slightly behind them, quickly masked her smug satisfaction with a look of mock concern. “Mrs. Sinclair, please do not say such things. It is not polite.” I did not have the energy to argue with these people anymore. Turning away to leave, I felt a sudden blur of white fur bolt toward me. Before I could react, the dog sank its sharp teeth deep into my forearm. A blinding spike of pain shot from my arm straight to my chest. I froze, staring down at the animal. Its muzzle was smeared with my blood, its dark eyes locked onto mine with a vicious, unnerving intensity. Marcus’s brow furrowed slightly. “Eric, you…” Before he could finish his sentence, Maggie let out a dramatic gasp. “Marcus, look! What is wrong with Buster?” The white dog, which had just savagely bitten me, instantly whimpered, shrinking into the corner of the room like a terrified, abused creature. Maggie squeezed out a few tears, her shoulders trembling. Marcus immediately pulled her into his arms, murmuring sweet reassurances before dialing a private veterinarian. Ten minutes later, the vet gave his diagnosis. “The dog is perfectly fine. He is just a little startled.” Marcus’s deep voice hardened, thick with suppressed anger as he glared at me. “Look how badly you terrified Buster. Apologize to him right now.” I knew exactly what happened to people who defied Marcus. A few years ago, Maggie and I had both entered a national design competition. Fearing I would overshadow her, Marcus ordered me to withdraw and let her take the prize. When I refused, he had his security team beat me until I was hospitalized with broken bones. I still remembered him standing over my hospital bed, spitting his words. “A low-class nobody like you thinks she can compete with Maggie? Go back home and scrub the toilets where you belong.” Pulling myself back to the present, I slowly bowed my head and looked at the white dog. “I am sorry,” I whispered. Seeing my quick submission, a flicker of surprise crossed Marcus’s eyes. His mother sniffed, crossing her arms. “About time you learned your place. Do not think that just because you wear the title of Mrs. Sinclair, you can do whatever you want. You are not worth a single strand of Maggie’s hair.” She pointed toward the back of the house. “Since you are leaving, use the servant’s entrance. A disgraced woman like you does not deserve to walk out the front door.” “No, please,” Maggie said, rushing forward to grab my hand. Her voice was dripping with false sweet sympathy. “Do not kick Eric out because of me. I will feel so guilty if you do this.” “Maggie,” Marcus murmured, his expression softening into a tenderness I had never once received. “You are far too kind for your own good. People will walk all over you if you keep letting them.” I yanked my hand out of her grasp to turn away, but Maggie immediately collapsed to the floor with a soft cry. Looking down at her tear-streaked face, I almost wanted to laugh. This pathetic, childish performance was her favorite trick, and she never seemed to tire of it. What was worse was that Marcus fell for it every single time. “Maggie!” Marcus panicked, kneeling down to scoop her up. He cradled her swollen ankle, his touch incredibly gentle. His mother pointed a shaking, manicured finger at me. “Eric! You malicious snake!” Maggie whimpered against his chest. “Do not be angry with her. I am sure she did not mean to push me.” “Enough!” Marcus snapped, his eyes flashing with a dark, dangerous storm. “Eric, apologize to Maggie right now.” My phone vibrated in my palm. It was a text from my cab driver, letting me know he had just pulled up outside the gates. I tightened my grip on the device, taking two steps toward the exit before Marcus grabbed my shoulder and violently dragged me back inside. 2 “You are not leaving this house until you apologize.” With a harsh shove, Marcus threw me down the stairs into the pitch-black basement. It was a concrete tomb, the temperature hovering near freezing. Leaning against the heavy wooden door, I could hear Marcus talking to his assistant in the hallway above. “Sir, even if Mrs. Sinclair was in the wrong, this seems a bit extreme,” the assistant murmured, his voice laced with concern. “It is freezing down there, and the air is terrible. What if she gets sick?” “Silence,” Marcus replied, his voice flat and unyielding. “This is her punishment. She must learn her place.” He paused, adding a cruel scoff. “And do not worry about her faking an illness to get attention. Weeds like Eric do not die that easily.” His words drifted through the cracks of the door like a freezing draft, settling deep in my bones until my chest felt entirely numb. I lost track of how many hours passed before the heavy lock finally clicked open. When I dragged myself up the wooden stairs, shivering and pale, the first thing I saw was Marcus kneeling on the floor, carefully wrapping a piece of white fabric around Maggie’s dog as a makeshift diaper. The fabric looked terribly familiar. I stepped closer, my heart stopping as I recognized the delicate lace and hand-sewn pearls. It was the wedding dress my mother had stayed up nights to make for me right before she passed away. “Marcus!” My voice cracked, raw and trembling. Meeting my furious gaze, Marcus remained entirely unfazed. “It is just a piece of cloth from a dead woman. Why make a scene? Using it for Maggie’s dog is an honor. You should be kneeling and thanking us.” Seeing the ghostly pallor of my face, his tone softened just a fraction. “Fine. If you are going to cry about it, I will buy you a new designer dress later.” “Oh, dear,” Maggie coughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. Marcus’s attention instantly snapped back to her. “Maggie, what is wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” “It is nothing,” she