The moment the real heiress was welcomed back to her biological family, the zombie apocalypse began.
She immediately hid inside our billionaire parents’ high-security mansion, kicking me out and sending me back to my biological parents’ run-down homestead in the middle of nowhere. She thought she was securing her own survival.
What she didn’t expect was that the mansion’s bodyguards would turn on our wealthy parents, murder them, and take over the estate, turning the “real heiress” into their personal plaything in the wasteland.
Meanwhile, I was living like a queen, eating and drinking to my heart’s content in the high-tech doomsday bunker built by my paranoid, prepper biological parents, safely waiting out the chaos until the rescue teams arrived.
On the day of the evacuation, my half-dead sister begged to tell me her “final words.” But as I leaned in, she suddenly lunged forward and ripped my throat out with her teeth.
When I opened my eyes again, we had both regressed.
This time, Chloe beat me to the punch. She pushed our billionaire parents away, shouting that biology meant nothing compared to the people who raised her, and warned them not to stand in her way.
My adoptive parents, Richard and Eleanor Sinclair, stared at Chloe in absolute shock.
You couldn’t blame them. Just a second ago, Chloe had been sobbing about how much she had suffered living with her poor parents in the countryside. She had blamed me for stealing the luxury life that was rightfully hers.
The more Richard and Eleanor listened, the more they loathed me. Their venomous glares made me feel like they wanted to tear me to pieces right then and there.
But before they could announce that they were kicking me out to let Chloe take her rightful place, Chloe suddenly changed her tune. She declared she wanted to go back to the countryside, to be with the parents who had raised her from dirt. She told the Sinclairs to get lost.
As she finished her dramatic speech, she shot me a smug, gloating look.
That was when I knew. She had regressed too.
In our past life, Chloe had discovered she was adopted during a routine blood drive and immediately posted her DNA results online to find her real family.
Because she looked identical to Richard, her identity as the true Sinclair heiress was quickly confirmed.
On her very first day back, she was desperate to prove her loyalty to her new billionaire parents. She cut off all contact with my biological parents—the Millers—and had me sent back to them, claiming they were mentally unstable.
She told me I had enjoyed her luxury for too long, that I owed her, and that letting me live was already an act of mercy.
My biological parents were extreme doomsday preppers with severe paranoia. Any harmless action from me would trigger their delusions, making them think I was trying to poison them. They would beat me raw. Chloe couldn’t wait to escape them, and she wanted me to experience that exact living hell.
But she didn’t expect the zombie virus to break out just days after I arrived at the Miller homestead.
Before the apocalypse, the Sinclairs were the type of people who had organic produce flown in fresh daily.
Once the world went to hell, their food supply lines were cut off. They hid in their mansion, throwing money at their bodyguards to go out and raid the nearby shopping centers.
But after watching their fellow guards get torn apart by the infected, the remaining security detail formed a pact. They threw Richard and Eleanor to the zombies, hijacked the mansion, and lived like kings. Only Chloe was kept alive, dragged through a living nightmare every single day.
Meanwhile, the moment I had returned to the Millers’ homestead, I was ushered into a state-of-the-art underground bunker. My paranoid parents had poured their life savings into building it. I survived in perfect safety until the military rescue arrived.
The day we were transferred to the survivor camp, I heard about the Sinclairs’ horrific deaths. Grieving for the people who had raised me for twenty years, I wept bitterly and vowed to take care of their only surviving daughter—Chloe.
But the moment she saw me, already secretly infected, she lunged at me and tore open my carotid artery.
As my blood sprayed across the room, she stood there drenched in red, laughing like a maniac.
In this life, she didn’t hesitate. She pushed Eleanor and Richard away as if they were plague-bearers and rushed out of the house, eager to get to the Miller homestead.
Richard and Eleanor stood frozen for a moment. Then, Richard slammed his fist on the table, cursing his ungrateful biological daughter.
When he turned and saw my eyes pooling with tears, his heart finally softened.
“Forget her,” Richard sighed, looking defeated. “If twenty years of separation means she’s been corrupted by those people, then we don’t need her anyway.”
I nodded, offering a gentle, compliant smile.
Chloe had no idea. In our past life, even though the Millers had a bunker stocked like a grocery store, I ate worse than a stray dog.
Despite the shelves being packed with canned goods and rations, my biological parents were constantly terrified that the apocalypse would last forever and we would run out of food. From the moment we sealed the bunker doors, they only allowed me one packet of Oreos and half a bottle of water a day.
Even if the food was literally rotting or being eaten by pests, they refused to let me touch it.
Yet, the day before the military rescued us, knowing the soldiers were coming, they suddenly shoved armfuls of food down my throat, forcing me to gorge.
My stomach, shrunken to the size of a fist after six months of starvation, couldn’t handle it. I threw up violently.
They told me that leaving any food behind would just benefit outsiders, and if the rescue team saw we had leftovers, it would paint a target on our backs at the survivor camp.
But in this life, I had better options.
Chloe was short-sighted. She didn’t understand that having one more ally is always better than having one more enemy. That was why she was so eager to ditch the Millers in her last life, and so desperate to ditch the Sinclairs in this one.
I, on the other hand, seized the moment. While Richard and Eleanor were drowning in their hatred for Chloe and overwhelming guilt toward me, I asked them to build me my own high-security house.
They stared at me, their mouths open in confusion.
I looked around the room, mimicking the twitchy, paranoid behavior of someone terrified of invisible threats.
“What if Chloe comes back?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What if she brings a bad crowd to steal from us?”
“What if my biological parents come looking for me? I can send them some money, but I don’t want them bringing trouble to your doorstep.”
Richard thought it over. He assumed I had simply inherited my biological parents’ paranoia. Rather than arguing, he readily agreed and wired me the funds.
With the Sinclair fortune at my disposal, I was going to live far better than I ever did in my past life.
I purchased a villa in the very same gated community as the Sinclairs. I chose not to live with them because I had already seen through their cold, transactional nature.
In my past life, when Chloe demanded I be sent to the Millers to suffer, they didn’t care.
Later, they forced their bodyguards to risk their lives retrieving gourmet foods, complaining when things weren’t perfect, which ultimately cost several lives.
Even though they chose me in this timeline and gave me enough money to secure my safety, I wouldn’t bet my life on their loyalty when a real crisis hit.
Living alone was the only logical choice.
My new villa faced a quiet lake in the front and a vast, open golf course in the back. The visibility was perfect.
The gated community was sparsely populated, making its security top-tier. Even if the main security gates collapsed and desperate refugees tried to break in, I would spot them from a mile away.
Still, that wasn’t enough. I began upgrading the house.
I replaced all doors and windows with bank-vault-grade security materials and started panic-buying.
Military-grade MREs, freeze-dried vegetables, medical kits, survival gear… anything that could be bought with money, I hoarded.
When other wealthy neighbors questioned my massive shipments, I simply told them I was setting up a humanitarian relief initiative under our family foundation to prepare for global crises, aiming to boost my resume.
They nodded in approval. Soon, they were even helping me coordinate shipments, asking only that our family company mention their names in our press releases.
Wealthy people can never have too much good publicity.
To me, these expenses were pocket change.
Of course, I didn’t actually set up a real foundation. I had a portion of the supplies shipped directly to low-income families in nearby rural areas, counting it as a good deed to help them survive what was coming.
The rest was packed tightly into my newly reinforced basement bunker.
Next, I asked Richard to assign me Marcus, the head of our security detail.
Marcus had been an MMA prodigy in his youth before serving in the military. He was an expert in close-quarters combat and tactical defense.
In my past life, he had died trying to shield his men. He was a man of honor. He was someone I could actually trust.
Richard looked at me suspiciously this time, demanding to know what I was planning.
But my twitchy, paranoid act quickly made him sigh in exhaustion. He gave up trying to reason with me and signed Marcus over.
The very first task I gave Marcus was to deliver a physical letter to my biological parents.
The letter warned them that a highly infectious zombie virus was about to sweep the nation.
To a normal person, such a letter would be discarded as a prank.
But I knew the Millers. Their paranoia was a sickness.
Sure enough, the moment they read the letter, they wept tears of joy. It was as if all their years of being called crazy had finally been validated. They immediately rushed to inspect the hidden bunker they had spent decades building.
They walked into their dusty old basement, cleared away the heavy junk concealing the floor, and unlocked the heavy steel door requiring a passcode, fingerprint, and retinal scan.
But just as they opened it, Marcus, who had been tailing them in the shadows, struck. He knocked them both unconscious with quick, non-lethal blows, did absolutely nothing else, and left.
When Arthur and Martha finally woke up, they frantically checked their bunker supplies.
They found the hair-triggers they had left on the doorknobs and the meticulously aligned dust lines completely undisturbed.
They fell into a tense, terrified silence.
I knew exactly what was going through their minds.
*Had someone bypassed their security?*
*Had the food been poisoned or replaced?*
*The fact that the markers were untouched—did it mean the intruder was a professional?*
In the end, they stared at each other and reached one paranoid conclusion: “This bunker is compromised.”
They abandoned their lifetime project without hesitation. In a panic, they hired local contractors to weld two extra layers of steel plating over their house’s main doors and rushed to grab whatever random supplies they could find.
Chloe watched all of this play out with a smug smile.
She genuinely believed this was the secret weapon that had kept me safe and comfortable in the previous timeline.
She had no idea that the people Marcus hired to “install” the extra steel doors had already planted hidden cameras throughout the house.
The Millers hadn’t even finished stocking up when the outbreak hit.
Overnight, the world fell into silence. The streets were littered with the dead.
Richard and Eleanor FaceTime’d me, panicked, asking where I was. They wanted me to cross the golf course to join them so we could pool our resources.
I played the part of the dutiful, loving daughter. I told them I was completely safe, and that I had already stocked their kitchen with a massive supply of food the day before. I begged them to stay inside and lock their doors.
This was only the beginning of the end. While I didn’t know the exact details of what happened to their mansion in the previous timeline, common sense dictated it wouldn’t fall this early.
I pulled up the live camera feed of the Miller homestead.
On screen, Chloe was lounging on a lawn chair, lazily licking a popsicle, while Arthur and Martha were sweat-drenched, desperately barricading the windows.
“Arthur, Martha, stop stressing,” Chloe called out, trying to sound sweet. “You’re dripping sweat. Here, have a popsicle.”
She was trying to play the loving daughter, to get on their good side.
But the moment they heard her voice and saw her smiling with a half-eaten popsicle, they snapped.
Arthur’s face turned bright red, veins bulging on his neck. He lunged forward and slapped the popsicle right out of her hand, sending it flying.
“You brainless brat!” Arthur screamed, his voice cracking. “Do you have any idea what’s happening out there? All you do is eat, eat, eat! The world is ending and you’re already treating it like a vacation? Are you trying to starve us to death?!”
They were already on edge after losing their main bunker, and facing the apocalypse with limited supplies had pushed their paranoia to the brink.
Chloe’s carefree attitude was the spark that set off the powder keg.
Chloe froze, her jaw dropping.
She had always hated the Millers for raising her in poverty, and finding out she was a billionaire’s daughter had turned that resentment into pure rage.
Her instinct was to strike back. But she caught herself just in time.
She realized she still needed them to survive the winter.
Her face contorted as she forced down her anger, muttering under her breath, “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll do better.”
“But don’t worry too much. The apocalypse only lasts six months. We can easily make it through.”
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My adoptive sister pushed me off a balcony just because I refused to hand over my inheritance and my fiancé. I was severely injured.
When I finally woke up, I found myself chained in a dark, damp cellar.
A drooling, limping man named Donald rushed at me, tearing at my clothes with a sickening grin.
Terrified, I gathered every ounce of strength to push him away. Instantly, an old woman standing nearby struck my head with a heavy wooden club.
“A bought-and-paid-for bride dares to fight back?” Mrs. Gable shrieked.
“If you’re so tough, why don’t you just drink this rat poison and die?!”
From that day on, my hands and feet were bound in heavy iron shackles. Despite the endless nights of brutal beatings and verbal abuse, I forced myself to endure. I learned from the other trapped women in this godforsaken backwoods town. I played the part of a submissive, broken wife to please my limping “husband” and his wretched mother.
For five long years, I bided my time. Finally, I found an opportunity to slip into their room and grab a burner phone.
But just as I was about to dial my brother’s number to beg for rescue…
I heard the supposedly brain-dead Donald speaking in a perfectly clear, cold voice just outside the door.
“Master Austin, the five-year mark has arrived.”
“Do you want me to keep training the eldest heiress, or has she learned her lesson?”
Austin Gray. My twin brother. The very person I was about to beg for help.
1
My starved, sluggish brain couldn’t process it at first. Then, Austin’s voice drifted through the wooden door.
“Keep her there a little longer.”
“Chloe’s engagement party with Logan Miller is in three days.”
“Mom and Dad will transfer her share of the trust fund to Chloe then.”
“With the trust and the Miller alliance, Chloe will be secure.”
“At least I won’t have to worry about Evelyn coming back to ruin her life.”
Donald hesitated, his voice low. “But Master Austin, if the true heiress loses her inheritance and her fiancé, what will she do for the rest of her life?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Austin spoke with chilling indifference.
“As long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure she doesn’t starve on the streets.”
“After all, she is my biological sister.”
The stark contrast of his words pierced my heart like an icicle.
I slid down the wall, curling into a ball on the dirty floor. Tears fell silently, but my stomach twisted with absolute disgust.
His biological sister?
I looked at my hands. Once delicate, they were now scarred, calloused, and withered like those of an eighty-year-old woman.
I remembered when I first returned to the Gray family, feeling so insecure about my rough hands. Austin had held them, looking into my eyes with warmth.
“You’ve suffered so much, Evelyn. Your big brother will make sure you get everything you deserve.”
He showered me with diamonds, stood up for me in high society, and loudly scolded Chloe when she tried to sabotage me.
I actually believed he loved me. I believed he felt guilty that Chloe’s biological mother had swapped us at birth, leaving me to rot in poverty for twenty years.
But it was all a sick, twisted act. The moment I refused to give up my birthright, he had me kidnapped and sold to this living hell, leaving me to be treated like livestock for five years.
He even wanted the trust fund my parents set aside for me. He wanted to strip me of everything.
“Not starve on the streets”?
Even if I weren’t the heiress of the Gray family, I had hands and a brain. I could feed myself. I didn’t need his pitiful, patronizing crumbs.
Chloe’s mother ruined the first half of my life, and now my own twin brother had stolen the second.
But I am no one’s puppet.
The suffocating pain in my chest slowly crystallized into cold, hard rage.
I gripped the phone tightly and dialed 91
“I want to report a kidnapping,” I whispered.
“Austin Gray, CEO of Gray Group, kidnapped and sold his biological sister, Evelyn Gray.”
I hung up immediately.
Right now, I couldn’t trust a single soul, not even my parents.
The only person who could get me out of this hell was myself.
I knew Austin would find out about this call very soon, and he would make a move to cover his tracks.
That would be my only window of opportunity to escape.
I slipped the phone back into its hiding spot. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught a small paring knife on the counter.
I hesitated for a second, then grabbed it and hid it in my waistband.
I didn’t want to kill anyone. But if it came down to it, I’d rather spend my life in a federal prison than live like a caged dog here forever.
I pushed open the creaky wooden door, instantly melting back into the role of the terrified, submissive country wife.
Mrs. Gable was waiting in the yard. Seeing me, her face contorted with rage, and she whipped a wooden rod across my back.
“You lazy bitch! Why isn’t dinner ready? Are you trying to starve us to death?!”
“Get your ass into the kitchen, now!”
2
Sharp, burning pain flared across my arms as angry red welts rose on my skin.
But I didn’t dare fight back. I kept my head low and whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m going right now.”
Seeing my submission, Mrs. Gable spat on the ground, satisfied.
