“Stella’s back.” Julian Hayes strode past without a glance. She’d saved him once. Left with trauma, fragile as glass. Every time her love life failed, she came running back. And every time, Julian blamed me. Said my place as “Mrs. Hayes” triggered her. So I’d vanish. Give up our bedroom so he could hold his broken angel. When she left, he’d call me home. Five years. No more, no less. Eighteen times. But Julian, I will never love you again. Audrey’s POV “Dad, I want a divorce.” I held the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll get the immigration paperwork done as soon as possible. I’m serious this time.” My father’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a hint of relief. “My dear, you’ve finally come to your senses. I’ll handle the rest. You’ll be out of there within a month.” I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror, expressionless. The doorbell rang. I opened the door. Julian Hayes stood there, his face etched with his usual thinly veiled impatience. “Stella’s back.” He strode into the entryway without even glancing at me. He walked straight to the walk-in closet and pulled out the suitcase I’d already packed. “You know her mental state. She can’t handle any stress.” Of course, I knew. Stella had once saved his life, and supposedly, it left her with severe psychological trauma and extreme emotional instability. Since then, every time she hit a wall with some awful guy, she’d come running back to Julian for shelter. Julian stubbornly insisted that my status as “Mrs. Hayes” was the biggest trigger for Stella. In his mind, as long as I stayed in this house, Stella would feel like a third party. And that would only make her condition worse. So, every time Stella returned, I had to disappear like a ghost, vacating our master bedroom so he could comfort his fragile angel. Once Stella left, he’d have me come back. In five years, no more, no less, exactly eighteen times. Today marked the nineteenth. “She’ll stay at our place first,” he said, setting the suitcase down on the living room rug. “I can’t let her have an episode out of guilt. I’ve already had my assistant, Karl, book you a suite at the Four Seasons.” I looked at the familiar suitcase, saying nothing, just silently beginning to pack my personal belongings. This unusual calm compliance seemed to surprise him more than any hysterical crying fit would have. He frowned, loosening his expensive silk tie, and stared at me suspiciously. “Audrey, why are you so cooperative today? What are you up to?” It was no wonder he was suspicious. After all, I wasn’t always willing to be his doormat. The first time, I cried and blocked his way, begging him not to make me leave. He just coldly pushed me aside. The fifth time, I shredded all his custom shirts. I threatened him that if he dared to make me leave, he wouldn’t be able to walk out of the house looking presentable. He just glanced at them coldly and had the bodyguards “escort” me out. The next day, the closet was filled with new season clothes. By the tenth time, I no longer resisted, just cried silently. He came over then, patted my head as if I were a pet, and said, “Now you’re being a good girl.” And the eighteenth time, just last month, I could even smile as I helped him pick out the suit he would wear to see Stella. I looked up at him, shaking my head calmly. “I just think… this whole situation is pointless.” Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and his impatience instantly transformed into tension and tenderness. It was Stella. He didn’t avoid me, directly putting it on speaker. “Julian, this floor is so quiet. I’m all alone in the hotel. I’m scared. When are you coming to get me?” Stella’s voice trembled, pitiful as ever. “Don’t be scared. I’ll come as soon as I’m done here,” Julian cooed softly. “I had Karl order you a diamond bracelet, a welcome back gift. It’s already in your room.” Stella’s voice lifted with surprise. “Is it that Van Cleef & Arpels one we saw in Paris last time?” “Yeah.” My hands, mid-fold, stiffened in the air. Last week, I’d spread that Parisian fashion magazine in front of him, pointing to that very bracelet and joking, “It’s so beautiful.” He had chuckled then, playfully tapping my nose, saying, “Noted.” Turns out, he did note it, but not for me. Julian hung up and looked at me, his eyes full of warning. “One hour. I’m going to pick her up. You better be gone by the time I get back.” Seeing no reaction from me, he even reached out and touched my face with a hint of pity, his voice softening. “Be good. Stella never stays long. I’ll pick you up once she’s gone.” With that, he turned and strode away, without a backward glance. I sat alone in the empty living room, not moving immediately. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. The call connected, and a professional, steady voice answered from the other end. “Hello, Mrs. Hayes.” Watching the city’s bustling skyline outside the window, my voice was calm and even. “Mr. Harrison, it’s Audrey.” “Please start preparing the asset division and divorce agreement.” I didn’t go to the Four Seasons Hotel he booked. Instead, I took a taxi to a small apartment I owned before we got married. It was the only place in this city that truly felt like my sanctuary. For the next three days, Julian didn’t call once. I was glad for the peace and quiet. On the fourth night, I habitually scrolled through Instagram. A jarring photo flashed across my screen. Stella had posted it. In the picture, Stella was wearing my silk robe, sitting on the wool rug in our marital home’s living room, holding a steaming mug of latte. Julian was on the sofa behind her, looking down at some documents, his profile appearing unusually soft in the warm glow of the floor lamp. The caption read: “With you, all my anxiety disappears.” I stared at that photo for a long time. That robe was my favorite; my initials were embroidered on the cuffs. I had left it in the closet when I moved out. That woman not only occupied my home, my husband, but also casually took my personal belongings. In the comments section below, many of our mutual acquaintances had left messages. “Is this the official announcement on Instagram?” “Has Julian finally come to his senses?” Julian neither liked the post nor replied. But I knew his silence was implicit consent. I turned off my phone screen. My expressionless face reflected in the black glass.
Audrey’s POV I stayed up all night after seeing that Instagram post. These five years of hellish nightmare had taught me one thing: any hysterical questioning would only end up as amusement for them and humiliation for myself. The next afternoon, I went to a boutique affiliated with a high-end auction house. When my father was still back home, he loved collecting crystal glassware. Since I had decided to leave for good, I wanted to buy him a decent gift. As I paused at the boutique entrance, a familiar black Maybach pulled up not far away. The car door opened, and Julian stepped out, helping Stella down. Stella looked pale, appearing frail and on the verge of collapsing even in the sunlight. When she saw me, she first froze, then timidly hid behind Julian like a startled fawn. Julian immediately pulled her close, then looked up at me, his eyes filled with displeasure and wariness. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t answer, just quietly watched them. Stella’s voice was soft and gentle. “Julian, don’t blame Audrey. She surely didn’t mean to follow us.” Julian’s face darkened even more. “Audrey, I warned you, don’t harass Stella again.” I finally spoke, my voice as calm as if I were talking to a stranger. “I’m just here to buy something.” I walked past them, trying to enter the store. But Stella suddenly tugged at Julian’s sleeve, pointing at the shopping catalog I had just picked up. “Audrey, what were you looking at?” she asked curiously. Before I could answer, she took it upon herself to pick up the gift box I’d been eyeing from the display shelf-a vintage crystal whiskey decanter set. “Wow, what beautiful crystal glasses.” Stella’s eyes lit up, then she seemed to remember something, looking at Julian, her voice laced with a hint of a playful plea. “Julian, I remember your father also likes whiskey. Shall we buy this for him?” Julian’s father, the man who’d passed his family business down to him, indeed enjoyed whiskey. Julian looked at me, his tone brooking no argument. “Let Stella have this set.” I stared at him, unmoving, showing no intention of backing down. Seeing this, Stella immediately pushed the decanter set back into my hands, her eyes instantly reddening. “I’m sorry, Audrey, I didn’t know you liked it too. Julian, don’t force her. We can just look for something else… it’s all my fault.” The more “sensible” she acted, the more petty and unreasonable I appeared. Julian directly snatched the gift box from my hands and put it back into Stella’s arms. “Keep it,” he told Stella, then turned to me, his gaze cold. “Audrey, there are plenty of glasses like this. Go pick something else.” With that, he put his arm around Stella and walked away, leaving me with a resolute back. That night, Julian actually came to my apartment unprompted. He brought my favorite French dessert, and his tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “Audrey, I’m sorry about what happened today.” He launched into that familiar, nauseating explanation. “As long as we’re legally married, Stella will never be able to hold her head high around you. She always feels like a third party, and that’s very bad for her recovery.” He paused, then laid out his plan. “Let’s get a divorce. A legal one, but just on paper, just for show. Once Stella goes to Switzerland for treatment next month, we’ll remarry immediately. I promise.” I lowered my head, looking at the exquisite, expensive dessert, saying nothing. I was racking my brain for a good reason to suggest a divorce, and unexpectedly, he practically handed me the perfect escape route. I was silent for a long time. Long enough for Julian to start impatiently checking his watch. Finally, I looked up at him, my face a mask of perfect compliance. I said softly, “Okay.” “Whatever you say.”