murmured, her eyes drifting to his chest. “Just a little cold. By the way, Marcus, what is that silver medallion around your neck? It looks so cheap and ugly.” “It is cheap,” Marcus said without a second thought. He unclasped the silver medallion and tossed it carelessly into the trash can, treating it like a piece of filthy waste. I stared at the trash can. I had spent three weeks kneeling on cold stone floors, climbing nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine steps to a mountaintop cathedral just to get that protective medallion blessed for him when he was fighting for his life in the ICU three years ago. If I had known then what lay ahead, I would have never spilled my blood on those steps. “Marcus,” Maggie purred, tugging at his sleeve. “I am hungry. Would you make something for me?” “You little glutton,” he chuckled, pinching her cheek. “I really cannot say no to you.” The moment Marcus walked into the kitchen, Maggie’s sweet smile vanished. She grabbed my arm with surprising strength and dragged me toward her massive walk-in closet. Inside, hundreds of expensive, handcrafted designer bags were lined up on illuminated shelves. “Are you jealous?” Maggie whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “Marcus made every single one of these for me with his own hands.” To please her, the busy, powerful head of the Sinclair empire had taken professional leatherworking classes just so she could have three hundred and sixty-five unique bags to carry throughout the year. What a beautiful, touching love story. “Do you want to know why Marcus refused to send his medical team to save your mother on her deathbed?” Maggie leaned in close, her eyes glittering with malice. “It was because I scraped my foot that day. Marcus was so worried about me that he ordered every single doctor in his employ to stay and run tests on me.” She pulled out her phone and swiped to a photo. “Look for yourself.” On the screen, Marcus was cradling Maggie’s foot in his lap with an expression of pure, desperate devotion, treating her like a priceless treasure while my mother drew her last breaths in an empty hospital room. A white-hot rage flared in my chest. Just as my hand twitched to strike her, I heard Marcus’s heavy footsteps approaching from behind. Before I could even blink, Maggie threw herself onto the hardwood floor. She raised her own hands, violently slapping herself across the face several times until her cheeks flushed red. “Eric, I am so sorry!” she wailed, clutching my knees. “I beg of you, please do not have Buster put down! Please do not send me to those awful men!” 3 “Eric!” Marcus’s voice roared through the room, his eyes dark with an unspeakable fury. He marched forward and slammed a thick stack of papers directly into my face. The sharp edges of the sheets sliced across my cheek, but I barely felt it. “You wanted to leave? You have got it. Sign the papers and get out.” I fell back onto the floor, my fingers trembling as I picked up the scattered pages of the divorce agreement. Without another look at me, Marcus lifted Maggie into his arms and carried her toward the master bedroom. Suddenly, a sharp, twisting pain bloomed in my lower abdomen. I looked down, freezing in horror as I realized my trousers were rapidly staining with deep, crimson blood. My missed period. The fatigue. The nausea. A terrifying realization hit me. “Marcus! Please, wait! Take me to the hospital!” The only response was the loud, uncaring slam of the bedroom door. Through the thin walls, the muffled sounds of their laughter and soft, intimate whispers began to drift out. “Marcus, please… I think I am pregnant. I am bleeding… I am going to lose the baby.” Maggie’s amused chuckle cut through my desperate cries. “I really must hand it to your wife, Marcus. She can tell the most outrageous lies with a straight face.” In the hallway, two maids whispered and giggled. “The discarded wife is getting desperate. Look at her trying to play the pity card to win him back.” “Too bad the master only has eyes for Miss Maggie. Some people just do not know when to give up.” Fighting the waves of dizziness, I reached into my pocket and dialed emergency services. But before the call could connect, one of the maids snatched the phone from my hand. The head maid smirked, slipping off her shoe and holding her bare foot inches from my face. “You want your phone back? Crawl over and beg me for it.” Clutching my stomach, I curled into a ball on the cold floor, retreating into myself as the pain intensified. How pathetic. I was the legal Mrs. Sinclair, yet even the household staff could torment me without fear of consequence. Before the darkness finally claimed my consciousness, Marcus’s voice floated from the bedroom. “Is that so? Then when is she finally going to die? I wish she would hurry up and make room for you.” The maid gave my limp shoulder a sharp kick. “Did you hear that? The master wants to know when you are finally going to kick the bucket.” When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile smell of disinfectant told me I was in a hospital room. Marcus was standing at the foot of the bed, his face pale and tight with anger. “Eric, when did you get pregnant? Why did you not tell me?” I let out a weak, lifeless laugh. “Did I not? I screamed it at your door.” Marcus froze, a rare flicker of genuine panic and regret crossing his features. Seeing his hesitation, Maggie quickly stepped forward, her voice soft and calculated. “Is she really pregnant, Marcus? I find that hard to believe. Didn’t the family doctor say you had a incredibly low sperm count?” The regret in Marcus’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, burning disgust. “I should have known,” he sneered, looking at me as if I were a piece of filth. “Who knows whose bastard