“Better. Let me tell you something, girl. Once you enter the Gable house, you’re ours forever.”
“Stop dreaming your fancy rich girl dreams.”
“Your only job is to pop out some strong boys for my son.”
I had heard those words thousands of times. I used to think it was just her trying to break my spirit.
Now I realized it was Austin’s script, systematically crushing my dignity.
He was terrified I would take back what belonged to me, forgetting that everything Chloe had was stolen from me in the first place.
Pure hatred fueled my steps as I entered the kitchen. Without hesitation, I pulled out a handful of toxic wild mushrooms I had gathered and dried weeks ago.
Looking at the boiling stew on the stove, I chopped the mushrooms finely and tossed them in.
As night fell, I served the stew on the table.
When I didn’t leave the room immediately, Mrs. Gable kicked a cracked plastic bowl on the floor.
“That’s your feeding dish,” she sneered.
“A bought slave doesn’t get to sit at our table.”
“Get on your knees and serve your man!”
Donald walked in, dropping his “fool” act. Seeing me standing there, he kicked me hard in the shin, clapping his hands and laughing like a toddler.
To make it worse, he grabbed a ladle of smelly dishwater and dumped it into my cracked bowl.
“Eat!” he yelled. “Eat it up!”
When I hesitated, Mrs. Gable slammed her rod heavily across my back.
“Eat it, you worthless bitch! Or do you want me to shove it down your throat?!”
The pain made my mind go blank for a second. Through the haze, I saw the dark, malicious gleam in Donald’s eyes.
I forced down the urge to drive the knife into his throat. I knelt, lowered my head, and pretended to drink the foul liquid from the bowl.
Only then did Mrs. Gable pull her son away.
“See? She’s obedient now. Come on, son, let’s eat our stew.”
My hands were soaked in the disgusting dishwater, and the searing pain on my back kept me hyper-focused.
My other hand slowly gripped the knife under my shirt. I listened to the clatter of their spoons, my heart pounding in my chest.
*Clang!*
Mrs. Gable suddenly dropped her spoon, clutching her stomach as she collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony.
Donald jumped up, but before he could even call out, he doubled over, vomiting blood, and crashed beside her.
He glared up at me, his eyes filled with rage and sudden terror.
“You…” he gasped. “What did you do?!”
I stood up, kicked my plastic bowl aside, and pulled out the knife, letting out a cold laugh.
“What’s wrong, Donald? Done playing the idiot?”
Seeing me step closer with the knife, Donald scrambled backward in terror.
“What… what are you going to do?!”
Before I could strike, the phone in Donald’s pocket began to ring.
I snatched it from him. The caller ID read: *Master Austin*.
I pressed the blade against Donald’s throat and whispered, “If you want to live, you will say exactly what I want you to say. Otherwise, I’ll slit your throat right now and bury you both in the yard.”
Donald nodded frantically, trembling. I swiped to answer the call and immediately hit the record button.
Austin’s exhausted voice came through the speaker.
“Donald, are you absolutely sure Evelyn is under tight control?”
Holding the knife steady, I nudged Donald. He stammered, “Y-yes… she’s locked down. Did something happen?”
Austin sighed, his voice dripping with annoyance.
“Someone called 911 claiming I kidnapped Evelyn. My parents don’t believe it, but Chloe says Dad is hesitating about transferring the trust fund now.”
“Donald, I recall you haven’t officially married yet, right?”
Sensing what was coming next, I pressed the knife slightly harder, making a tiny cut on his neck. “Answer him!” I mouthed.
Donald shivered. “No, Master Austin. You promised that once this was done, you’d give me enough cash to get a proper wife.”
Austin didn’t hesitate. “I’ll double it. One hundred thousand dollars.”
“Get her pregnant. Now.”
“I’ll handle the paperwork to make your marriage legal. Once our parents find out she’s married to a hillbilly with a kid on the way, they will never hand the Gray Group inheritance over to her.”
Every single word felt like a physical blow to my heart.
My own twin brother was paying a disgusting creep to assault me and force me to have a child, just to keep his precious, unrelated adoptive sister in luxury.
Pain and fury boiled inside me. My hand shook so violently that Donald found an opening. He slammed his elbow into my ribs, knocking me back.
3
The loud thud of our struggle echoed through the phone.
“Donald?” Austin’s voice sharpened with suspicion. “What’s going on over there?”
Donald scrambled for the phone. I didn’t think twice—I grabbed a heavy wooden stool next to me and slammed it down on his head with all my might.
He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Gasping for breath, I wiped the sweat and blood from my forehead. I kicked his limp body, grabbed his phone, and hung up. Then, I found some heavy rope and tied both Donald and his mother securely to the support beams.
Just as I finished, there was a loud knock on the front door.
“Mrs. Gable? Is everything alright in there?”
I hid the knife behind my back, cracked the door open slightly, and made sure my bloody forehead was visible.
“Betty,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Is something wrong?”
Betty looked at me, her eyes darting suspiciously.
I squeezed my hands tight, realizing Austin must have sent her to check on us. The whole damn town was probably on his payroll.
I forced myself to look terrified. “Donald… he drank too much. He’s throwing a fit. Mrs. Gable is trying to clean up the mess…”
Donald was a notorious alcoholic who got violent when drunk, so everyone in town avoided him.
Hearing this, Betty’s face paled slightly. She glanced at the blood on my forehead and took a step back.
“Right… well, you handle that. I’ll be going.”
As soon as she turned around, I locked the heavy wooden door.
I knew this lie wouldn’t buy me much time. Austin wasn’t stupid; he’d know Donald hadn’t been drinking over the phone.
My only option was to run. Now.
I ran to the bedroom, found the keys, and unlocked the heavy iron shackles on my ankles and wrists.
I stuffed the phone with the recording into my pocket, grabbed a few pieces of stale bread, and climbed out the back window into the pitch-black night.
There was only one paved road out of this town, and it was bound to be monitored. I took a deep breath and plunged straight into the dense, wild woods.
Thorns and sharp branches tore at my skin, reopening my half-healed wounds. The smell of copper and dirt filled my nose.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound, even as my breathing grew ragged.
The dark forest was terrifying, instantly triggering a repressed memory.
When we were kids, Chloe’s mother had abandoned me in a similar forest. All because I got a perfect score on an exam and said I wanted to go to an Ivy League university in New York.
She had dragged me into the woods and screamed in my face:
“You were born to be trash! Accept your fate and you might live. Fight it, and you’ll die!”
But I refused to accept it. I survived those woods, fought my way back, forced the local authorities to let me go to school, and eventually found my biological parents.
Now, history was repeating itself. And I still refused to submit.
Suddenly, the distant baying of hounds echoed through the trees.
I looked back. Not far behind, dozens of flashlight beams were cutting through the dark. They were hunting me.
Panicking, I ran faster, ignoring the branches whipping my face.
Suddenly, my foot caught on a root. I gasped as I tumbled over the edge of a steep ravine, rolling down violently.
My head slammed hard against a rock. A blinding light flashed before my eyes, and then everything went black.
***
In the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York, Chloe, radiant in a white designer gown, held Austin’s arm as they walked toward the Miller family.
“Austin, is this real?” Chloe whispered, her eyes shining. “I’m really marrying Logan? And Mom and Dad are giving me the trust fund?”
Austin smiled warmly, patting her hand. “Of course, Chloe. I convinced Mom and Dad that the 911 call from a few days ago was just a sick prank.”
“I promised you the Miller alliance and the inheritance. No one is going to take that away from you.”
“Not even Evelyn.”
Austin led Chloe to the center stage. Under the glittering chandeliers, he picked up the trust transfer documents prepared by their parents.
But before he could sign, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom slammed open.
High-pitched screams instantly shattered the elegant music.
“Oh my god! What is that?!”
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My father-in-law passed away, and my husband and I went back to his hometown for the funeral.
During the wake that night, I caught my husband and his brother’s wife tangled up in each other in the dark utility closet.
That very same night, I got my revenge.
Later, I got pregnant.
My husband and his brother both thought the baby was theirs.
I was woken up by the sound of rain beating against the window.
Thinking of the backyard reception tent for the wake, I decided to get up, change, and bring Logan an umbrella while he kept vigil.
As I passed the old utility room, I heard hushed voices whispering inside. I stopped in my tracks.
The lights were off. It was pitch black inside.
I was standing right by the door. Although they were speaking in quiet murmurs, their voices were crystal clear. And I knew those voices all too well.
It was my husband, Logan, and his brother’s wife, Fiona!
“Logan, this is wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Then don’t hold me so tight.”
“Just one last time, okay?”
“Fiona, that’s exactly what you said last time.”
…
I stood there, dazed. I remembered a science teacher once saying that rainy days bring low atmospheric pressure. Is that why I felt like I couldn’t breathe?
I reached out to push the door open, but the moment my hand touched the brass knob, I froze.
I turned to walk away, only to see a man standing silently at the corner of the hallway.
It was Brandon, Logan’s older brother.
He was holding an umbrella and a woman’s coat in his hands.
When he saw me looking, he gave me a silent nod and quietly walked away.
As if possessed, I followed him.
In his bedroom, Brandon stood by the open window, smoking a cigarette.
I walked up, pulled the cigarette from his fingers, and kissed him.
He didn’t push me away, but he didn’t react either. He stood there like a statue, letting me do whatever I wanted.
A wave of humiliation washed over me. Just as I was about to step back and give up, he suddenly pulled me flush against his chest and kissed me back fiercely.
The cold rain drifted in through the window. I shivered, my mind suddenly snapping back to reality. I started to regret this.
But in the next second, my eyes fell on the framed wedding photo of Brandon and Fiona hanging on the wall.
Thinking of Fiona and Logan tangled up downstairs at this very moment, I pulled Brandon onto the bed.
Brandon’s movements were rough and intense. Unaccustomed to it, I frowned and instinctively pushed his shoulder.
Sensing my resistance, Brandon paused. He spoke his first and only words of the night.
“Georgia, do you regret this?” he whispered.
My only response was to tilt my head up and press my lips against his Adam’s apple.
He let out a sharp, ragged breath, and then things got even more intense.
When it was all over, Brandon and I dressed in silence.
Before leaving, I took one last look at the wedding photo on the wall. Fiona was leaning into Brandon’s chest, looking shy and blissfully happy.
Back in my own room, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I drifted off almost instantly.
When I woke up the next morning, Logan was already back. He was half-asleep, pulling me into his arms. “Babe, sleep with me a little longer. I’m so exhausted.”
He drifted off again.
I stared at a faint red mark on his neck. I stared until my eyes burned, then closed them, sinking back into Logan’s embrace.
Sleeping chest-to-chest, our breaths mingling. Anyone looking at us would think we were the perfect, loving couple.
My father-in-law’s funeral was a big affair, following the traditions of their small town.
A white tent was set up in the backyard, and somber acoustic music played from morning till night.
On the night before the burial, the town gathered for a small memorial service.
The neighbors watching muttered, “The Miller boys are so dutiful. They really did right by their father.”
Fiona handed me an apple. She smiled warmly. “Around here, we like to keep things lively for a send-off. Quite different from your big-city ways, huh?”
I rolled the apple in my hand. Hearing her subtle distinction between “us” and “you,” I smiled.
“Yes, it really is different.”
“Right?” She smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked so gentle.
She then sweetly gave me some advice on what to expect as a daughter-in-law during the burial tomorrow. She even whispered a little tip: if I couldn’t cry, I could rub a little sliced ginger on my sleeve.
“Everyone does it,” she whispered with a wink. “Just don’t use too much, or people will smell it.”
She was the picture-perfect, caring sister-in-law.
If I hadn’t heard her with Logan last night, I would have genuinely appreciated her kindness.
Three days after the funeral, Brandon drove Logan and me to the train station.
At the station, Logan went to grab our bags from the trunk. Brandon looked at me deeply and said, “Take care of yourself.”
When Logan walked over, Brandon patted his shoulder. “Call me when you get home.”
The brothers shared a quick hug before we parted.
After an eight-hour train ride, we finally arrived back at our apartment in New York.
Logan slumped onto the couch. “Even though I grew up in Ridgeville, I guess I’ve gotten too used to city life. It’s good to be home.”
Ridgeville was his hometown, a small mountain town hundreds of miles away from New York City.
Back in the city, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Our routine went right back to normal.
Logan and I worked during the day. At night, whoever got home first cooked dinner, and the other washed the dishes. We were perfectly in sync.
When the mood struck, we had our usual intimacy—two or three times a week, regular and healthy.
Logan was always gentle, always paying close attention to my needs.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how desperate he had sounded in that dark utility room with Fiona. And I couldn’t forget Brandon’s fierce, almost wild touch that night.
A few weeks later, I woke up feeling extremely nauseous. On my way home from work, I stopped by a pharmacy.
When I got home, Logan wasn’t back yet.
I went into the bathroom. Five minutes later, I saw two clear pink lines.
When Logan walked through the door, I was sitting on the couch, staring into space.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He pressed his hand against my forehead, concerned.
“Logan, I…”
The words caught in my throat.
He didn’t rush me. He just waited patiently, warm and attentive.
I forced a perfect smile. “I’m pregnant.”
I handed him the test.
“Oh my god!” he gasped, his face lighting up. “I’m going to be a dad! This is amazing!”
He immediately kissed me. “Are you feeling okay? Are you hungry? Let me make dinner right now.”
While he was cooking, I could hear him humming a cheerful tune in the kitchen. His joy was palpable.
The next day, we both took time off work to go to the clinic.
The doctor smiled and congratulated us. “You’re definitely pregnant. About eight weeks along. The baby is developing perfectly. Just make sure to come in for regular prenatal visits.”
Logan kept asking questions about what to do and what to avoid, to the point where the doctor looked amused.
“Sorry, Doc,” Logan apologized with a sheepish grin. “It’s my first time being a dad. I’m just really excited.”
Then he leaned in to ask yet another question.
I gently stroked my still-flat belly, my mind drifting. Eight weeks. When exactly had I conceived?
Was it during my birthday dinner right after we got back to the city?
Or… was it that night in Ridgeville?
After finding out about the pregnancy, Logan became even more doting.
He came home straight after work. If he had extra tasks, he brought his laptop home to work beside me.
Aside from cooking dinner, he started waking up an hour early every morning to prepare breakfast for me.
I thought his enthusiasm would fade after a few weeks, but he kept it up for the entire pregnancy.
He also insisted on rubbing cocoa butter on my belly and massaging my swollen legs every night.
One evening, he made my favorite shrimp dish. He peeled every single one and placed them in my bowl, barely eating any himself.
After dinner, he served a bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt.
“Hey, babe,” he said in a pleading tone. “My company needs me to go on a business trip. I tried to get out of it, but I really can’t.”
“Work is important,” I smiled. “Besides, I’m not a baby. I can handle a few days alone.”
“Thank you, babe. You’re the best.” He hugged me tightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get back as fast as I can.”
The trip was for a week. Before leaving, he prepped meals for the next few days and cleaned the entire apartment top to bottom.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “I’ll clean up whatever’s left when I get back. I’ll FaceTime you every day.”
He kept his word. Every night at 8:00 PM, his face popped up on my screen.
On the last night of his trip, he looked a bit nostalgic. “I’m actually quite close to Ridgeville right now. It’s only about an hour’s drive. I think I’m going to head back there tonight.”
He sighed softly. “I want to visit my dad’s grave and tell him the good news. He’s going to be a grandfather.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Give my best to Brandon and Fiona.”
Logan poured out a few more sweet, caring words before reluctantly hanging up.
But the next night at 8:00 PM, my phone didn’t ring.
It was Brandon who FaceTimed me. By then, it was almost midnight.
The camera was pointed at a familiar door. I recognized it instantly—it was the utility room in Logan’s old family home.
The muffled audio coming through the speaker was a haunting echo of the past.
“Logan, you’re hurting me… don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what, Fiona? Say it.”