Audrey’s POV The next morning, Julian’s private driver was waiting promptly downstairs for me. The VIP process at the courthouse went quickly. When he received the divorce certificate, Julian didn’t even glance at it, casually stuffing it into his suit pocket. He put his arm around my shoulder as usual, his voice as tender as if we had just gotten married. “We’ll remarry next month, once Stella goes abroad.” I lowered my head and softly hummed in agreement. I could feel a few glances lingering on us, probably wondering why this newly divorced couple was still so intimate. Julian seemed pleased with my attitude. We parted ways at the courthouse entrance. I took a taxi alone back to my apartment. Over the next few days, my father occasionally sent encrypted emails, concise and to the point. “Mr. Harrison has almost finished liquidating your assets back home, no need to worry.” “Offshore accounts and passport are all set. The private jet route has also been approved. You can leave anytime.” I looked at the screen, calculating a specific departure date. After dealing with these, I casually opened Instagram, and immediately, Julian and Stella’s usual public displays of affection popped up. In the morning, Julian personally cooked, making not only brunch but also plating it exquisitely. In the evening, the two went to see that contemporary art exhibition-the one I had begged him for a long time to go to, but he always claimed to be too busy. I scoffed, a self-deprecating smile on my face, and closed the app. Images that once easily pained me now left my heart completely undisturbed. Two days later, I submitted my resignation to the company. I completed all the formalities, returned my access card, cleared my computer, and bid farewell to my colleagues, whose smiles rarely reached their eyes. The moment I stepped out of the towering office building, I felt another thread connecting me to this city snap. That night, Julian sent a FaceTime request. It was the first time he had contacted me since our divorce. I looked at the name on the screen, hesitated for a few seconds, then switched to audio-only. I didn’t want to see his face next to another woman. His displeasure was immediate from the other end. “Why no video?” “Just got out of the shower, no makeup,” I casually brushed him off. Julian chuckled on the other end, his tone smug, clearly thinking I was still the meticulous woman who tried to maintain a perfect image for him. “What look of yours haven’t I seen?” His voice carried an uncomfortable familiarity. I didn’t respond. He probably found it boring, so he changed the subject and asked about my resignation. “You quit? Good. You only got that internship at the company through my connections anyway. There wasn’t much of a future there.” My impatience reached its peak. “Don’t you need to go accompany Stella?” I interrupted him, just wanting to end the conversation quickly. On the other end, Julian fell silent for a moment at my words, then let out a cold laugh. “Audrey, your temper is getting worse.” His voice was full of the arrogance and warning of a man accustomed to power. “Stella isn’t well. If you dare to say anything to upset her, you know the consequences.” I couldn’t even be bothered to argue with him anymore. I just hung up. Two days later was Julian’s birthday. In previous years, no matter how busy I was, I would personally bake him a fondant cake and prepare a table full of his favorite dishes. And he, like a perfect husband, would cancel all business engagements to spend the day only with me. This had been one of the few rituals in our marriage. This year, I hadn’t prepared anything; I had almost forgotten the date. Then my phone rang. It was Dylan, a friend from Julian’s circle. “Audrey, did you and Julian have a fight?” Dylan’s voice was boisterous. “It’s his birthday today, why aren’t you here? Stella, though, she’s here, running around the mansion like the hostess.” I held my phone, my fingertips icy cold. “Oh, really?” “You should come quick, Julian’s had a lot to drink,” Dylan continued, adding fuel to the fire. “If you don’t come soon, your husband might really be snatched away.” I let out a soft laugh, tinged with a bone-chilling coldness. “Dylan, Julian and I are already divorced.” With that, I didn’t bother waiting for his reaction and just hung up. Not long after, Stella posted a series of photos on Instagram. In the pictures, she held a custom cake, smiling sweetly and shyly. Another picture showed Stella playfully smearing cream on Julian’s face, with the caption: “Hope you’re as happy every day as you are today, @JulianHayes.” Julian replied with a simple “Okay.” I exited the social media app and took out a document from my safe. It was the title deed for a commercial property I owned in a prime downtown location. It had been gifted to me upon our marriage. I sent a message to Mr. Harrison, “Mr. Harrison, please anonymously