you were trying to pin on me anyway? It is a good thing it is gone. It saves me the disgust of looking at it.” “Marcus!” Before we could argue further, his phone rang. His mother’s sharp, screeching voice echoed clearly in the quiet room. “Marcus! Are you still hovering over that worthless girl? Have you forgotten what she did to your sister? Have you forgotten how she drove Lily to her death?” “Get back here this instant!” At the mention of his late sister, Marcus’s gaze turned murderous. Suddenly, the door to my hospital room was burst open. A crowd of reporters surged inside, their cameras flashing blindly in my face. One reporter shoved a microphone toward Marcus. “Mr. Sinclair, can you tell us why your wife was rushed to the hospital with severe bleeding?” Marcus straightened his suit jacket, his expression entirely detached. “How should I know? She has never been one to keep to herself.” His words were like throwing gasoline onto a fire. By the next morning, my name was trending at the very top of every social media platform. The headlines were ruthless. Eric Sinclair’s Secret Wild Life Exposed. The Dark Side of a High-Society Wife. Anonymous sources claimed I was a regular at exclusive underground clubs, while others fabricated stories about me being an escort from the notorious Velvet Lounge who could be bought for a price. The lies clung to me like leeches, draining the last of my strength. On the day I was discharged, a mob of paparazzi blocked the hospital exit, swarming me the moment I stepped outside. “Mrs. Sinclair, did your husband find out about your secret encounters? Is that why you lost the baby?” “Is it true you used to work as Call Girl Number Eight? What is your nightly rate these days? Would a hundred dollars cover it?” “We are willing to pay for an exclusive interview, Eric. Where are you working now? Maybe we can bring some business your way.” The mocking laughter and flashing bulbs made the world spin. I bit my lip until it bled, pushing through the crowd and running blindly down the street. When I finally managed to lose them in a quiet alley, my phone buzzed with a notification. 4 It was a public statement from Marcus, officially severing all ties with me. The attached image showed him holding Maggie’s hand, the caption reading: You are my forever. It does not matter that we started late. How tragic. During our three years together, he had hidden me away like a dirty secret. But with Maggie, he wanted the entire world to know. A text message from Maggie popped up on my screen right after. How does it feel to be dragged through the dirt by everyone? Don’t get comfortable, Eric. The real show is just beginning. You think you can fight me? You don’t stand a chance. As the days passed, the vicious rumors about my personal life only grew wilder and more detailed. I knew Marcus was behind the media push, using his massive influence to ensure I was completely ruined. Later that week, Marcus texted me to meet him at a quiet cafe. When he saw how hollow and exhausted I looked, a flash of conflict crossed his face, though it was quickly masked by his usual cold arrogance. “Eric, do not hate me for this. You brought this on yourself. You owe this to my sister. If it was not for your jealousy, Lily would still be alive today.” “Yes,” I replied quietly, sitting back in my chair. “It was all my fault.” I was tired of fighting. If they wanted a villain to blame for Lily’s tragic suicide, then I would be their villain. It did not matter anymore. Marcus frowned, clearly bothered by my listless, easy surrender. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a violent tremor shook the building. The light fixtures swung wildly overhead. The floor buckled beneath our feet, and the sound of shattering glass filled the air. An earthquake. In an instant, Marcus lunged across the table, pulling me into his arms as the ceiling began to collapse. He shielded me with his body, carrying me toward the exit as debris rained down around us. For a brief, fleeting moment, his familiar scent wrapped around me, and I felt a strange sense of safety. But then, a sharp whine echoed from the back of the building. “Buster!” Maggie’s voice screamed from outside. Marcus froze. He looked toward the exit, then back at the collapsing hallway where the dog was trapped. Without a single word, he let go of me. He turned around and ran back into the dust, leaving me behind without a backward glance. Three years of marriage, and my life was worth less than his mistress’s dog. I couldn’t help but let out a quiet, bitter laugh as the dust settled around me. Through the crumbling walls, I could hear their voices outside. “Marcus! Thank God you and Buster are safe! I do not know what I would have done if anything happened to you.” “I am right here, Maggie. We are both fine.” After comforting her, Marcus finally seemed to remember that I was still inside the collapsing structure. He tried to run back toward the doors, but several bystanders and staff members held him back. “Sir, it is too dangerous! You cannot go back in there!” “The whole place is coming down! That woman is probably already dead anyway. Going back is just suicide!” Before the speaker could finish, a sharp slap echoed through the crowd. “Shut up!” Marcus roared, his face pale with a terrifying rage. “Who gave you permission to speak about my wife like that?” But I was no longer in the building. I had already crawled through a side window and made my way to a cab, heading straight for the airport. As I waited for my flight to board, I pulled out my phone. One by one, I deleted his number, his photos, and every single trace of Marcus Sinclair from my life. Goodbye, Marcus. Actually, let’s make that never see you again.
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