…
I listened, completely numb, until Brandon ended the call.
A tear fell onto my screen. I stared at the dark glass, watching my own tear-stained reflection.
Months after discovering my husband’s affair, I finally broke down and sobbed in our empty apartment.
Logan called me early the next morning. He apologized profusely, claiming he had had a few drinks with his brother, got drunk, and crashed, forgetting to call.
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I knew you went back home. I wasn’t worried.”
His eyes flickered with a brief flash of guilt. “I’m so sorry, babe. I broke my promise.”
Then he immediately pivoted to asking how I was sleeping, how I was feeling, and if the baby was kicking.
I gave him distracted, hollow answers. At one point, when he asked what I had eaten for dinner, I told him the movie I watched was boring. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice the nonsensical response.
He returned on the weekend. I was sitting on the couch, eating french fries and watching TV.
“That’s junk food, babe. Not good for the baby. Try to eat less of that,” he said with a warm smile. “Let me peel an apple for you.”
When he walked out of the kitchen with the sliced apple, I just stared at him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he teased. “Missed me that much?”
I pointed to his neck. “What’s that red mark?”
Logan froze for a split second. He instinctively covered his neck with his hand. “Oh, this? Probably a mosquito bite. I must have scratched it. You know how bad the bugs are near the mountains in Ridgeville.”
I nodded slowly. “Put some calamine lotion on it.”
I didn’t call him out. It was late autumn.
From that day on, Logan was even more attentive.
But whenever I fell asleep, the nightmares took over.
In my dreams, it was always raining. A relentless, endless downpour. And there was always that utility room door.
On one side of the door, Logan and Fiona were locked in their desperate embrace. On the other side, Brandon and I were violently clinging to each other.
Despite being in my third trimester, when I should have been gaining weight, I was visibly wasting away.
Logan was worried sick. He cooked elaborate meals, practically glowing with relief whenever I managed to eat a few bites.
On the day I went into labor, the doctor told me my husband was sobbing like a baby in the waiting room, completely ignoring the stares of strangers.
The delivery nurse looked at me with envy. “If my future husband is even half as caring as yours, I’ll thank God every day.”
I smiled but said nothing.
His love for me was real. But his betrayal was also real.
Just like my father.
When my mother was recovering postpartum with me, my father had an affair with her younger sister, Aunt Sarah.
After my mother found out, she packed her bags, divorced him, and left the country. We never heard from her again.
My father was devastated. He spent the next few decades drowning in regret.
Aunt Sarah cried, begged, and even threatened suicide, but my father refused to touch her. He said the only woman he ever loved was my mother.
He never remarried, never dated, and dedicated his life entirely to raising me.
Two years after I got married, he took his own life.
In his suicide note, he wrote that his biggest regret was succumbing to a “moment of passion,” an impulse that cost him the love of his life forever.
That was why I despised the phrase “moment of passion” more than anything.
But now, I had become the very person I hated.
“Babe, I think his eyes look just like mine,” Logan’s voice pulled me back from my memories. “But he has your nose and face shape. What do you think?”
I looked closely at the newborn. To me, all newborns looked exactly the same.
Logan chuckled. “True. We’ll see who he looks like when he grows a bit more.”
My heart skipped a beat, pounding violently against my ribs.
That dark, suppressed question surfaced in my mind once again.
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I have a very unique superpower: I can hear the inner thoughts of anyone who doesn’t love me.
On the eve of my wedding, however, I suddenly heard my fiancée’s voice in my head:
“If Julian crashes the wedding tomorrow to take me away, maybe wearing high heels isn’t the best idea for a quick escape.”
I kept my mouth shut. The next morning, I boarded a one-way flight to London.
Later, that wedding became the biggest joke in the city—both the groom and the bride had run away.
I’ve always had a special superpower: I can hear the inner thoughts of people who don’t love me.
Thanks to this ability, I can easily tell if someone’s affection for me is fake.
It allowed me to cut ties with fake friends instantly, and to remain completely unfazed when the “campus goddess” I’d supposedly liked for years confessed her love to me.
Even when buying fruit at a local market, I could read the vendor’s mind to pick the sweetest, juiciest one.
Because every single hypocritical thought they had was broadcasted directly into my brain.
To keep my world from getting too noisy, I usually avoided making eye contact with strangers.
But when I met Olivia Sterling for the first time, the entire world fell completely silent. All I could hear was our actual conversation:
“Hi, I’m Olivia. Nice to meet you.”
There was no inner voice.
When our eyes met, I couldn’t read Olivia’s mind at all.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I replied.
During the time Olivia was pursuing me, the world around me felt incredibly peaceful and pure.
I genuinely believed she loved me.
So, we fell in love, started dating, and eventually reached the point of planning our wedding.
For two whole years, I never once heard her inner thoughts.
But on the very eve of our wedding, Olivia’s inner voice suddenly forced its way into my head.
Because of the upcoming wedding, Olivia had been incredibly busy lately.
She came from an incredibly wealthy family and had recently taken over her father’s position, running the Sterling Financial Group on Wall Street.
Between the wedding prep and her business, we both had a mountain of work to handle, especially over the last two months.
I had my own career, and I deeply respected hers.
As a result, we had barely seen each other recently. But today was our final fitting, and thinking about the rare quiet moment we’d share, I couldn’t help but smile.
When I arrived at the bridal boutique, she was already there, trying on shoes.
She whispered something to an assistant, then stepped outside with her phone in hand, speaking in a highly soothing, comforting tone to whoever was on the other end.
I understood how busy she was. Running a major corporation is no easy task, especially since she wasn’t the only heir in the Sterling family.
We caught each other’s eyes and shared a knowing nod.
But then, Olivia’s voice suddenly echoed inside my head:
*“Julian said he’s going to crash the wedding and take me away tomorrow. I should probably wear sneakers so it’s easier to run.”*
Julian? Crashing the wedding?
I froze on the spot, staring at her mouth. Once I confirmed that this was indeed her inner voice, I had no idea how to react.
Even though it was a scorching summer day outside, a sudden chill rushed through my veins, paralyzing me.
I could hear her mind now. What that meant was blindingly obvious.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boutique assistant slip a pair of casual white sneakers into her wedding dress garment bag, just as she had instructed. Olivia gave me a quick nod and turned to walk out the door.
This was our usual routine—she always had some urgent business meeting to rush off to.
But the voice I had just heard was unmistakable. I never misheard my superpower.
My body moved on its own. Unable to accept it, I quickly followed her and called out:
“Olivia!”
I desperately wanted to read more. I wanted to know what the woman who wore my engagement ring was actually thinking.
Why did she suddenly stop loving me right before our wedding?
Hearing my voice, Olivia paused just as she was about to slide into the backseat of her town car. But it was only a brief pause. She turned around, gave me a rushed explanation, and signaled her driver to hit the gas:
“I’m so sorry, Ethan. A major client just called with an emergency. I have to run.”
She was lying.
At that exact moment, her mind was screaming:
*“I could tell Julian was furious over the phone. If I don’t go comfort him right now, he won’t let me hear the end of it tonight.”*
I’ve never been the type of guy to sit around and wallow in self-pity. Instead of driving myself crazy with questions, I prefer taking action.
I immediately called Olivia’s personal secretary, offering a quick excuse to grab a coffee, and used my mind-reading superpower to dig up the truth.
His name was Julian Rivers.
He was Olivia’s “first love”—the one that got away.
Julian was an illegitimate son of the wealthy Rivers family. The matriarch of the Rivers family refused to acknowledge him, leaving his social status in a humiliating, awkward limbo.
Olivia’s parents had vehemently opposed their relationship back then. Julian, possessing a fragile yet fierce pride, couldn’t handle the humiliation. He abandoned Olivia, fled the country, and went completely off the grid.
As it turned out, Olivia’s “love at first sight” with me was simply because my eyes and facial structure looked strikingly similar to Julian’s.
Now that the real deal was back, she had no use for a cheap knockoff like me.
And the timing of Julian’s return lined up perfectly with when Olivia suddenly became “too busy” over the last two months.
Everything clicked. The puzzle was complete.
Hearing this story, I could only shake my head and laugh bitterly.
I never expected that I would end up as the cliché “rebound stand-in” in some trashy romance drama.
Julian wanted to crash our wedding to publicly declare his ownership of Olivia.
And Olivia wanted to use this dramatic stage to prove her undying loyalty to him, appease her angry lover, and force the Sterling family to finally accept Julian.
And me? My carefully planned wedding was nothing more than a prop for their romantic roleplay.
The world really is just one giant, ridiculous soap opera.
To be honest, it was so absurd I couldn’t help but curse out loud.
That night, the lights in my apartment remained bright.
Even though the wedding was scheduled for the next day, I was busy packing my bags without a moment’s rest.
Two hours prior, I had already booked a first-class ticket to London.
If they wanted to play crazy, I could play crazier.
Since Olivia could plan a romantic escape with Julian, I might as well return the favor by pulling a vanishing act of my own.
Fortunately, my parents had already relocated to London years ago. We hadn’t invited any of their overseas friends or extended relatives to this ceremony, only a few close friends here in New York.
We had initially figured that since our parents had already met during the engagement, we would just host a smaller, intimate ceremony in London later to save everyone the hassle of traveling.
That decision turned out to be incredibly convenient for my escape plan.
I briefly explained my plan to my best friend, Leo Carter. He stood there in silence, taking the packing tape out of my hands with a deadpan expression.
Since I couldn’t read his mind, I felt a bit uneasy. “Leo, are you going to try to stop me?”
Leo rolled his eyes and snapped at me:
“Are you stupid? I brought you a couple of heavy-duty contractor trash bags. They’re virtually indestructible for packing clothes.”
Right. I forgot Leo’s family owned an industrial chemical and supply company.
On the day of the wedding, Olivia and I stood at the entrance of the venue in our formal wear, welcoming the arriving guests.
This time, Olivia’s inner thoughts were so loud they gave me a pounding headache:
*“Is Julian here yet?”*
*“I’m finally going to be with Julian. Three years. I’ve waited three years for this. I’m finally going to be Mrs. Rivers.”*
*“When he takes me away today, he’ll finally believe that my heart has always belonged to him.”*
……
I couldn’t help but shudder, frowning as I glanced at her. Yet, her face remained perfectly composed, wearing the same gentle, elegant smile she always had as she turned to me:
“Ethan, you look a bit pale. Why don’t you go rest in the groom’s suite? I can handle the guests out here. You can just come out when the ceremony starts.”
Perfect.
I actually needed a solid excuse to slip away.
I nodded, intending to change out of my tuxedo into some casual clothes, but as I walked toward the back, I ran right into Julian.
Thanks to our similar features and my mind-reading superpower, the moment our eyes met, I recognized him instantly.
I reached out and grabbed Leo’s arm, holding him back as he started rolling up his sleeves, ready to beat up the homewrecker. I pretended to be completely oblivious:
“You must be one of Olivia’s friends, right? Please, head inside. The ceremony starts in a few hours.”
Julian’s smirk faltered. He clearly hated hearing me call her “Olivia” so familiarly, and his tone turned dripping wet with sarcasm:
“Mr. Vance, I’m so sorry. It looks like we wore almost the exact same tuxedo today. If people didn’t know any better, they might mistake me for the groom.”
Julian’s arrogant thoughts echoed in my head simultaneously:
*“Smile while you can, idiot. In three hours, your precious bride is going to run away with me. Let’s see if you can still smile then.”*
I kept my polite smile, gave a casual shrug, and said, “Well, tuxedos all look pretty much the same anyway.”
I waved a server over to escort him inside. As he walked past, I heard his mind again:
*“What a dumbass. I practically spelled it out for him, and he still doesn’t realize I’m here to ruin his life.”*
The moment Julian was out of earshot, Leo couldn’t help but spit out, “Look at that arrogant prick. I seriously can’t stand him.”
I shrugged. “Let him have his moment. He thinks I’m the joke of the day. After all, Olivia is fully prepared to let him ‘rescue’ her. That way, they get to play the tragic, star-crossed lovers while publicly forcing the Sterling family to accept him.”
The wedding venue wasn’t far from JFK Airport. By the time I was sitting in the first-class lounge, the ceremony hadn’t even begun.
I stared at the clock on my phone, waiting for the circus to start.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
My phone vibrated continuously. Leo was spamming my Snapchat with a live commentary:
“Ethan! He did it! He actually did it!”
“Holy shit, these two cheaters are acting like they’re starring in Romeo and Juliet. Absolutely shameless.”
Barely five minutes after the official start time, Leo sent me a video clip of the venue.
According to the original schedule, I was supposed to walk onto the stage first, followed by some cheesy romantic speech from the officiant, and then the bride would enter.
But to make it easier for Julian to crash the wedding, Olivia had altered the timeline, insisting that she walk out first and I follow.
She wanted Julian to swoop in at the perfect dramatic moment, completely unaware that she had played right into my hands.
In the video, Julian, wearing his matching tuxedo, strode up to the altar and snatched the microphone from the officiant’s hand.
Ignoring the shocked whispers of the crowd, he began pouring his heart out, declaring his undying love. His dramatic, passionate speech brought tears to Olivia’s eyes.
“Olivia, will you run away with me?”
The guest seating erupted into chaos. Taking the bride away on her wedding day? This was a public slap in the face.
But to everyone’s utter shock, Olivia nodded with tears of gratitude. She walked over, locked her fingers with Julian’s, and leaned gently against his shoulder.
“I will.”
At that moment, Julian’s massive ego was fully inflated.
He even took the opportunity to address the closed doors of the groom’s suite, delivering a “victory speech.” The gist of it was: *I know you love Olivia, Mr. Vance, but she loves me. I hope you can find it in your heart to let us be happy.*
In the video, Olivia stood in her simple, easy-to-run-in wedding dress, paired with those ridiculous white sneakers. Julian held the microphone, unable to hide the smug triumph in his eyes.
He was clearly eager to see me come out looking devastated. He had probably rehearsed his patronizing consolations a hundred times in his head:
“I truly hope Mr. Vance can bless Olivia and me.”
“Mr. Vance?”
The atmosphere suddenly turned incredibly awkward.
When the victim of your public humiliation doesn’t even show up, your grand romantic gesture instantly turns into a pathetic, one-man circus.
“Mr. Vance?”
“Ethan?”
……
Julian called out my name several times, but the venue remained dead silent. Finally, the coordinator pushed open the suite doors. The room was completely empty. Only my discarded boutonniere lay on the table, symbolizing the groom’s unexplained absence.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy. Someone yelled:
“Holy shit, did the groom run away too?”
In the quiet airport lounge, I let out a loud laugh.
Of course I wanted to bless them. Some of the guests were people I actually respected, and while it was bad form to ditch them, I figured a free comedy show was a decent apology.
I shook my head, laughing as I watched the screen. Right at that moment, the giant projector screen behind the altar suddenly flickered, displaying a massive block of text in bold, blood-red font:
**”WEDDING CANCELLATION NOTICE”**
**”Due to Olivia Sterling’s ongoing affair with Julian Rivers, I have decided to call off the wedding. I wish them the best in their circus of a relationship. Hopefully, they stay locked in together forever and don’t ruin anyone else’s life.”**
Below the text, a slideshow of recent, highly intimate photos of Olivia and Julian began to play on a loop.
Buzz. Leo sent me a message:
“Mission accomplished!”
Seeing his text, I uploaded the exact same notice to my Snapchat Story—the final post I would ever make on this account.
The wedding hall completely exploded. No one was laughing at me anymore.
The real joke was standing right on the stage, holding hands.
Now that the groom had vanished, nobody cared about Olivia and Julian’s “romantic escape” anymore.
Julian’s passionate declaration of love on stage now looked utterly pathetic against the giant red word **”AFFAIR”** flashing right above his head.
Star-crossed lovers? No, they were just two cheap cheaters caught in 4K.
