My ex-boyfriend was at his poorest when I broke up with him. Years later, he made a fortune, and used every trick in the book to marry me. Everyone said I was his ultimate love, the wife he cherished above all. But then, he started bringing different women home every night, shattering my heart, turning me into the biggest joke in our social circle. Yet, I never cried, never threw a fit. I just lived quietly in the study, never disturbing his little games. He’d get furious, kissing my lips savagely, whispering, “Aren’t you jealous?” He didn’t know I was sick. Every single day he was exacting his crazy revenge on me, I was silently counting down how many days I had left to live. It was the third year of my marriage to Alistair, and he’d taken on a young, beautiful college student as his mistress. Her name was Willow, pretty and pure, exactly Alistair’s type. He’d kept her around for over half a year. Aside from me, she was the woman Alistair kept by his side the longest. My friends warned me to be careful, saying he seemed to be genuinely falling for Willow. The first time I met Willow was on my birthday. I’d been having nosebleeds since morning. After a check-up at the hospital, the doctor told me I probably only had until next spring. I nodded gently, whispering, “It’s okay.” I wasn’t afraid of dying, just a little afraid of pain. I heard there was a really expensive medication that could make my final days more comfortable. My debit card didn’t have enough funds, so I went to Alistair’s office to find him. Coincidentally, Willow was there too. She’d just graduated and was working as Alistair’s secretary. Alistair was in a meeting, so I sat outside and waited. Willow kept staring at me, secretly whispering to her colleagues, “Is that the boss’s wife? She’s so ugly, stick-thin, looks like she’s about to drop dead.” “You all say I look like her, but where? I’m way prettier.” My reflection in the shiny glass showed my messy hair, a bulky puffer jacket. She was right. I didn’t look good. And I was dying. A colleague pulled Willow aside, whispering, “That’s because she’s not wearing makeup. If she put on makeup, ten of you combined wouldn’t be as pretty as her.” “And don’t you dare provoke her just because the boss favors you.” “You have no idea how much the boss loves her. If you make her unhappy, he’ll fire you, just watch.”
Willow scoffed, rolling her eyes at me, clearly not buying that Alistair loved me so much. She brought me a cup of tea, a challenging smirk on her face. “Elara, how could Alistair bear to keep you waiting so long?” “It’s so weird. Whenever I came to see him before, no matter how busy he was, he’d always come out to be with me first. He said I was the most important person.” “I thought he was that considerate with other women too…” Her lips curled into a triumphant smile. When she smiled, she was just like me when I was younger. I thought about it. Alistair *was* different with Willow. He’d had countless lovers, treating them like tools to spite me, bringing different women home every night, testing my reaction again and again. Alistair never got entangled with them for long. Maybe a day or two, maybe ten days or half a month. He’d always get bored quickly. Only Willow. Alistair kept her, took her out to dinner, shopping, to the movies. They were like a normal, loving couple. Alistair gave her money, but he also gave her affection. I looked at Willow and smiled gently. “If you’re so important, why would Alistair keep you hidden away as his mistress?” “You should really try to convince him to divorce me quickly and marry you.” Willow’s face instantly twisted. Infuriated and ashamed, she lowered her voice and snapped, “You’re the mistress! You’re the one who’s extra!” “You’re just banking on the fact you met Alistair a few years before me, right? But now you’re old and ugly. What makes you think you can compete with me…?” Her colleague, probably afraid I’d get angry, quickly grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away. Actually, I was fine. I’d told myself long ago not to get angry or sad over Alistair. And certainly not to fight with other women over him. He wasn’t worth it.
Willow was yanked back, lost her balance, and tumbled to the floor. The teacup in her hand shattered, cutting a deep gash in her palm. Blood pooled on the floor. Through the conference room glass, Alistair saw Willow injured. Everyone watched as he slammed down the files in his hand, pushed open the door, grabbed Willow’s hand, and frowned with concern. He asked in an icy tone, “Who hurt her?” The kind colleague recoiled, her face turning pale with fright. I sneered, “I did it. And she deserved it.” Willow gritted her teeth, glaring at me. “Yes, I deserved it! Who told me to fall in love with the wrong person, to be called a mistress and a slut!” “But Alistair, as long as you love me too, I’ll stay by your side forever. No one can separate us.” She gazed deeply into Alistair’s eyes, and even saying something so absurd sounded brave and determined. Alistair chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair, coaxing her, “Be good, don’t be mad. You’ll break my heart.” He really *was* different with her. I lowered my gaze, uninterested in watching any further. I simply said to Alistair, “For my birthday this year, I want half a million.” It was laughable. We were husband and wife, yet we didn’t even have each other’s contact information. Except when I needed money, I never sought him out. Before we got married, we’d had an understanding: he wanted me, and I wanted his money. Alistair always hated my materialism. But before, whenever I asked, no matter how much, he would always give it to me, never less. This time, however, he looked at me and smiled, a chilling smile. He slowly said, “Money? Sure.” “But, Elara, first lower your proud head and apologize to Willow.” Alistair wanted to buy my pride for two hundred thousand dollars, to buy an apology for Willow. This was the first time he’d used money to humiliate me for another woman. I slowly clenched my fists and gave a soft laugh. Fighting back a sudden surge of pain in my body, I turned and walked away. The money, I didn’t want it anymore. I was suddenly very curious, Alistair. If one day, you knew this money could have helped me live longer, if you knew how much I suffered before I died… What expression would be on your face? ***截断点***