list this asset for sale. A lower price is fine; I need cash, as quickly as possible.” Then, I pulled out the dusty box from under the bed and took out a heavy wedding photo album. In every picture in the album, I smiled so brightly. Back then, I naively thought I was the happiest woman in the world. I turned to the third page. In the photo, Julian, with a rare gentle smile, was bending down to adjust my veil. I pulled out my lighter. A pale blue flame lit up a corner of the photo. I watched it hungrily consume the image, then tore off the half-burnt piece. Ashy black scraps fluttered onto the desk. I scooped up the remnants, walked into the bathroom, and flushed them all down the toilet. I pressed the flush button. Watching the swirling water carry everything away, I closed the album and put it back in its place. I looked at my empty hands and whispered to myself, “This is it.” The day this wedding album was completely burned, everything between us would truly be over.
Audrey’s POV When my friend Chloe came to see me, she brought the latest gossip from our circle. “Did you hear? Julian and Stella had a huge fight at his birthday party. They say she scratched his face.” Chloe scrolled through her phone, gloating. “Apparently, the trigger was because you didn’t go.” I was wearing a face mask and didn’t even lift an eyelid. “They’ll always make up,” I mumbled, my voice muffled. “I’m always just a pawn in their toxic love story, aren’t I?” Chloe thought about it, decided I had a point, cursed “those two psychopaths,” and tore open a bag of chips. From then on, Julian started contacting me relentlessly. Calls, texts, they flooded in like a bombardment. At first, it was questioning. “What do you mean? Why aren’t you answering?” Later, it was commands. “Reply to my message now. Don’t make me lose my temper.” I blocked his number and didn’t answer any unknown calls. My life lately was full and busy. Shopping sprees, spa treatments, visiting the latest art exhibitions, planning global travel routes. Julian was completely shut out of my new life. One day, Chloe and I were shopping at the mall. I paused in front of a men’s coat at a luxury brand store. It was Julian’s style. For a moment, I lost myself in thought. I remembered one winter, even though I was an heiress, I foolishly stood in line for five hours outside the boutique to buy him a limited edition coat. That was when he was still an arrogant, struggling student. When he received it, he just glanced at it indifferently. Later, Stella came over and casually remarked that the coat’s color was too old-fashioned. It didn’t suit Julian. The next day, I saw that coat on his driver. I stood there, a dull, tearing pain in my chest. Now, thinking about it, my heart no longer hurt. Even that last bit of lingering warmth had completely faded. “What are you looking at? Still thinking of buying something for that jerk?” Chloe leaned in, her face wary. “No.” I pulled my gaze away, taking her hand and walking forward, my voice light. “This coat isn’t good enough for my future man.” His phone and text barrage failed, so Julian resorted to other means. He sent messages through mutual friends, saying he wanted to meet me to talk. He had Karl contact Chloe, but Chloe just cursed him out. “You tell Julian to go away! Don’t bother Audrey!” That night, Chloe answered a call, then stormed into my room, her face ashen. “Audrey, that bastard Julian, he sent people to harass your parents! He’s checking the movements of your family’s trust fund!” My face instantly darkened. My relationship with my parents had hit rock bottom because of Julian, but that didn’t mean he could cross my line. I walked onto the balcony and pulled out the second photo from the wedding album. The lighter’s flame flickered again, illuminating the night. “You don’t deserve to, and you have no right to disturb my family. Neither in the past, nor now.” I watched the photo turn to ash, my voice cold. “Julian, this is the second time.” Afterward, I took a taxi to our old university. The campus was quiet at night. I walked to the artificial lake and sat on a bench for a long time. This was where I had fallen in love with Julian at first sight. That year, during freshman orientation, he spoke on stage as an outstanding student representative, in a white shirt and black pants, aloof and radiant, showing no hint of his modest background at the time. I sat in the audience. In that instant, I was completely captivated. I took out a faded, yellowed old photograph from my wallet-one I had secretly taken back then. In the photo, Julian was holding a basketball, his forehead glistening with sweat, catching his breath. That was the best image of the boy I remembered. I looked at it for a long time. Then I tore it into countless pieces. I raised my hand and scattered all the fragments into the dark lake water. I stood up and walked away. This time, I didn’t look back.
