At twelve, I was taken by men in black for protecting my young boyfriend from the orphanage. After six years of abuse by my adoptive parents, Craig Chen—a rising star in the capital’s elite circles—found me. Holding my scarred body, he apologized: “I’m sorry, I came too late.” We married quickly. On our wedding night, Craig pointed to a wall in his study covered in my photos, eyes red, and said: “I looked for you for six years. When my parents told me to forget you and tried to burn your pictures, I held a knife to my throat. I told them if they touched the photos, I’d die right there.” “I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world. You’ll never cry again.” We could snuggle all day or talk all night. I thought I’d escaped my nightmare. But Craig slowly stopped confiding in me. A new woman entered his life—Chloe, a gentle, capable Ivy League graduate, now his secretary. One evening, I overheard him murmuring softly on the phone: “Chloe, you really understand me.” Hanging up, he saw me and frowned coldly: “You’re as stupid as a pig. You can’t even organize a simple document?” He threw a file at me, his tone icy. “Chloe secured half the European market for me. And you? I built you a golden cage, yet you can’t even be a pretty ornament.” 1 I decided I needed to see Chloe for myself. I wanted to see what magic this girl possessed that made Craig say, “you understand me.” I drove to Craig’s company building and parked below, not going inside. I just sat in my car, watching the massive glass revolving door. At 5:30 PM, a girl in a white dress emerged. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a serene smile graced her face, making her seem as pure as a breeze. It was Chloe. I recognized her instantly; Craig’s phone wallpaper had been secretly changed to her. She seemed to be waiting for someone, looking down at her phone, a slight curve to her lips. I noticed her being harassed by a greasy middle-aged man. He was a business partner of Craig’s company, a notoriously difficult character I’d met before. “Ms. Li, just one drink, why be so ungracious?” The man blocked her path, his hand improperly reaching for her waist. Chloe frowned, dodging his attempt. A professional smile was on her face, but her tone was firm: “Mr. Davies, I really can’t handle alcohol. Next time, I’ll offer tea instead.” “Enough of that!” Mr. Davies’s face darkened. “You’ll drink tonight, whether you want to or not!” He reached out to grab Chloe’s wrist. I pushed open the café door and stepped inside. My high heels clicked crisply on the floor. I walked up to them, linked my arm through Chloe’s, and smiled at Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, what a coincidence.” Mr. Davies looked surprised to see me, then plastered on an obsequious smile: “Mrs. Chen, what brings you here?” “I’m meeting my sister for shopping. She’s a bit shy and not used to drinking with unfamiliar men,” I said, my tone calm but authoritative. Mr. Davies’s expression shifted several times before he grudgingly let go. “Oh, Mrs. Chen’s sister! My apologies, a complete misunderstanding.” He slinked away. “Sister, you… you’re amazing.” I smiled: “It was nothing.” She hurried over to me, took a business card from her bag, and handed it to me, her cheeks slightly flushed: “Sister, you saved me! I must treat you to dinner! Here’s my number, you absolutely have to call me!” She was sincere and enthusiastic, impossible to refuse. I looked into her clear eyes, my heart a complex mix of emotions. I had saved my rival. What kind of foolishness was this? 2 I intended to throw away that business card, but for some reason, I kept it. Three days later, Chloe called, her voice full of anticipation and warmth. “Sister, are you free today? My boss said he absolutely has to properly thank his rescuer. Shall we all have dinner together?” I gripped my phone, my heart squeezed by an invisible hand. Her boss. Craig Chen. “Alright,” I heard myself reply, my voice calm. I wanted to see what kind of battlefield it would be with the three of us sitting together. The restaurant was chosen by Chloe, a very stylish private dining establishment. I arrived first. Soon after, Chloe walked in, pulling a man with her. It was Craig. He wore a sharp black suit, so handsome he was impossible to look away from. The moment he saw me, the gentle smile on his face froze, his eyes instantly turning cold and unfamiliar. Chloe, oblivious, happily pulled him to me: “Sister, this is my boss, Craig Chen. Boss, this is the amazing sister who saved me!” I stood up, looking at Craig, waiting for him to speak. But he merely nodded curtly, pulled out a chair, and sat down, not looking at me once. The air was so awkward it could drip. Chloe, however, was