I went home alone, curled up in bed, sweating cold from the pain. I took some sleeping pills, lying to myself. Once I fell asleep, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. In a hazy state, I had a dream. I dreamt of when I was twenty, and Alistair was poor, but he loved me so, so much. That year on my birthday, we passed a coffee shop. I saw a couple sitting by the glass window. The girl held a piece of pure white cake in her hand; it looked exquisite, delicious, and expensive. I still remember, it was snowing heavily that day. I scooped up a pile of snow, smiling at Alistair, asking him, “Alistair, doesn’t this pile of snow look like cake?” Alistair clenched his jaw, pulled me into a tight hug, hiding his reddened eyes from me. Three days later, he appeared outside my dorm building with a large cake. A whole cake cost $258. And he, standing in the windy, snowy street, could only earn $100 after distributing three thousand flyers. I looked at the frostbite on his fingers, my eyes welling up with pain. I gritted my teeth and told him, “Alistair, your hands are meant for reading, for writing. They shouldn’t be ruined just to make me happy.” I said I didn’t deserve such an expensive cake at all… Alistair frowned, immediately contradicting me. He said, “Elara, you’re the best girl in the world. You deserve all the good things in this world.” That day, I cried as I ate the entire cake. A long time has passed; I can no longer recall its taste. I only know that after that day, I never seemed to have eaten a cake better than it. I slept for a long time. Drowsily, I heard my phone ringing. I answered and heard Alistair calling my name from the other end. “Elara.” I smiled softly, gently calling him back, “Alistair, it’s snowing heavily. I want cake.” Without waiting for him to reply, I turned over and fell back into a deep sleep.
I slept until midnight, then woke up hungry. I went to the living room to find something to eat, only to discover Alistair was actually home. He had bought Willow a big house. They lived there together. Willow would cook for him, cheer him up, and wait for him to come home. Alistair was living well; he hadn’t been back in a long time. He leaned lazily against the floor-to-ceiling window, staring intently at me. I walked past him, eyes downcast, but he grabbed my arm. He frowned, quietly asking, “How did you get so thin?” His voice was gentle, as if he still loved me very much. I froze for a moment, then forcefully yanked my hand away, snapping, “Alistair, what the hell is wrong with you?” He looked at his empty palm, his face slowly turning cold. When I walked to the dining table, I saw a cake covered in candles. Only then did I realize that call wasn’t a dream. I’d said I wanted cake, and Alistair had bought it. What was this? An olive branch? But I was already dying. I didn’t need a cake anymore, and I certainly didn’t need Alistair. I grabbed the cake and tossed it into the trash can. Alistair frowned, then shoved me against the wall. He snarled, “Elara, are you effing playing me?” I smiled, admitting, “Alistair, yes, I am playing you. What’s wrong with that?” “I said I wanted cake, and you went and bought it. Are you still as pathetic as before?” I deliberately twisted the knife, watching Alistair’s face completely freeze over. He violently grabbed my collar, dragged me into the bedroom, and slammed me onto the bed. Alistair was probably insane with rage. He kissed my lips savagely, biting them until they bled. I pushed him away, my voice icy, “Alistair, don’t touch me! You’re disgusting!” He lunged back, burying his face in my neck, biting down hard. A sharp gasp of pain escaped me. He whispered in my ear, “Elara, would it kill you to just give in for once?” “Do you know how many years I’ve waited for you to comfort me?” “Do you know how happy I was when you told me you wanted cake?” “And then you treat me like a clown?” He lifted his head, tears in his eyes, staring at me. My eyes were red too, as I glared back. In the dim room, neither of us spoke, neither willing to surrender first. Alistair leaned closer, closer, about to kiss my lips when his phone suddenly rang. It was Willow. Alistair paused, then answered. I heard Willow crying, “Alistair, are you really going to abandon me for Elara? You clearly like me.” “I’m at a bar right now, I’ve had so much to drink, and some guy is hitting on me…” “I hate him so much. Please, come pick me up and take me home, okay?” Alistair didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, a cold smile on his face, and quietly commanded, “Elara, beg me.” “Beg me to stay. If you just beg me, I won’t leave.” He seemed to have forgotten. A long time ago, I too had swallowed my pride and begged him, “Alistair, can we just talk calmly for once?” “Can we stop fighting?” “Can we just be together, properly?” “Can you, just be a little kinder to me?” That day, Alistair had stared at me coldly, smiling as he said, “Elara, you’re not worthy.” Those three words had pierced my heart. Until today, when I could finally return them word for word. I grabbed his collar and said, every word dripping with ice, “Alistair, *you’re* not worthy.” Alistair fell silent for a moment, then suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh. He put the phone back to his ear and told Willow, “Wait for me. I’m coming to pick you up.” He didn’t spare me another glance. He got up, slammed the door, and left.
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