Audrey’s POV The day before I was due to leave the country, Julian called from an unknown number. I hesitated, but answered. “Audrey.” It was his voice, sounding more tired and hoarse than I had ever heard it. My finger hovered over the hang-up button. “Don’t hang up,” he said urgently, with a hint of pleading in his voice. “Can we just meet, just once? Please?” I remained silent. “I’ve booked VIP tickets for tomorrow’s concert. Haven’t you always wanted to see that band? I’ll go with you.” His voice sounded so sincere, as if we were back in our dating days. I really did want to go. Not for him, but for myself. I wanted to witness firsthand how the last bit of my hope died. I wanted to put a definitive end to my foolish, self-destructive devotion of the past seven years. “Audrey, are you crazy?!” Chloe jumped up from the sofa after hearing my decision. “He’s got bad intentions! He just wants to reel you back in! Nineteen times, haven’t you learned your lesson?” “Chloe,” I looked at her, my eyes calm and firm. “I’m not going for him. I’m going for myself. I need this.” Chloe looked at me, finally giving in. “Fine, go,” she said through gritted teeth. “But you remember this: this is the last time! If he dares to pull any more stunts, I swear I’ll make sure someone breaks his damn legs!” I took out the wedding album, flipping to the next page; these were the last few photos. I pulled out my lighter. Chloe sat beside me, watching the flames consume the photo of her radiant smile. “I agreed to meet, not because I forgive him, but to put an end to this,” my voice was a little shaky in the flickering light. The ashes fell into the trash can, mixing with fruit peels and paper scraps. The once sacred marriage contract was now no more than trash. I called Julian back. “Okay, I agree. Tomorrow evening at six, meet me at the concert entrance.” Julian’s voice on the other end held obvious relief. He said everything was arranged, just waiting for me.
Audrey’s POV On the night of the concert, the venue was bustling with people outside. I stood alone at the VIP entrance, feeling completely out of place. I arrived fifteen minutes early. At exactly six o’clock, Julian didn’t show. At six fifteen, the concert was about to start. The crowd at the ticket gate had thinned out. He still hadn’t appeared. I wasn’t surprised, but a sliver of disappointment still crept into my heart. Originally, I had wanted to say a proper goodbye. My phone vibrated. Julian sent a voice message; the background noise was chaotic. “I’m sorry, Audrey.” His voice was full of apology. “Stella had a bit of a hyperventilation attack, she’s not feeling well, I…” The voice message cut off there. A few seconds later, a second voice message came through. “Just go in by yourself. We’ll have countless anniversaries in the future. Stella will be gone in a few days, and then I’ll accompany you no matter what you want to do, okay?” His tone was apologetic, perfectly smooth, as if I were the one who would be unreasonable if I didn’t understand. I turned off my phone. Just then, the main stage lights suddenly flared, and the headlining band’s guitar intro roared through the sky, instantly igniting the atmosphere. As the intro began, tens of thousands of people across the venue started waving their arms to the rhythm and singing loudly in unison. “In this very moment, I found love…” A tidal wave of voices swept over the crowd. I smiled. I took a photo and a lighter from my bag. It was the last group photo I had purposely torn from the album before leaving the house. I walked to a sheltered corner outside the venue and crouched down. The lighter’s flame sparked. My heart was surprisingly calm. Using the song of my favorite band to accompany his betrayal, somehow, it felt fitting. Watching the photo turn to ash, I scanned my ticket and entered the venue alone. I stood in the crowd and listened to the entire headlining set of the music festival. A complete ending for my dead youth, for my extinguished obsession. Julian Hayes, I will never love you again.
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