Leo was having the time of his life. Two minutes later, he sent me another video.
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Before the car even cleared the bustling streets of downtown Manhattan, Ethan demanded to pull over.
His precious little ward, Clara, was having another panic attack. Or a “heart flare-up,” as she liked to call it.
I gripped his sleeve so hard my nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.
“Ethan, today is my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. If you walk out of this car right now, we are done. I’m filing for divorce.”
He pried my fingers off his arm, his eyes as cold as shards of ice.
“Aria, why do you have to be so incredibly selfish? Clara is literally fighting for her life, and you’re here throwing a childish tantrum.”
Without another word, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the rain, never once looking back.
We had been married for three years. To the outside world, we were the ultimate power couple—the envy of everyone in our social circle.
But everything changed the moment Clara, with her fragile heart condition, moved into our estate.
Whenever she felt a slight flutter in her chest, he would drop everything and run to her side.
On my last birthday, he promised to take me out for a sunset yacht cruise. Just as we were heading out the door, Clara texted him saying her chest felt tight. Ethan left me standing on the dock alone.
I had screamed. I had cried. I had fought him over her endless drama.
But his response was always the same tired line:
“Clara has no one else in this world, Aria. She’s sick. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once?”
The bigger person?
I was his wife, not her mother.
Watching his car disappear into the city traffic, I slowly let my hands drop to my sides.
Forget it.
This marriage was over anyway.
***
0
Two weeks later, I finally returned to New York from my family’s estate in Boston.
“Ethan, you left Aria alone in Boston for half a month. Aren’t you worried she’ll be furious when she gets back?”
“Aria has always been understanding, Mom. Once she’s home, I’ll buy her some of those sweets she likes, say a few nice words, and she’ll forget all about it. Besides, Clara’s health has been so fragile lately. She needed me more.”
Ethan and his mother were chatting warmly in the living room.
They had no idea I was already standing just outside the double doors.
Looking back, I really used to be that easy to please.
Every time Ethan abandoned me for Clara, he would bring back a box of my favorite lemon madeleines, whisper some sweet apologies, and my heart would melt. I always forgave him.
I used to tell myself he was just loyal, just a good man looking out for an orphan.
I gave a quiet nod to my assistant, Chloe.
Chloe understood instantly. She raised her voice, “Ma’am, welcome back. Let me take your coat. Shall we go inside to greet Mrs. Vance?”
The conversation in the living room cut off instantly.
I walked in, my trench coat draped casually over my shoulders.
Seeing me, Ethan’s face instantly lit up with a warm, practiced smile. He stepped forward to take my hands.
“Aria! You should have called. I would have picked you up from JFK. Was the drive exhausting? I’ll have the chef make your favorite dinner tonight.”
His voice was so gentle, as if our screaming match from two weeks ago had never happened.
His mother waved me over warmly.
“Aria, come here, let me look at you. Two weeks in Boston and you look so thin! Ethan, I have some premium wellness supplements in the pantry. Have someone bring them to Aria’s room later.”
I quietly stepped aside, avoiding Ethan’s touch, and gave his mother a polite, distant nod.
“Thank you, Mrs. Vance. The drive was quite long and I think I’m coming down with a cold. I wouldn’t want to pass it to you. I’ll come visit properly once I’m feeling better.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked straight toward the west wing.
Behind me, I could hear their whispered voices.
“Is Aria still throwing a fit?”
“She’s just tired from the trip, Mom. You know Aria. She has the sweetest temper; she won’t stay mad at me. Once she feels better, I’ll have her come down and apologize to you, okay?”
Sitting at my vanity, I called Chloe in. My voice was calm and steady.
“Chloe, within the next three days, liquidate half of my real estate and investment portfolios. Transfer the other half directly to my sister Victoria’s name. Also, have the maids prepare the guest suite down the hall. I’ll be sleeping there from now on.”
“Yes, Mrs. Vance,” Chloe replied quietly.
I opened my laptop and typed out an email to my older sister, Victoria.
Victoria had married into a powerful political dynasty in Washington D.C., and she held massive sway over our family’s assets.
In the email, I told her about my decision to divorce Ethan and move back to Boston permanently. I didn’t want her to worry when she suddenly couldn’t reach me in New York.
“Who are you emailing?”
Ethan pushed the door open, his brow furrowing slightly as he caught a glimpse of the screen before I shut the laptop.
“Just sorting out some family finances. Nothing you need to worry about,” I said flatly.
Hearing me use such a formal, distant tone, Ethan finally seemed to realize something was off. “Aria, are you still angry about that day?”
“I know I shouldn’t have left, but Clara’s heart flare-up was serious. If I hadn’t called the private doctors immediately, she could have died.”
In our three years of marriage, I had always called him by his pet names when we were alone. Now, he was just “you.”
“You don’t need to explain. I’m not angry.”
“If you’re not angry, why are the maids moving your things to the guest suite? Are you trying to sleep in separate rooms now?”
Ethan was still thoroughly convinced I was just playing hard to get.
In his mind, as long as he bowed his head first, I would eventually cave.
I didn’t want to waste my breath.
Right then, Clara’s private nurse knocked on the door, looking for him.
I offered him a serene, empty smile. “I have a cough, Ethan. I don’t want to keep you awake tonight. Since Clara needs you, you should go.”
Ethan looked slightly guilty.
“I don’t agree to the separate bedrooms. We’ll talk about this when I get back. Oh, and I know how much you missed the pastries from the bakery downtown while you were in Boston. I’ll bring some back for you!”
He rushed out.
I walked over to the window and watched his sports car roar out of the estate gates.
An hour later, the housekeeper came up to my room.
“Ma’am, Mr. Vance went to the bakery… but he bought a box of almond macarons. Miss Clara’s favorite.”
Once, Ethan remembered that I was violently allergic to almonds.
Every time he bought pastries, he would check the ingredients three times.
Now, his mind was so consumed by Clara that he only remembered what she liked.
I opened my drawer and pulled out the divorce papers I had drafted weeks ago.
Slowly, and with a steady hand, I signed my name at the bottom.
I still remembered when Ethan chased me all the way to Boston to propose. I had told him:
“If there ever comes a day when your heart changes, I will leave. And you won’t try to stop me.”
Ethan had sworn in front of my entire family that he would love me for the rest of his life.
I believed him then.
But hearts change.
It took me three years to finally accept that truth.
***
0
When I woke up the next morning, the housekeeper informed me that Ethan had slept in his study last night.
I didn’t care. I spent the morning going over my prenuptial asset list with Chloe, checking off every single item.
I also gathered every gift, piece of jewelry, and trinket Ethan had given me over the years.
Among them was a leather-bound journal he had written by hand.
He had started it the year we met and kept writing into our marriage.
Every page was filled with declarations of his undying love.
But ever since Clara moved into the estate, not a single new page had been written.
He had once promised me that on every birthday, he would personally bake me a cake and watch me blow out the candles.
But for the past two years, there had been no cakes. No wishes.
Today was my birthday.
And he had forgotten it entirely.
With stinging eyes, I packed all of his old gifts and the journal into a cardboard box.
“Take this to the incinerator in the backyard,” I told the maid. “Burn it all.”
“Aria, what is all this?”
Ethan had just walked through the front door.
His brow was knit tight as he watched the maid carry the heavy box out toward the yard.
I looked up calmly. “Just some old, useless clutter. It was taking up space.”
He didn’t think twice about it.
Walking into the living room, he set a beautifully wrapped pastry box on the coffee table.
His voice was soft. “I went out of my way to get you those lemon madeleines you love. Go on, try some.”
I looked at the box, a cold, mocking smile playing at the corners of my lips.
The very last spark of warmth in my heart died right then.
The box didn’t contain lemon madeleines. They were almond macarons.
The bakery always color-coded their ribbons. Yellow for lemon. Red for almond.
The ribbon on this box was bright red.
It was packed with the one ingredient that could put me in anaphylactic shock.
I have been severely allergic to almonds since childhood. Even a trace of it would break me out in hives and restrict my breathing.
When we first got married, I told him this.
He had promised me that no almond products would ever cross the threshold of our home.
And for a long time, he kept that promise.
But now, three years later, a box of deadly almonds was sitting right in front of me.
Handed to me by my own husband.
Seeing me stare at the box without opening it, Ethan’s face darkened.
He assumed I was just being stubborn.
“Aria, I’ve already come home and tried to make peace. How long are you going to keep up this attitude? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg?”
“I already explained to you, that night was an emergency. Clara was having a medical crisis. Did you expect me to just let her die?”
I looked up, my gaze entirely hollow.
“You forgot. I’m violently allergic to almonds.”
Ethan froze. He lunged forward and tore open the pastry box.
When he saw the rows of colorful almond macarons inside, all the color drained from his face.
“I… the clerk at the bakery must have grabbed the wrong box! I swear I asked for lemon.”
I didn’t bother calling him out.
He was the CEO of Vance Enterprises.
The staff at that high-end bakery would never make a mistake on his order.
The truth was simple: he bought almond macarons for Clara so often that the staff just assumed that was what he wanted.
“I see. I’m going to rest now.”
I nodded politely, walked right past him, and headed upstairs.
I left him standing in the middle of the living room, looking utterly lost.
***
0
Ethan must have sensed that he was losing me.
Before dawn the next day, he went to a high-end jeweler on Fifth Avenue and bought a stunning array of diamond necklaces and bracelets.
The butler cautiously approached him while he was sorting through the jewelry.
“Mr. Vance… yesterday was Mrs. Vance’s birthday. The cake you ordered last week was delivered to her room last night. She… she asked us to throw it away.”
Ethan went completely rigid.
He had forgotten my birthday.
Panic flared in his chest. When he saw me walking down the stairs, he rushed over, his eyes filled with desperate apology.
“Aria, I am so incredibly sorry. Things at the office were chaotic yesterday, and it slipped my mind. I’ve booked the rooftop terrace at the penthouse restaurant tonight. Let me make it up to you.”
Looking at the genuine guilt in his eyes, my mind flashed back to the boy who used to follow me around Boston, looking at me as if I were his entire world.
Against my better judgment, my heart softened just a fraction.
I gave a quiet nod. “Okay.”
That evening, he took me to the exclusive rooftop restaurant overlooking the harbor.
Throughout the dinner, he was incredibly attentive. He cut my steak, draped his suit jacket over my shoulders, and kept his eyes locked on me.
Just like the old days.
But when I took a sip of a cocktail and winced at the sourness, he instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out a hard candy.
It was a sour plum candy. Clara’s favorite.
I detested sour flavors.
Seeing that I didn’t reach for it, Ethan looked down at his hand, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“Clara gets nauseous from her medication sometimes. I… I just keep them on me.”
I nodded quietly, but my heart felt like it was encased in ice.
There was a time when his pockets were only ever filled with the lemon drops I loved.
His friends used to tease him about carrying candy in his bespoke suits, and he would always smile and say, “My wife likes them.”
Now, the lemon drops were gone.
Before the main course was finished, Clara’s private nurse burst through the restaurant doors, crying hysterically.
“Mr. Vance! It’s Miss Clara! She’s coughing up blood. She says she won’t make it through the night… she’s begging to see you one last time!”
Ethan’s face went white. He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
I stood up too, gesturing for the waiter to bring my coat.
“Ethan, wait.”
Ethan’s expression hardened, his voice sharp and defensive. “Aria, this is a matter of life and death! Don’t you dare try to stop me!”
“I’m not stopping you.”
I slipped my arms into my coat. “She’s sick. As your wife, I should be concerned too. I’m coming with you.”
Ethan turned, surprised to see me already dressed to leave.
Realizing how harsh he had just sounded, he looked slightly uncomfortable.
But I didn’t look at him again.
***
0
The night was pitch black.
Ethan was so panicked by the nurse’s words that he didn’t even wait for me.
He ran to his car, throwing a rushed “I’ll see you there” over his shoulder, and sped off into the night.
I stood under the awning of the restaurant, watching his taillights vanish into the New York traffic.
The very last ember of affection I had for him died in that cold city air.
Chloe pulled up in our town car, and we drove back to the estate.
Clara’s wing of the mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree. The sound of crying drifted through the open windows.
It sounded like a tragedy in progress.
When I walked into her bedroom, the scene was utter chaos.
Clara was propped up against her pillows, her face pale, damp hair clinging to her cheeks.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, dramatic gasps.
Ethan sat on the edge of her mattress, holding her hand tightly in both of his.
His face was etched with terror, but his voice was incredibly soft. “Don’t worry, Clara. I’m right here. The specialists are on their way. You’re going to be fine.”
Clara gasped for air.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw me walk in. A brief, cunning glint flashed across her face before she quickly masked it.
She weakly reached out, clutching Ethan’s sleeve.
“Ethan… I… I don’t think I’m going to make it this time…”
Ethan’s chest tightened. “Don’t talk like that. I won’t let anything happen to you. Whatever you want, just tell me. I’ll get it for you.”
Tears rolled down Clara’s cheeks.
Slowly, her gaze drifted to my wrist.
I followed her eyes and felt a sudden chill.
On my wrist was an emerald-cut diamond pendant bracelet.
It was the last gift my parents had given me. Before they passed away, they had taken it to the historic Trinity Church in Boston to have the priest bless it for my protection.
Since their death, I had worn it every single day. I never took it off.
Clara looked at it with a mix of longing and pathetic helplessness.
“Ethan… I’m so scared every night. My heart won’t stop racing. I heard that Aria’s bracelet was blessed at Trinity Church… that it brings peace to whoever wears it. Since my time is short… could I borrow it for just a few days? Just until I feel safe. I promise I’ll return it to her.”
“And if… if I don’t make it… I want to be buried with it. So I won’t be scared in the dark.”
The room fell dead silent.
Without a shred of hesitation, Ethan turned to look at me.
His voice left no room for argument. “Aria, she’s in critical condition. It’s just a bracelet. Let her have it.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “No. It belonged to my parents. I’m not lending it to anyone.”
Clara’s body shuddered violently, as if she had been slapped. She began to cough hysterically, clutching her chest.
“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked… It’s my own fault… Don’t fight because of me…”
She wept, her frail frame shaking.
Ethan’s temper flared. He glared at me, his voice booming through the room.
“Aria, enough! She is dying! It’s a piece of jewelry! Is your stupid pride more important than her life? You’re my wife—stop being so incredibly petty!”
Seeing Ethan take her side so aggressively, a smug look flashed in Clara’s eyes.
While everyone’s attention was on Ethan, she suddenly lunged forward, her hand clawing directly at my wrist.
Her movement was incredibly fast and aggressive—not at all like someone on the brink of death.
I instinctively pulled my arm back to protect the bracelet.
But she grabbed the delicate platinum chain, pulling with surprising strength.
“Aria, please! Just let me have this one comfort!” she shrieked.
Seeing us struggle, Ethan snapped. “Aria, let go! You’re going to hurt her!”
He grabbed my arm, pinning my wrist down with brute force.
I couldn’t move.
Taking advantage of my restraint, Clara gave a violent yank.
*Snap.*
The sound of the platinum chain breaking was clear as day.
The emerald-cut diamond pendant tumbled to the hardwood floor, the delicate stone chipping as it hit the ground.
I stared down at the broken piece of my mother’s legacy.
In that moment, something inside me broke forever.
The tension in the room instantly vanished. Clara let go and fell back onto her pillows, sobbing loudly, stammering that she hadn’t meant to break it.
Ethan didn’t even look at the broken jewelry on the floor. He was too busy leaning over Clara, murmuring comfort.
“It’s fine, Clara. It’s just a bracelet. I’ll buy you a better one tomorrow.”
I knelt down, picking up the broken chain and the chipped diamond piece by piece.
A sharp edge sliced my index finger, and a drop of blood fell onto the floor.
But I felt absolutely nothing.
I stood up, pocketed the broken pieces, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Ethan watched my cold exit, a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread washing over him.