like a cheerful little sun, trying hard to warm up the atmosphere. “Sister, you wouldn’t believe it, my boss is really super nice! And he’s incredibly devoted!” she said, looking at Craig with adoration. “He told me that when he was twelve, he met a girl at the orphanage. She was taken by bad guys while protecting him. He searched for her for six years, and he built this business empire just to find her.” My hands beneath the table clenched into fists, my nails digging deep into my flesh. Chloe continued: “He said that girl was his first love, the only person he ever wanted to marry. What a shame, it seems that girl broke up with him later. How short-sighted of her, to let go of such a wonderful man.” After she finished, she even gave Craig a sympathetic look. Craig picked up his teacup and took a sip. “Indeed,” he finally spoke, his voice indifferent, “some people are just ungrateful by nature.” I ate without tasting a thing throughout the dinner. It wasn’t until the meal concluded and Chloe went to the restroom that Craig finally stood up and walked over to me, looking down. “Scarlett, what game are you playing now?” His voice was as cold as ice. “Getting close to Chloe, what do you want?” “I don’t want anything,” I looked up, meeting his gaze. “I just want to know what makes her so much better than me, that’s all.” He scoffed. “She’s better than you in every way.” “She’s smart, capable, unlike you.” “Scarlett, you’d best stay away from her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind letting you taste what it’s like to have nothing again.” With that, he didn’t even look at me, turned, and walked away. Chloe conveniently emerged from the restroom, saw him, and happily ran over to link her arm through his. “Boss, let’s go.” “Mmm,” he replied, his voice resuming that familiar tenderness when speaking to her. Their retreating figures, side by side, pierced my heart. 3 After that dinner, Craig didn’t even bother to feign affection anymore. He stopped coming home. Chloe’s calls, however, came more and more frequently to me. She didn’t know I was Craig’s wife; she only saw me as a trusted sister with whom she could confide everything. “Sister Scarlett, Boss smashed his most cherished tea set for me today!” Chloe’s voice on the phone was a mix of shock and delight. “A client was being handsy with me, and Boss poured hot tea directly onto his face, saying he would never work with them again.” I gripped the phone, envisioning Craig’s face—a man with extreme mysophobia. He never allowed anyone to touch his belongings. Once, I accidentally brushed against his purple clay teapot, and he, in front of me, threw the entire million-dollar tea set, piece by piece, into the trash. He said, “It’s dirty.” “Sister Scarlett, Boss also took me to his private observatory! It was so romantic! He said it was his secret base and he only takes the most important people there.” That observatory was a gift Craig gave me for my eighteenth birthday. He had held me then, saying, “Scarlett, every star here shines just for you.” Now, he took another girl there, speaking the same sweet nothings. Even more ridiculous, Chloe meticulously recounted every detail of her dates with Craig to me. She would photograph every gift he gave her and send it to me. She would repeat every romantic word he said to her. She was like an innocent executioner, slicing my heart with the sweetest blade, cut by cut. And Craig, he tacitly allowed all of it. He even took Chloe’s calls in front of me without hesitation. One day, I was cutting fruit in the kitchen and accidentally cut my hand, bleeding profusely. Craig happened to come downstairs, saw the wound on my hand, frowned for a moment, then turned to get the first-aid kit. My heart fluttered; I thought he still cared. But just as he took out a bandage, ready to wrap my wound, his phone rang. It was Chloe. He immediately answered, his voice so gentle it could melt butter: “Chloe, what’s wrong?” Chloe’s tearful voice came from the other end: “Craig, I got a paper cut on my hand, it hurts so much.” “Don’t move, I’ll be right there!” He hung up, carelessly tossed the first-aid kit aside, didn’t even glance at me, grabbed his car keys, and rushed out. I stood there, looking at my still-bleeding finger and the scattered bandages on the floor. Blood dripped onto the floor, blooming into a small, desperate flower. I finally understood. It wasn’t that he wasn’t gentle, or that he didn’t have time. It was just that all his gentleness and time were given to someone else. And I couldn’t even compare to a scratch on her finger. Numbly, I cleaned my wound, then sent Craig a message. “Let’s get a divorce.” He didn’t reply.
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