He made a move to follow me, but Clara clutched his hand.
“Ethan, please don’t leave me. I’m scared.”
He sighed and sat back down.
He assured himself that Aria was always reasonable. She wouldn’t stay mad over a broken bracelet.
I sat by the window in my room, watching the night turn to dawn.
As the first light of morning broke over the estate, I sent a text to Chloe.
*“Book me the earliest flight to Boston. Today.”*
🌟 Continue the story here
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When I came home late after working overtime, I found my husband’s female friend sitting on his lap watching the World Cup.
When she saw me, Chloe pointed at the TV and said with a smile:
“Ethan, let’s make a bet, and if Haaland scores this goal, you divorce your wife, okay?”
“Then marry me, because I want a huge wedding!”
Ethan patted her on the ass, his tone indulgent:
“What if he doesn’t score?”
Chloe pouted and said, “If I lose, lock your wife in the bathroom!”
I listened as they used my marriage as a bet on a soccer game, and my face stayed blank.
In my last life, I fought for a divorce because of that sentence.
Ethan threw me into the bathroom with a cold face, my head hit the bathtub, and I died from a massive brain hemorrhage.
After getting a second chance, when I heard this familiar joke, I could not even find any anger in myself.
Ethan turned his head and looked at me with a frown.
“Chloe is just joking around, so don’t pull that face again and ruin everyone’s mood.”
I looked into his eyes, which held no guilt at all, then my gaze landed on Haaland kicking the ball on the screen, and I smiled faintly:
“I want in on the bet too.”
1
Ethan clicked his tongue impatiently.
He pulled the arm draped over Chloe’s shoulders back half an inch, then turned his head to size me up.
“Ava, you don’t even know what a striker is, so stop making trouble.”
His tone was full of impatience.
Chloe took the chance to lean closer to Ethan, and the butt sitting on his lap shifted and rubbed against him a few times.
“Ethan, if your wife wants to bet, let her bet.”
Chloe covered her mouth and laughed.
“But if she loses, she better not cry and demand a divorce like last time.”
Those words fell in the living room, chilling my heart like a blade.
I held the glass cup, and my fingertips pressed against the warm wall of the cup before I barely managed to suppress the bone-deep chill from dying in that bathroom in my last life.
I did not answer her, and I only sat down on the sofa.
“If we’re going to play, let’s make it straightforward.”
I raised my eyes and looked at the match timer that had just started moving on the screen.
“Let’s bet on whether either team scores within the first fifteen minutes of kickoff.”
Chloe froze for a moment after hearing that, then let out a mocking laugh.
She speared a piece of watermelon from the fruit plate and stuffed it into her mouth.
“You’re really rushing to lose this bet.”
She chewed the flesh and muttered unclearly.
“These two teams always take time to warm up.”
“Their defense is tight.”
“The chance of a goal in the first fifteen minutes is almost nothing.”
Chloe spat out the seeds, then pulled out a napkin and wiped her hands.
“I bet no goal.”
“Don’t go back on it.”
Ethan looked at me coldly, as if he was already completely fed up with me.
“Do you really have to join in on this?”
He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the table, took one out, and bit it between his lips.
“Fine, since you want to bet, what are you putting up?”
The lighter sparked a blue flame, lighting up the mockery in his eyes.
I leaned back against the sofa and folded my hands on my knees.
“If I lose, I’ll hand over all my bank cards, and you can spend whatever money is inside.”
The living room went quiet for a moment.
Ethan’s hand holding the cigarette paused slightly, and a trace of surprise flashed through his eyes.
Chloe’s eyes lit up, and even her posture straightened.
“How generous of you!”
She rushed to respond, as if afraid I would take back my promise in the next second.
I looked at her, and the corners of my lips curved gently.
“Don’t celebrate too soon.”
“What if you lose?”
Chloe lowered her head and fiddled with her manicure, not caring at all.
“Name your price, because I can afford to play.”
I stared at her face and said each word clearly:
“If I win, you slap yourself in the face on the spot.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the living room dropped to freezing point.
Ethan suddenly crushed the half-smoked cigarette in his hand into the ashtray.
“Ava, don’t go too far!”
He raised his voice, and his body instinctively leaned toward Chloe, shielding her in the most obvious way.
“Chloe was only joking with you, so do you have to be this vicious?”
I ignored Ethan’s roar and just looked quietly at Chloe.
The smile on her face stiffened.
She probably had not expected me to suggest that kind of stake.
But her gaze soon fell back onto the paycheck card on the table.
That card held all the salary I had saved over the years.
A moment later, she gritted her teeth and forced out another faint smile.
“Ethan, don’t be mad.”
She reached out and tugged on Ethan’s sleeve.
“Since Ava is in the mood for this, I’ll play with her.”
“Anyway, there’s no way anyone scores within these fifteen minutes.”
Ethan still wanted to say something, but Chloe had already turned her head and met my gaze.
“I agree.”
“Ava, get your paycheck card ready.”
I said nothing more and looked back at the TV screen.
Time passed.
Only the commentator’s voice reporting the match was left in the living room.
Ethan leaned against the sofa and glanced at me from the corner of his eye now and then, as if waiting for regret to appear on my face.
Chloe was relaxed, eating watermelon and occasionally humming along with the rhythm on the field.
The match reached the twelfth minute.
The field was locked in a midfield battle.
Chloe spat the rind into the trash can and took the chance to sneer.
“Only three minutes left.”
“I’ll gladly take your money.”
I lifted my cup and took a sip of water, my gaze fixed on the time in the lower right corner of the screen.
Thirteen minutes and forty seconds.
The ball was suddenly intercepted in the front field.
The commentator’s voice rose sharply.
“Counterattack!”
“This is an excellent counterattacking chance!”
Ethan suddenly sat up straight, his eyes locked hard on the screen.
The half piece of watermelon in Chloe’s hand also stopped in midair.
Fourteen minutes and twelve seconds.
The forward of one team dribbled into the penalty area, faced the goalkeeper’s block, and did not hesitate at all.
He lifted his foot.
He shot.
The soccer ball slammed hard into the upper right corner of the net.
“It’s in!!!”
“Only fourteen minutes after kickoff!”
“A lightning strike!”
The commentator’s roaring voice exploded in the living room.
Ethan and Chloe froze where they were.
I put down my glass, turned my head, and looked coldly at Chloe.
“A bet is a bet, so you can start slapping yourself now.”
2
Chloe’s face stiffened.
She tugged awkwardly at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes darted away.
“Oh my… that goal was way too much of a coincidence.”
She gave two dry laughs, then immediately switched back into that coy tone.
“You’re so lucky that you even guessed this right.”
As she spoke, she raised her hand and lightly touched her own cheek.
“Ouch, that really hurts.”
The next second, she took the opportunity to shrink into Ethan’s arms.
“I already hit myself.”
“Are you satisfied now?”
When Ethan saw her like that, his brows relaxed.
He turned his head to look at me, his tone as if it was only natural.
“Enough, Ava.”
“Chloe already hit herself, so let it go.”
“Don’t cling to it in the middle of the night.”
I did not speak.
I only stood up, quickly went around the table, and walked up to Chloe.
Then I looked down at that face from above.
Chloe had not reacted yet and instinctively raised her head.
“Ava, why are you looking at me like…”
Before she could finish speaking.
I raised my hand and backhanded her hard across the left side of her face.
“Slap!”
The crisp sound of the slap drowned out the commentary on TV.
I used all my strength for that slap.
Chloe’s head was struck sharply to one side, her hair scattered, and half of her face reddened visibly.
She covered her swollen cheek and widened her eyes.
After a brief daze, a scream burst from her throat.
“Ah!!!”
Tears flooded from her eyes.
Ethan’s face changed in shock, and he suddenly stood up from the sofa and shoved me away.
“Ava!”
“Are you insane?!”
I staggered two steps, and my back hit the sofa before I barely managed to steady myself.
But Ethan had already pulled Chloe into his arms, lowered his head to check the finger marks on her face, and hurled his anger at me head-on.
“You are nothing but a crazy bitch!”
“Who taught you to hit people?!”
I looked at how he trembled with heartache and could not help but sneer.
“Didn’t you say not to play if you can’t afford to lose?”
I pointed at Chloe, who was sobbing in Ethan’s arms.
“I was only letting her know what it means to accept the result of a bet.”
Chloe grabbed Ethan’s shirt and cried until she could barely breathe.
“Ethan… it hurts so much… is my face ruined…”
As she cried, she lifted her eyes from Ethan’s arms to look at me.
At that instant, the venom in her eyes was almost impossible to hide.
Ethan grew even angrier and glared at me viciously.
“Fine, fine!”
“A bet is a bet, right?”
“Let’s keep going, and I’ll play with you!”
“Today, I have to fix that arrogant rotten temper of yours!”
He gently patted Chloe’s back.
“We’ll bet on which team is leading at the end of the first half!”
“The stakes are the same as before.”
“I bet the team that just scored keeps the lead!”
I clenched my fingers, my chest rising and falling violently, and deliberately acted like I had been blinded by anger.
“Fine!”
“Do you think I’m scared of you?”
I raised my voice, like a gambler who had lost all reason.
“I bet the other team can come from behind!”
This was a completely illogical choice.
Against a team with strong defense, scoring twice in one half to come from behind would not be easy.
But at this moment, the win or loss of one round was not important to me.
You have to risk the bait to catch the wolf.
When Chloe saw that I had taken the bait, pleasure appeared on her face.
The match continued.
For the next half hour, the field was dull.
The team that was behind fought back wildly, but still could not tear through the other side’s defense.
With a long whistle from the referee, the first half ended.
The score was fixed at 1-0.
Ethan’s bet succeeded, and he won this round.
He let out a scoff.
“You brought this on yourself.”
“Did you really think you understood soccer now?”
He picked up my paycheck card from the coffee table and casually tossed it into Chloe’s arms.
“Take it.”
“The password is her birthday.”
Chloe pinched the card between her fingers, and her smile was especially glaring.
Ethan had already taken out his phone, lowered his head, and opened a shopping app.
“Didn’t you like a bag just now?”
“I’ll order it for you now as compensation for that slap.”
Chloe immediately leaned against him sweetly.
“Thank you, Ethan.”
After saying that, she shook the card in her hand again and looked at me.
“Ava, then I won’t hold back.”
“Thanks for sponsoring me.”
I stood where I was and watched them celebrate as if no one else was there.
“We’re not done yet.”
3
I pressed down the raging anger in my chest and stared hard at them.
My nails dug into my palms, and the pain barely helped me keep up the appearance of being a desperate loser.
“Again.”
I squeezed out the words through gritted teeth.
Ethan’s fingers paused on his phone, and he raised his head with a cold laugh.
“What?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“What else do you even have left to bet?”
Chloe stuffed my paycheck card into her bag, and the smugness in her posture was almost impossible to hide.
“Ava, quit while you’re ahead.”
“If you keep betting, don’t lose everything you own and then blame us for bullying you.”
I suddenly pulled open the drawer under the table.
With a slap, I slammed a car key onto the tabletop.
“Round three.”
“We bet on which team gets the first yellow card within the first ten minutes of the second half.”
I looked at Chloe’s still-red face, and my voice cooled.
“I bet the team that is behind.”
Chloe had clearly been carried away by winning the last round.
In her eyes, I was nothing more than a crazy woman desperate after losing.
“Fine.”
She curled her lip.
“Then I bet the team that’s ahead.”
After saying that, her gaze circled the car key, and she gave a deliberately disdainful laugh.
“But one car key is too cheap, isn’t it?”
“Do you have any stakes that are actually worth something?”
I took a deep breath and brought a document out from the bedroom.
It was the deed to the luxury apartment downtown that my parents had left me.
I pressed the property deed on top of the car key.
“Is this enough?”
The moment Ethan saw the property deed, a trace of greed flashed through his eyes that he could not hide.
The words he had originally wanted to use to scold me were swallowed back down, and his gaze stuck hard to the document as even his breathing quickened.
“Ava, you really dare to take this out and bet it?”
He stood up, the corners of his mouth rising despite himself, and his tone carried both testing and excitement.
“Fine, this is your own property, and if you want to bet it, no one will stop you.”
I ignored him and turned to look at Chloe.
“My stakes have increased, so yours have to increase too.”
“If you lose, I want you on both knees, slapping yourself ten times in a row.”
Ethan instantly flew into a rage and pointed at me as he cursed:
“Ava, don’t go too far!”
“Even killing someone is only a single clean blow, so do you really have to bully her like this?”
Chloe grabbed Ethan’s arm, her eyes glued to the property deed.
“Ethan, let her bet!”
“I don’t believe she can keep getting lucky!”
“I agree!”
“Let’s bet!”
The second half officially began.
The scene on the TV became full of tension.
The team I had bet on was behind and trying to tie the score, so their movements became bigger, and they clearly showed signs of fouling.
The physical clashes became deadlocked.
The corners of Chloe’s mouth began to rise, as if that luxury apartment already had her name on it.
Seven minutes and twenty seconds.
Near the front sideline.
A defender from the losing side made a brutal sliding tackle to stop the opponent’s counterattack.
As the player fell and rolled, the referee’s whistle sounded.
The referee did not hesitate and pulled a yellow card from his pocket.
He raised it high.
The smile on Chloe’s face instantly froze.
Ethan also froze where he stood, opened his mouth, and could not say a single word.
The living room was frighteningly quiet, and only the sound of the TV replaying the foul remained.
I stood up, walked in front of Chloe, raised my hand, and pointed at the floor.
“I didn’t lose my car.”
“I didn’t lose my apartment either.”
“Now get down and slap yourself on your knees.”
Chloe trembled all over in fear, and the throw pillow in her hands fell to the floor.
She scrambled behind Ethan and refused to come out no matter what.
“Ethan… save me, I don’t want to kneel… she’s targeting me on purpose!”
She cried and clutched Ethan’s clothes without letting go.
Ethan’s eyes turned completely cold when he looked at me.
The next second, he suddenly pulled the paycheck card from Chloe’s bag and threw it hard at my face.
The plastic card scraped past the corner of my eye, leaving a burning sting behind.
“Here’s your card back!”
He roared as if he were giving charity.
“I’ll pay for those ten slaps for her, so stop this right now!”
I remained unmoved and did not even look at the paycheck card on the floor.
“Ethan, you said a bet is a bet.”
I threw his own words back to shut him up.
“What?”
“Now you can’t afford to play?”
“Are you even a man?”
“How embarrassing.”
“You!”
“Or am I the only one allowed to lose, while your little bestie can’t lose?”
“Whose side are you even on?”
The atmosphere in the living room instantly dropped to freezing point.
Chloe looked at Ethan’s expression and knew she could not avoid this.
She wanted to keep acting pitiful, but she also did not want to look too ugly in front of Ethan, so in the end, she could only grit her teeth and slowly move out from behind him.
“Ethan, I’m fine…”
She said it with a sob, as if she had suffered some enormous grievance.
Then her knees weakened, and she knelt in front of me.
Under my cold gaze, Chloe raised both hands with a tremble.
Humiliated, she slapped herself left and right.
“Slap!”
“Slap!”
Ten loud slaps echoed through the living room.
4
After the final slap, Chloe collapsed onto the carpet.
Both sides of her face were red and swollen, the corner of her mouth had broken skin, and her makeup was ruined from crying.
“Ugh… Ethan…”
She covered her face and looked at me through her swollen eyelids, and the hatred in her eyes was almost impossible to hide.
Ethan’s eyes reddened with heartache.
He could no longer keep pretending, and he rushed to me in a few steps, pointed at my nose, and cursed:
“Ava, how can you be so vicious?!”
“Fine, don’t you like betting?”
“I’ll bet with you to the end tonight.”
“I want to see how long you can keep acting arrogant!”
He was completely enraged, and instead took the initiative to propose the fourth round.
“We’ll bet on the result at the end of regular time.”
After saying that, he helped Chloe up from the floor and held her tightly in his arms, as if he was afraid I would touch her again.
“If we win, you leave with nothing tomorrow and get out of this house.”
He stared hard at me.
“Ava, do you dare to accept?”
I subconsciously took half a step back, my shoulders shrank slightly, and my eyes moved back and forth between the two of them as I deliberately showed hesitation and fear.
“This is my home, so why should I…”
When Chloe saw me back down, her spirit immediately returned.
With that red and swollen face, she sneered and mocked me:
“What?”
“Weren’t you so tough when you forced me to kneel just now?”
“Ava, if you don’t dare to play, just say it.”
“Don’t lose and then cry that we bullied you.”
Ethan followed with a cold laugh.
“If you don’t dare to accept, admit defeat.”
“Pack your things and get out now, so you don’t embarrass yourself.”
They echoed each other, as if they were certain I had been pushed into a dead end.
I clenched my fingers and suddenly slapped my palm onto the coffee table.
“Fine, I accept!”
I raised my voice and acted like I had been cornered and had completely lost my mind.
“Since you two want me gone so badly, let’s bet!”
Ethan immediately pointed at the screen.
At this moment, the score was 2-1, and Team F was leading.
“We choose first.”
He said it impatiently.
“We bet Team F wins in the end.”
I clenched my back teeth and stared at the screen for a few seconds.
“Then I bet on Team A.”
As if afraid I would go back on it, Ethan immediately found paper and a pen in the drawer and quickly wrote a betting agreement.
In black and white, it stated that if he won, I would leave with nothing, and if I won, he would leave with nothing.
He shoved the pen into my hand and urged me:
“Sign.”
I held the pen, my fingers trembling slightly, and wrote my name in the signature spot.
When Ethan looked at those two words, a trace of smugness flashed through his eyes.
The match continued.
In the time that followed, Team A’s attacks were blocked several times, and the situation became more and more tense.
Ethan sat on the sofa, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the screen without blinking.
Chloe also stopped crying, covered her face, leaned beside him, and the corners of her mouth slowly lifted.
Soon, the match entered the final minute.
The countdown for stoppage time appeared on the big screen.
Just then, Team F seized a counterattack chance.
The forward broke through one-on-one and pushed the ball past the goalkeeper with one shot.
The soccer ball rolled into the net.
The score became 3-
Cheers instantly erupted in the living room.
Ethan picked Chloe up in his arms, so excited that even his voice changed.
“We won!”
“We won!”
Chloe got carried away and turned to point at me as she cursed:
“Ava, look at you now!”
She walked up to me, her tone sharp and delighted.
“The agreement is signed, so get out tonight.”
Ethan also walked over, his face full of the thrill of certain victory.
“Ava, kneel down right now and apologize to Chloe.”
He pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and casually threw them at my feet.
“After you apologize, take the cab money and get lost.”
“Don’t let me see you again.”
I quietly watched their celebration.
There was no anger and no fear.
I only slowly raised my hand and pointed at the TV screen behind them.
“How about you turn around and look first?”
Ethan and Chloe froze, then instinctively turned their heads.
In the next second, both of their faces changed at the same time.
“How is this possible?!”
On the TV screen, the scoreboard that had originally changed to 3-1 had now strangely jumped back to 2-1.
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During the World Cup quarterfinals, Holan accidentally kicked the ball out of bounds.
The soccer ball flew straight into the front-row VIP section, hitting a couple sitting there.
The tracking camera instantly put them on the stadium’s giant screen.
On the screen, the woman was wearing an Argentina jersey. The man beside her caught the ball.
Realizing they were on the Kiss Cam, the two passionately locked lips.
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
Because that woman was my wife, Chloe.
She had no idea that I was sitting on the exact opposite side of the stadium.
She had no idea that the global live broadcast had just delivered the high-definition image of her kissing another man right to my eyes.
Today was our fifth wedding anniversary. She told me she had to work late.
I actually believed her. I came to the game alone, holding the World Cup ticket I had originally bought for her.
Only at this moment did I realize she wasn’t too busy.
She just saved the chance of watching the game for the person she actually wanted to be with.
Fine. I’m out of this marriage.
Chloe was a die-hard soccer fan. Her ultimate dream was to watch the World Cup live.
To get the tickets, I stayed up for three straight nights refreshing the ticketing website.
The moment I got them, I was too excited to sleep.
Because that day was not just the match, but also our fifth wedding anniversary.
I had even planned to give her the anniversary gift right outside the stadium after the final whistle.
Before leaving, I purposely asked her, “Can you clear your schedule for the next few days?”
Chloe didn’t even look up from her laptop.
She frowned at her screen and said, “The project is in its final stage. I have to work overtime all week. I won’t even have time to check my phone. Can you stop annoying me?”
I quietly put the tickets back into my pocket.
In the end, I flew to the game alone.
After finding my seat, I took a picture of the empty seat next to me and sent it to her.
That seat was supposed to be hers.
Ten minutes later, she replied with just one cold line.
[Busy. Stop texting me.]
I stared at the cold words on the screen and let out a bitter laugh.
During the intense game, Holan made a powerful shot. The ball went off target, flying straight toward the front-row VIP seats.
The crowd gasped.
A man caught the ball in his arms.
The broadcast director instantly switched the live feed to the giant screen in the center of the stadium.
Tens of thousands of fans cheered, and the camera locked onto the lucky couple.
The woman was wearing a brand-new Argentina jersey, with blue and white flag paint on her cheeks.
Realizing they were on the big screen, the two kissed passionately.
The stadium erupted into deafening cheers.
I was sitting in the back row, less than twenty yards away from them. My breathing stopped.
That man was Chloe’s first love, Julian.
He was a soccer fan too.
To make sure her first love didn’t have any regrets, she lied to me on our fifth anniversary.
I didn’t run down like a madman to confront them.
Instead, I took out my phone, started screen recording, and saved the live broadcast.
Then, I opened the reservation app and canceled the expensive anniversary dinner I had booked.
After doing all this, I turned around and walked out of the noisy stadium.
It was already 1:00 AM when I got home.
The door clicked, and Chloe walked in, humming a song.
She was holding a gift box. Inside was a rare, limited-edition jersey Julian had given her.
Seeing me sitting on the couch, the smile on her face vanished.
“Didn’t I tell you I was exhausted from working overtime? Why are you sitting here in the dark? You scared me.”
She changed her shoes and threw the gift box onto the table, clearly showing it off.
“Why can’t you be romantic like other guys?”
“I’ve been working my ass off at the office, and you don’t even ask how I am. You just sit here with a resting bitch face.”
She poured a glass of water, her voice full of impatience.
I looked at her self-righteous face and pulled a folder from under the table.
“So your idea of ‘working overtime’ is sitting in a front-row VIP seat with your ex?”
Chloe’s hand trembled, spilling water onto the floor.
“You… did you stalk me?”
I didn’t want to argue. I pushed the folder in front of her.
“Chloe, here is your fifth-anniversary gift.”
The words printed at the top of the page read: Divorce Agreement.
Chloe stared at the words, her face turning pale instantly.
“Are you crazy? You want a divorce just because I went to a game?”
“Julian just got back to the country. He has no one here. What’s wrong with me keeping an old friend company?”
I threw my phone over. The screen was playing the live broadcast of her snuggling in Julian’s arms and kissing him.
“Does an old friend require you to lie to your husband about working overtime?”
“Does an old friend require you to make out in front of millions of viewers?”
Chloe went dead silent, her lips trembling.
“I… that was just for the Kiss Cam! I was too excited and did something stupid!”
She reached out frantically to grab my hand.
I stepped back to avoid her and threw a pen at her feet.
“Sign it. We’re going to City Hall tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not signing! I will never sign!”
Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears, her voice cracking.
“Five years of marriage! You’re really throwing it away over this?”
“I didn’t throw it away. You did.”
I stood up, grabbed my pre-packed suitcase, and walked straight out the door.
Behind me, I heard the sound of the gift box being slammed onto the floor, followed by Chloe’s hysterical crying.
But none of it had anything to do with me anymore.
Just as my hand touched the doorknob, Chloe grabbed my suitcase from behind.
“It’s just a game! Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”
“Julian and I have history. Can’t you be a man and be a little more open-minded?”
She snatched my backpack from the entryway table and pulled out the ticket stub inside.
Seeing the seat number, she let out a mocking laugh.
“This is the surprise you talked about?”
“You couldn’t even afford a VIP seat. You wanted me to sit in these cheap, crowded seats?”
“Julian got front-row seats easily. You couldn’t even give me a decent experience, and now you’re blaming me?”
She ripped the ticket into pieces.
“Your cheap romance only embarrasses me!”
I shook her hand off and walked out without looking back.
The next afternoon, Chloe sent me a text.
She said her parents were at our house and demanded I come back to explain myself.
When I pushed the door open, Chloe’s family of three was sitting in the living room.
My mother-in-law, Helen, had a stern face and started scolding me immediately.
“Couples fight, but you are being way too possessive.”
“Chloe just went to a game with a friend. You making a scene about divorce will only make us a laughingstock.”
My father-in-law, Richard, slammed his teacup onto the table.
“Go apologize to Julian, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
I laughed out of sheer anger and pointed at myself.
“My wife kissed her ex in front of millions of people, and you want me to apologize?”
Richard stood up abruptly, pointing his finger at my face.
“Julian has a weak heart! His emotions can’t handle stress!”
“If anything happens to him because of your drama, can you even take responsibility?!”
Chloe walked over and held Richard’s arm.
“Dad, don’t get angry. Let me talk to him.”
She turned to me, her tone incredibly casual.
“Julian just got back to the country and hasn’t found a place to stay yet.”
“Since you want a separation anyway, clear out of the master bedroom and let him move in for a few days.”
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in a hotel.”
I stared at this absurd family, pulled out my phone, and turned the volume to the max.
Chloe’s voice echoed in the living room: “He’s actually my first love. I lied to my husband about working overtime.”
Richard and Helen’s faces turned incredibly ugly.
Chloe screamed and lunged forward to grab my phone.
“Go ahead and delete it. It’s backed up on iCloud,” I said coldly.
Chloe’s hand froze in mid-air, and she slammed the phone onto the couch in frustration.
“If you were there, why didn’t you warn me? You did this on purpose to humiliate me!”
At that moment, I saw this woman for who she truly was.
She didn’t think she did anything wrong. She only hated me for not helping her cover up her affair.
I bent down, picked up the divorce papers from the table, and put them back in the folder.
“Tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll see you at City Hall.”
“Don’t be late. We are getting a divorce.”
The next morning at nine.
My phone buzzed. Chloe sent a photo of Julian lying in a hospital bed with an IV in his hand.
“Julian had a relapse because of the video you played last night. I have to stay at the hospital.”
“Postpone the divorce. Don’t be so heartless.”
I grabbed her ID card she had left at home and went straight to the hospital.
As I approached the room, I heard Julian’s playful laugh through the gap in the door.
“Chloe, you just made up an illness, and Logan actually believed it?”
Chloe’s voice sounded playful. “Shh, keep it down. I need to keep that idiot calm first.”
“If we really divorce, I can’t let him keep the downtown apartment and our savings.”
I stood outside, listened to the whole thing, and walked away. I went straight back to our apartment.
At 3:00 PM, the front door was kicked open.
Chloe rushed into the study, pulling open every drawer and throwing files all over the floor.
She gripped the house deed, her face dark with anger.
“Why is this deed only in your name? Why didn’t you add me after we got married?”
She slammed the deed onto the desk, demanding an explanation.
“We are married! What’s yours is mine! You need to add my name to the deed right now!”
“Also, Julian quit his job to be with me. You have to hire him at your company.”
I sat in my chair, looking at her coldly.
“Do you think that’s even possible?”
Chloe pulled out her phone and threatened me with her Snapchat family group.
“If you don’t agree, I’ll post in the group chat that you emotionally abused me and drove me to depression!”
“I’ll make sure your parents can never show their faces around our relatives again!”
I picked up my iPad and opened the living room security camera app.
“Go ahead. For every text you send, I will post a high-definition clip of this security footage to your company’s Slack group.”
The arrogance on Chloe’s face instantly froze.
She quickly changed her expression to a victim’s face, her eyes turning red as she reached for my arm.
“Logan, I was just stressed. Julian is just an outsider. You are my husband, the only one I love!”
I opened my phone and played the World Cup clip right in front of her face.
“He’s actually my first love. I lied to my husband…”
Chloe’s face turned paper-white. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t squeeze out a single word of defense.
I grabbed her wrist, dragged her to the front door, and pushed her out.
Then, right in front of her, I deleted her fingerprint access.
I slammed the heavy door shut.
From outside, I could hear Chloe frantically banging on the door, crying and begging.
I walked back to the living room and threw her trash into the bin.
I would never believe a single word out of that woman’s mouth again.
I submitted a transfer request to my company’s out-of-town branch.
I packed up all the cheap gifts Chloe had given me over the years and mailed them back to her.
The next second, Chloe’s Instagram was updated.
The picture was a close-up of Julian’s hand with an IV.
“Five years of love ruined by baseless jealousy. I am losing my mind. Does a married woman have no right to have friends?”
Underneath, comments from her relatives and friends started piling up.
They were all calling me heartless, petty, and toxic.
I opened our family group chat on Snapchat.
Without saying a word, I sent three video files. They were all proof of Chloe and Julian’s affair.
The relatives who were just bashing me in the comments went dead silent.
In less than thirty seconds, Helen sent me a direct message.
“How can you be so immature? Delete those videos right now!”
“Don’t wash your dirty laundry in public! Do you want Chloe to never show her face in front of her relatives again?”
“Go apologize to Chloe, and we will let this go!”
I typed back:
“Chloe did those things herself. I didn’t make her do them.”
After sending it, I blocked her and left the group chat.
The night before I left the city, I went to a hotel to pick up some luggage I had stored there.
The elevator doors opened on the third-floor banquet hall.
The first thing I saw was Chloe holding Julian’s arm, walking in happily.
She was wearing a custom-made designer gown. It was the anniversary gift I had spent three months of my salary on.
The guests raised their glasses to congratulate them.
Chloe laughed happily.
“After all these years, I’m finally back with the man I was meant to marry.”
“My past marriage was just a nightmare. Now that I’m awake, I deserve to be happy.”
The guests cheered, and Julian leaned in to kiss her cheek.
I stood at the end of the hallway, watching this farce coldly.
I pulled out my phone and messaged Marcus, the hotel manager, on WhatsApp.
“Marcus, is the special gift ready?”
“When they cut the cake, play it on the big screen at max volume.”
After sending it, I grabbed my suitcase and walked into the down-bound elevator.
Enjoy my gift, Chloe.
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At my engagement party, I became the biggest laughingstock in the city.
My fiancée, Christine, threw an HPV test report right in my face in front of everyone. Behind her, the giant LED screen clearly displayed the results:
Test Result: High-Risk Positive.
“Ethan, you slept with someone else behind my back. We are over!”
The crowd gasped.
Right then, my best friend, Caleb, rushed onto the stage and shielded me.
His eyes were red, and his voice trembled:
“Christine, stop accusing him! Ethan would never do something like this!”
“You must be the one with the problem!”
The guests below whispered in admiration, praising him for being such a loyal, true friend.
But as for me, my blood ran dead cold.
Because the exact moment he opened his mouth, a wicked, sneering voice echoed clearly in my head:
[Keep acting, you idiot. Last night, Christine was still riding me in my bed.]
[This test report is my special engagement surprise for you.]
I stared at his back, and a cold smile slowly formed on my face.
My best friend. What a great friend indeed.
Since you both want so badly to drag me into hell, then fine. Next, it’s my turn.
That thin sheet of medical report felt like a resounding slap across my face before it drifted slowly onto the expensive Persian carpet.
The once-bustling, luxurious banquet hall fell into a dead silence.
Hundreds of eyes pinned onto me like blinding spotlights.
On the big screen, the slideshow of our romantic memories had been forcefully replaced by a glaring medical document.
HPV Test Result: High-Risk Positive.
The words, highlighted in blood-red, were magnified a hundred times, burning straight into my retinas like a red-hot iron.
Christine stood in front of me. Her exquisite, high-society face, which she usually took so much pride in, was now distorted with disgust and rage.
Holding the microphone, her voice echoed through the high-end sound system to every corner of the hall.
“Ethan, do you have no shame?”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was dripping with venom, each word aiming to pin me to the wall of shame.
“I trusted you so much, and this is how you repay me?”
“Carrying a disease like that and still dreaming of marrying me? Do you take me for a trash bin?!”
The crowd erupted.
“Oh my god, he looks like such a decent guy. I can’t believe he has an STD…”
“How messy must his private life be? That’s disgusting!”
“Poor Christine. She almost married a liar.”
Countless looks of disdain, ridicule, and malice pierced my back, locking me onto this stage of humiliation.
I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. I humiliatedly bent down to pick up the paper.
I didn’t understand. I had barely even held another woman’s hand. How could I have this disease? There had to be a mistake!
Just as my fingers were about to touch the paper, a hand gripped my shoulder.
It was Caleb.
My college roommate, my best friend, and the man who was supposed to be my best man today.
He shielded me, turning around to yell at Christine:
“Christine, have you lost your mind? You know what kind of guy Ethan is!”
“This report must be fake! How dare you humiliate him like this in public!”
The scent of my newly opened designer cologne wafted off him. Usually, I found the smell refreshing, but right now, it made my chest feel incredibly tight.
“Ethan, don’t worry. The hospital must have messed up!”
He turned back and whispered to me. His voice sounded anxious, but beneath it lay a faint, almost imperceptible trace of smugness.
I gripped his shoulder, grinding my teeth in what I thought was gratitude.
Then, a warm breath brushed past my ear.
A wicked, cheerful voice—one that only I could hear—exploded in my head.
[What a loser. Look at that pale face.]
[Of course the hospital didn’t mess up. I paid a fortune to have my name swapped with yours on that report.]
[Everything that belonged to you, I’ve already used.]
[Your razor, your glass, and… your high-and-mighty fiancée.]
[You’ll never get to experience how wild she was in my bed last night.]
[The spot of the Miller family’s son-in-law belongs only to me.]
In that single second, my blood froze into solid ice.
I stared daggers at Caleb’s hand on my shoulder.
On his wrist was a brand-new mechanical watch.
It was a limited-edition piece Christine had gifted me for my birthday last month.
I had been too careful to even wear it, keeping it locked in my drawer. Caleb had asked to borrow it “just to show off at a party,” and he had never returned it.
The engagement ring on my finger pressed hard against my bone, sending a sharp, stinging pain through my hand.
I shoved Caleb away with all my might.
The force caught him completely off guard, and he tumbled onto the stage with a sharp gasp.
“Ethan… what are you doing?” He looked up at me, his face a perfect picture of shock and hurt.
[What is this psycho doing? That hurt like hell!]
The voice in my head chimed in again, crystal clear and brutally sharp.
I wasn’t crazy. I had just, finally, woken up.
I coldly swept my gaze across the whispering crowd, before letting my eyes rest on Christine’s hypocritical face.
“The wedding is off. Christine, you disgust me.”
With that, I ripped the boutonniere off my suit, turned around, and walked out of the hall without looking back.
I don’t even remember how I got back to our shared apartment.
It was pouring rain outside. I hadn’t used an umbrella, letting the freezing water ruin my styled hair.
My custom suit was soaked, heavy and clinging to my skin, matching the weight of my heart sinking into the abyss.
My keys scraped against the lock for a long time before the door finally clicked open.
The apartment was dead silent.
Caleb and I had rented this place together for three whole years.
After graduation, to save money and look out for each other, we got this apartment.
I used to think we were each other’s strongest support in this cold city.
When he had a fever, I stayed up all night taking care of him.
When I worked late, he would leave a warm meal on the stove.
When I first introduced Christine to him, he had solemnly sworn to vet her for me, promising he wouldn’t let any bad woman trick his best bro.
Looking back, every ounce of that trust had turned into barbed wire, wrapping around my throat, drawing blood with every breath.
Barefoot, I walked slowly into the bathroom.
On the wall, two towels hung side by side—one blue, one gray. The gray one was mine.
I remembered folding it perfectly before leaving this morning.
Now, one corner was draped messily, damp with a lingering, suspicious moisture.
On the sink, inside my gray rinsing cup, there was a faint, smudged streak of dark red on the rim.
It was lipstick. The exact shade Christine loved to wear.
I rushed to the toilet, my stomach violently churning, and dry-heaved until tears blurred my eyes.
All the signs had been there. I had just been blind.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed frantically in my pocket, like the dying spasms of a heart.
The screen lit up with ‘Jennifer.’
Christine’s mother.
I numbly swiped to answer.
There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end for several seconds.
“The Miller family cannot have any stain on our name.”
Jennifer’s voice finally came through, cold and hard like iron.
“What happened at the engagement party made us the laughingstock of the city.”
“We only agreed to this marriage because we thought you were a decent, honest man. Who knew you were such trash?”
“You’ve read the prenup. Cheating on Christine makes you the sole guilty party.”
“You are leaving with absolutely nothing. Christine’s money, the cost of the party, and all the designer jewelry—I will have her retrieve them tomorrow.”
“You better have every single item ready. If even one thing is missing, we will see you in court.”
The line went dead.
The world fell back into silence.
I held my phone. The screen lit up again with a new text from Christine.
It was just five words: “Give me back the ring.”
I didn’t reply to Christine.
All my raging emotions seemed to have evaporated in the storm, leaving behind a hollow shell filled with icy, calculating hatred.
I walked into my bedroom and pulled open the wardrobe.
My clothes hung inside, and at the very end was my most prized possession—a custom designer suit jacket.
It was my reward to myself after winning Top Sales of the Year last year.
I remembered it disappearing last week.
I had turned the room upside down, sweating and anxious, while Caleb had simply said, “Haven’t seen it. Maybe you misplaced it somewhere.”
Now, it hung there, pristine and spotless.
Except for the collar, which carried a very faint, yet incredibly familiar scent.
It was the luxury car diffuser scent Christine always used.
My fingers turned white as I opened Instagram on my phone.
I clicked on a mutual friend’s profile. Three days ago, they had posted a carousel of photos with the caption: “Yacht party this weekend, so much fun!”
In one of the group photos, Christine and Caleb stood shoulder to shoulder.
Caleb was grinning, wearing my missing custom suit jacket.
Christine’s hand was casually resting on the railing behind him, wrapping around him in an incredibly possessive stance.
I zoomed in on the photo. Closer. Closer. Until the pixels became blurry.
On Caleb’s wrist, there was a black braided leather cord.
Hanging from it was a small, simple silver signet ring.
It was the only heirloom my father had left me. I treasured it like life itself, keeping it locked at the very bottom of my jewelry box, never daring to wear it.
“Ha…” A cold laugh escaped my lips, sounding echoing and creepy in the empty room.
Using my towel. Wearing my clothes. Wearing my dad’s ring. Sleeping with my fiancée.
Caleb, you really are a piece of work.
Around ten in the evening, the lock clicked.
Caleb was back.
He carried two large bags of my favorite snacks, his face painted with the perfect amount of worry and exhaustion, as if he were a hero who had rushed back just to save me.
“Ethan, look what I got you! Your favorite beef jerky and cheese crackers.”
He tossed the bags onto the coffee table. The loud rustle aggressively shattered the silence of the room.
“Don’t take today’s stuff to heart,” he said, walking over and reaching out to pat my shoulder. “That bitch Christine didn’t deserve you anyway! I already chewed her out for you!”
I sat on the sofa and casually leaned aside, dodging his touch.
His hand froze awkwardly in mid-air, a crack appearing on his perfect mask of ‘concern.’
“Ethan, what’s wrong? Are you still hurting?”
I didn’t answer. I just looked up, slowly studying him.
I looked at his face, his eyes, and the watch on his wrist that belonged to me.
This was a face I had looked at for seven years, yet right now, it made me physically sick.
He quickly adjusted his expression, continuing his sickening act with a voice full of fake sympathy.
“I know you must be feeling terrible right now. It’s okay, I’m here for you.”
“Once this all blows over, I promise I’ll introduce you to someone way better. Someone a hundred times better than Christine!”
[Ugh, what a loser, sitting there like a corpse.]
[The Miller family’s wealth is finally mine.]
[Christine was so worried about me when I fell on the stage. She spent hours comforting me in her car just now.]
[Once you pack your bags and get lost, the first thing I’m doing is throwing all your trash out. Such an eyesore.]
[And that cheap silver ring his dead dad left him? So tacky. I’m sick of wearing it anyway. Tomorrow, I’ll have Christine buy me a Rolex.]
The voice in his head grew louder, more vicious, and more arrogant.
But with every word, my mind became terrifyingly clear.
I picked up the bag of beef jerky from the coffee table and slowly tore it open.
With oily fingers, I pulled out a piece and held it up right before his startled eyes.
“Don’t you love this?” My voice was gentle, like a casual chat, showing no emotion.
Caleb froze. He clearly hadn’t expected this reaction from me.
[What is he doing? Trying to poison me?]
[Hmph, like he has the balls. He’s probably just traumatized and trying to please me.]
He hid the suspicion in his eyes and forced a smile. “Thanks, Ethan. You always know me best.”
He opened his mouth to take the jerky.
But a second before his lips could touch it, I flipped my wrist.
The jerky brushed past his cheek and fell onto the floor.
Then, I raised my greasy hand.
And using the back of my fingers, I slowly, humiliatingly tapped his smooth, expensive-skincare-coated cheek.
“Caleb,” I whispered, watching his pupils shrink in shock, “You’re dirty.”
The fake smile on his face shattered completely.
[Does he… know?]
[Impossible! I did everything perfectly. Even the hospital report was swapped by someone I paid off. He’s too stupid to find out!]
[He must be driven crazy by today’s shock. Yes, he’s lost his mind!]
I coldly retracted my hand, as if I had touched garbage. I walked over to the balcony and picked up the tub of dirty cat litter I was planning to throw away.
Coming back to the living room, right under his furious gaze, I dumped the entire tub of dirty litter right into the bags of “comfort snacks” he brought.
The gray clumps and smelly yellow bits rained down, burying the neatly packaged snacks.
A pungent stench of ammonia and decay instantly filled the room.
Caleb’s face turned from pale to green, and then to a furious, bright red.
“Ethan! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
He finally ripped off his mask, screaming as he jumped back to protect his limited-edition sneakers.
I tossed the empty tub at his feet. It hit the hardwood floor with a loud, hollow clatter.
“What’s wrong with me?” I finally smiled, but the smile was ice-cold.
Ignoring his screaming, I walked straight into his bedroom and threw his wardrobe open.
I was greeted by the scent of expensive cologne, along with several luxury brand clothes and shoe boxes I had never seen before.
I reached in and pulled out a designer hoodie that still had the tag on.
[How dare he touch my things?!]
[Christine just bought me that last week!]
[It’s a limited edition! I was going to wear it to our date tomorrow!]
Deaf to the screaming in his head, I gripped the hoodie and walked back to the living room.
“Caleb, you make three grand a month. After rent, you can barely afford to eat. How did you buy this?”
I threw the hoodie hard at his face. The price tag showing “$1,800” hit him like a physical slap.
“Without eating or drinking, you’d have to save for two months for this.”
He stumbled back, desperately catching the hoodie as if it were a lifesaver.
“I… I used a personal shopper! It was on sale! Super cheap!”
His eyes darted around wildly as he stammered, his voice lacking any real confidence.
[He can’t find out. He absolutely cannot!]
[If he finds out I’m using Christine’s money and makes a scene at the Miller estate, Jennifer will destroy me!]
“Is that so?” I nodded, pretending to believe his terrible lie.
I unlocked my phone and opened my banking app right in front of him.
“What a coincidence. I wanted to buy some things too. Give me your personal shopper’s contact.”
“I recall that after graduation, to make utility bills easier, we set up a joint credit card account under your name.”
“And every month, the bank sends the statements to my email.”
My finger slid slowly across the screen, my gaze cutting like a knife across his pale face.
“Let’s see your statement for this month…”
Caleb stopped breathing. He stared at my phone as if it were a live bomb.
The screen lit up. The statement was long, and every large expense was clearly documented.
Not a single one was from a “personal shopper.”
But there was a charge for $1,800 at a high-end department store, and another for $1,200 at a luxury suite.
The merchant was the Sky Hotel—a five-star luxury hotel famous in the city.
The date of the transaction: last Friday night.
The exact night my custom suit went missing.
I zoomed in on the hotel charge and took a screenshot.
The sharp camera click sounded like a death knell, ending our seven-year friendship.
“Sky Hotel, Presidential Suite. Caleb, does your personal shopper also provide bedroom services?” I sneered.
Caleb’s lips trembled violently, but he couldn’t squeeze out a single word.
🌟 Continue the story here
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At thirty-six, I finally qualified for the World Cup for the first time in my career.
But the day before the tournament started, the head coach called me in. “Julian, you’re not going.”
I stood there, shocked. “Why? I’m the team captain!”
The coach pulled out his phone and played a video.
On the screen, my wife, Britney, was sobbing in front of a crowd of reporters.
“Julian is not only cheating on me, but he’s also abusing me at home! A man like him doesn’t deserve to represent our country in the World Cup!”
As she spoke, Britney flashed fake evidence of my infidelity to the cameras. She even pulled down her collar to reveal a nasty bruise on her shoulder.
The video already had over ten million views on TikTok.
And I, busy with pre-match training, had been completely in the dark.
I scrambled to explain. “She’s lying! I was framed!”
“This is my only chance to play in the World Cup, Coach. You can’t bench me now!”
The coach shook his head helplessly.
“Unless you can prove your innocence, I can’t take you with us. The entire internet is calling for your head right now.”
I rushed home to confront Britney.
She just looked at me coldly and said,
“If you don’t drop out, Ronald won’t get his chance to play. Just let him have this one, Julian.”
I never expected that the woman I had been married to for seven years would crush my lifelong dream in such a brutal way.
Fine. If you want to play dirty, don’t blame me for being ruthless.
I went back to our house and started packing my things. I had been preparing for this World Cup for years.
For a thirty-six-year-old veteran, this was my absolute last dance.
My study was packed with trophies I’d won over the years, but none of them could compare to the World Cup.
Now, my phone was blowing up. The comment sections on my Instagram were filled with hate.
[How is this abuser still on the national team?]
[Cheater and domestic abuser! Get out of professional sports!]
[Ban him for life! Don’t let this trash ruin the game!]
I shoved my cleats into my gym bag.
Britney walked into the room and blocked the doorway.
“Are you done? Move,” I growled, looking at her through gritted teeth.
Her eyes were still red from her media performance, but her voice was completely cold.
“You can’t leave right now. If you walk out that door, everyone will think you’re guilty.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “So I should stay here and let you keep dragging my name through the mud?”
Her face paled slightly.
“I only got you suspended. I didn’t ask you to die.”
“Only suspended?”
I threw my phone onto the bed in front of her.
“The entire internet is cancelling me.”
“My sponsors are dropping me, and the Association is about to kick me off the team.”
“You make it sound so simple, Britney.”
She pressed her lips together. After a long silence, she muttered,
“Once Ronald finishes the tournament, I’ll clear your name.”
“We’ll just say it was a misunderstanding. You’ll only be suspended for six months at most.”
“Besides, even if you play, our team would get eliminated early anyway.”
I stared at her. “A misunderstanding? Then explain the hotel room keycard.”
She avoided my gaze. “I don’t know.”
“What about the Snapchat chat history?”
“I don’t know about that either.”
I laughed coldly. “The girl’s name is Hannah Miller. She’s the president of Ronald’s fan club.”
“You personally gave her that keycard. And you generated those fake chat logs using AI.”
Britney snapped her head up. “So what? Who’s going to believe you now?”
I pointed a finger at her.
“Last night, I was at the facility preparing for the game. I slept in the locker room all night. I never went to that hotel.”
“Do you really think the training facility doesn’t have security cameras?”
Britney’s face went completely blank.
She lunged forward to grab my jacket pockets, but I grabbed her wrist.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She struggled, but she couldn’t break my grip.
Looking at her panic, it hit me.
She didn’t follow me here because she cared. She was terrified I had proof.
Sure enough, she asked, “Are you bluffing? There’s no way you have camera footage.”
I let go of her. “We’ve been married for seven years. Do you hate me so much that you want to destroy my entire life?”
She got anxious.
“Julian, don’t make me out to be the bad guy. I love you. It’s just that Ronald really needs this World Cup.”
“He’s been waiting for this opportunity for six years.”
“His career was almost ruined by that leg injury back then. He’s been through enough.”
I looked at her, my heart turning to ice. “So I’m the one who has to suffer?”
Her eyes welled with tears.
“You already have so much!”
“You’re the captain. You’ve won trophies. You have big sponsors, and millions of fans.”
“Ronald only has this one shot.”
I laughed, a hollow sound.
“So in your eyes, my innocence is just a stepping stone for Ronald’s career.”
She didn’t answer.
I threw my bag over my shoulder. She grabbed my arm.
“You can’t leave. Tell me—is the official team roster still with you?”
I paused. So that was what she was really worried about.
Ronald had failed his physical exam. He wasn’t even qualified to be on the bench for the World Cup.
As the team’s operations manager, Britney had secretly altered his medical records.
The final roster sheet was indeed in my bag, but I would never tell her that.
“What roster? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She visibly relaxed.
“Good.”
“Julian, stop being stubborn.”
“Just write a statement. Say you only had a private dinner with a fan, but nothing happened.”
“Once Ronald finishes the tournament, I’ll have Hannah delete her posts and make a video clearing your name.”
“We can go back to how things were.”
I looked at her.
“We are done. As soon as the World Cup is over, we’re getting a divorce.”
Britney’s face darkened.
“Do you have to be this dramatic?”
“Seven years of marriage, and you want a divorce over this?”
I snatched my jersey back from her hands.
“I’m not the one who destroyed this family. You did.”
I walked toward the door. She screamed behind me,
“Julian! If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come crawling back to me!”
I stopped for a second. “Don’t worry. Even if you beg me on your knees, I will never look back.”
The next morning, the Soccer Association held an emergency hearing.
The hallway outside the conference room was packed with reporters.
Dozens of live-streamers pointed their phones at my face.
The moment I walked into the room, my teammates quickly looked down, avoiding eye contact.
Only Ronald sat near the bench, wearing my Number 10 training jersey. He smirked at me.
His face was filled with smug satisfaction.
Director Thomas pushed a stack of documents across the table.
“Julian, your wife and a fan named Hannah Miller have accused you of using signed jerseys to lure her to a hotel room.”
“She provided the room keycard, chat screenshots, and photos of you in the hallway.”
“Do you admit to this?”
“No.”
“Hannah, tell us what happened,” Director Thomas said.
Hannah stood up, her eyes red and puffy.
She was wearing an Apex FC jersey and clutching a tissue.
“That night, Julian DM’ed me on Snapchat, saying he would give me a signed jersey.”
“Once I got to the room, he forced me to drink.”
“Then… he locked the door. He wouldn’t let me leave.”
The room erupted into whispers.
I looked at her. “Which night?”
Hannah sniffled. “The thirteenth.”
“On the thirteenth, I was training alone at the facility.”
“I didn’t go anywhere that night. I slept in the facility’s lounge.”
“You can check the security cameras. Plus, I have a witness.”
I gestured, and one of the facility’s night-shift janitors walked in.
Everyone gasped.
Britney’s face froze. Hannah panicked.
She instinctively looked over at Ronald.
Ronald cleared his throat loudly, and Britney immediately stood up.
“It wasn’t the thirteenth!”
“Hannah is too nervous; she got the date wrong. It was the twelfth.”
Hannah nodded quickly. “Yes, the twelfth! I got confused.”
I smiled.
“On the night of the twelfth, the team had a closed-door training session.”
“The security log at the gate shows I didn’t leave until ten-thirty PM.”
Director Thomas’s expression grew heavier by the second.
Just then, Mateo Alvarez, our backup forward, stood up.
“Julian always gets too close to female fans anyway.”
I looked at him. “Did you see it with your own eyes, Mateo?”
Mateo stammered.
“I… I heard it from others.”
Another player chimed in, “He always brings girls into the VIP lounge.”
I asked back, “Which game?”
He couldn’t answer.
The room grew louder with arguments.
Suddenly, Britney stood up, slamming her hands on the table.
“Julian! How long are you going to keep lying?”
I looked at her. Tears streamed down her face.
“I’ve been married to him for seven years. I know exactly what kind of monster he is.”
“He has a terrible temper at home.”
“Whenever he loses a game, he smashes things. He hits me. He abuses me.”
“Sometimes he even brings random women home and forces me to ignore it.”
The room exploded.
“That’s disgusting. How is this guy still the captain?”
“No wonder the fan came forward.”
I stood up abruptly. “Britney!”
Two security guards immediately stepped in, blocking me.
“Watch it!”
“Are you trying to threaten a witness in front of us?”
Britney took a step back, crying even harder.
“See? This is how he always acts.”
At that moment, the way everyone looked at me changed.
It wasn’t suspicion anymore. It was pure disgust.
The Association announced my immediate suspension.
My captaincy was stripped, and my name was removed from the World Cup roster.
The case was handed over to the disciplinary committee, with the police to be involved if necessary.
As I walked out of the conference room, Britney ran after me.
She was holding my old knee brace in her hands.
“Your old injury hasn’t fully healed yet. Don’t forget to wear this.”
I looked at the brace. It was incredibly ironic.
“You just painted me as a domestic abuser and a predator, and now you’re worried about my knee?”
She frowned.
“Julian, don’t be so ungrateful.”
“I did this for the team.”
“Ronald promised me that after the World Cup, he will speak up to clear your name.”
I stared at her.
“Do you have any idea that if the disciplinary committee rules against me, my career is over? I will never play professional soccer again.”
She lowered her voice.
“Without solid evidence, they’ll suspend you for a year at most.”
“You’re a man, Julian. Can’t you just take one for the team?”
“If Ronald misses this World Cup, his life is over.”
I didn’t say a word. Her voice softened again.
“Just listen to me. Write an apology letter.”
“Just say you had some inappropriate DMs with a fan and caused a misunderstanding.”
“Give the Association an easy way out, and they won’t dig any deeper.”
I looked at her coldly.
“I didn’t do it. I won’t write a single word.”
Britney’s face soured.
“Julian, do you really have to push Ronald to the edge?”
“Did I force him to fail his physical exam?”
She was left speechless.
I turned and walked away. She hissed behind me, “Julian, you’re playing with fire.”
That night, things took an unexpected turn.
Mateo came to see me.
He was waiting at the back gate of the training facility, his hoodie pulled low, clutching a crumpled piece of paper.
“Julian, I’m sorry.”
I didn’t say anything. He handed me the paper. It was a petition:
[Julian’s training methods are abusive. He hoards the starting position and refuses to give younger players a chance.]
There were over a dozen signatures and fingerprints at the bottom.
Mateo’s voice was shaking.
“This is what Britney made us sign.”
“She told us it was just a complaint to the Association about your strict leadership.”
“She promised that once Ronald took over, we’d get more playing time.”
“I had no idea she was going to turn it into a sexual assault accusation.”
I took the paper. “Who changed the complaint?”
Mateo looked down. “Ronald did. He was the one who brought Hannah in.”
“She’s not your fan. She’s the head of Ronald’s fan club.”
“The hotel room was booked by Ronald’s personal assistant.”
I looked at him. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Mateo’s eyes turned red.
“I wanted to play, but I didn’t want to destroy your life.”
“Julian, I asked the nurses at the hospital about yesterday.”
“They confirmed you were there all night taking care of Britney’s mom.”
The next morning, I took the original petition, the hospital receipts, and the unaltered physical exam reports straight to the Association’s disciplinary committee.
Before I could enter the building, Britney blocked my way.
When she saw the envelope in my hand, her face went pale.
“Mateo talked to you?”
“Get out of my way.”
She grabbed my arm tightly.
“Just give Ronald one day.”
“Just one day.”
“Once the first match is over, I’ll make Hannah take down the posts.”
“I’ll clear your name myself.”
I looked at her. “Then clear it right now.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“I can’t do it now.”
“If I do, Ronald won’t be allowed on the pitch. And… my signature is on the roster change form.”
“I was the one who submitted the forged physical exam.”
“If this blows up, I’m ruined too.”
Finally, she told the truth.
She wanted to protect Ronald, and she wanted to protect herself.
As for me, I was never even a consideration.
I pried her fingers off my arm.
“There’s a follow-up hearing this afternoon.”
“If you tell the truth in front of everyone, I will tell the committee that you were manipulated by Ronald.”
“This is your last chance.”
Britney cried for a long time, but finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
That afternoon, the committee reconvened.
Mateo openly admitted that the petition they signed had nothing to do with sexual misconduct.
Five other backup players also retracted their statements.
They admitted the original complaint was just about training disputes.
None of them had ever seen the keycard or the chat logs.
Director Thomas’s face grew darker.
Finally, he turned to Britney.
“Britney, you are the team’s operations manager. Who actually drafted this accusation?”
Britney sat there, her face completely pale.
I waited for her to speak.
Suddenly, the door was pushed open, and Ronald walked in.
He was wearing my Number 10 jersey with the captain’s armband pinned to his chest.
“Don’t worry, Britney. I’m here. Nobody can bully you.”
Britney’s eyes filled with panic.
Director Thomas demanded, “Britney, what is the truth?”
She looked at Ronald, then at me, and finally lowered her head.
“The accusation is real.”
“Mateo and the others changed their stories because Julian threatened them last night.”
I froze.
She continued, “He came to see me last night too.”
“He said if I didn’t drop the charges, he would destroy both me and Ronald.”
Outside the door, two officers from the disciplinary committee walked in.
Britney refused to look me in the eye.
“I stand by my statement.”
“Julian is guilty of abuse, sexual misconduct, and threatening his teammates.”
My playing license was confiscated on the spot.
As I walked past her, I whispered only one thing:
“Britney, that was the last chance I will ever give you.”
“And you threw it away.”
She whispered back, her voice barely audible,
“I had no choice.”
“You shouldn’t have stood in Ronald’s way.”
At that moment, I completely gave up on her.
In the interrogation room, the investigator asked me,
“Julian, do you have anything else to say?”
I pushed the envelope across the table.
Inside were the hospital’s security camera request forms, the original petition, the hotel’s actual booking records, and Ronald’s failed physical exam report.
“I am officially reporting Ronald Cole for fabricating evidence and framing me.”
“And I am reporting Britney Vance for forging physical exam results and illegally changing the World Cup roster.”
I turned my eyes to the TV screen on the wall. The massive stadium was packed with screaming fans.
Ronald, wearing my Number 10 jersey, was standing in the player tunnel, waving to the cameras.
Up in the VIP seats, Britney was waving excitedly.
The TV announcer yelled,
“Apex FC’s Number 10, Ronald Cole, is about to play the most important match of his career!”
But just as the announcer finished his sentence, the stadium’s PA system crackled to life.
“Player Number 10, Ronald Cole, is temporarily suspended from today’s match.”
“Please report to the disciplinary room immediately.”
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“Are you done making a scene, Chloe?”
Julian wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulders, shielding her like she was some priceless treasure. He didn’t even glance at the blisters forming on the back of my hand.
I just stood there, the searing pain on my skin pulsing through my entire arm.
Twelve years. I saved Julian’s life from a gang of street thugs when I was only twelve. And now, I was standing in the back kitchen of his engagement party, cooking soup for another woman.
How pathetic. This recipe used to be exclusively his. Now, he called my cooking dirty and my love cheap.
He claimed it was just a business marriage. He promised he would divorce her and remarry me in two years, saying I could still be his woman in secret.
But looking at the burn on my hand, I tasted copper in my mouth.
I finally woke up. The special treatment he once gave me could be taken back at any second.
Chloe’s POV
“Today’s slow-cooked wild mushroom soup is specially made for my husband. He has a sensitive stomach, and this is the best comfort food for him.”
Facing the camera, I wore my favorite linen apron and smiled as I lifted the lid of the pot.
Steam swirled up, carrying a rich, savory aroma through the kitchen.
The live chat on my TikTok stream instantly blew up.
“Another day of being jealous of Chloe and Mr. Vance!”
“Julian is so lucky to have a wife who cooks like a Michelin-star chef!”
“Today is their third anniversary, right? I bet Mr. Vance has a massive surprise waiting for her!”
Looking at the comments, I couldn’t help but smile.
Yes, three years of marriage.
For today, I turned down all my brand deals. I spent the entire afternoon working in this high-tech, ten-million-dollar kitchen Julian had custom-built for me.
Julian Vance, the CEO of Vance Enterprises in New York, and my husband of three years. We kept our marriage private to protect his public image.
In the business world, they said Julian was ruthless, cold-blooded, and calculated.
But only I knew how incredibly sweet he could be.
If I casually mentioned wanting a pastry from a bakery across town, he would drive through a heavy rainstorm just to get it for me.
When my cooking failed, he would eat every last bite without even blinking, smiling and telling me I was improving.
He once told me, “Chloe, just focus on doing what you love. I’ll handle everything else.”
“That’s all for tonight’s stream, guys. I’m going to wait for my husband to come home now. Goodnight, everyone.”
I ended the stream and looked at the clock on the wall.
11:00 PM.
I had reheated the dinner three times already. Julian still wasn’t home.
He hadn’t even sent a single text.
I picked up my phone to call him, but before I could dial, an Instagram notification popped up.
“BREAKING: Billionaire CEO Julian Vance Spotted on a Late-Night Date with Heiress Scarlett Sterling. Engagement Rumors Confirmed?”
My hand shook violently.
I tapped the link. At the top of the article was a high-definition paparazzi photo.
Inside a luxury Michelin-starred restaurant, Julian was wearing the custom Tom Ford suit I had personally ironed for him this morning. He was leaning in, cutting a steak for a beautiful woman.
His eyes were incredibly gentle, a look I thought he only gave to me.
That woman was Scarlett Sterling, the sole heiress to the Sterling Group.
Even more blinding was the massive pink diamond ring sparkling on Scarlett’s finger.
I had seen the blueprint of that exact ring in Julian’s study two weeks ago.
At the time, I thought it was my third-anniversary gift.
Turns out, it was an engagement ring for someone else.
The front door clicked open.
Julian walked in, bringing the cold night air with him.
He loosened his tie. When he saw me sitting motionless at the dining table, he frowned slightly.
“Why are you still up?”
He walked over and leaned down to kiss my forehead.
I jerked my head away, dodging him.
A heavy, sweet scent of rose perfume. Another woman’s perfume. It hit my nose.
It made me want to throw up.
Julian’s hand froze in mid-air, his expression darkening instantly. “Chloe, what are you throwing a tantrum for now?”
“What is going on with you and Scarlett Sterling?” I looked up at him, my eyes red and my voice trembling.
Julian paused for a second, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You saw the news?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down, his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather.
“The company needs the Sterling family’s backing for our new project. It’s a strategic merger. A marriage of convenience. There are no feelings involved.”
A marriage of convenience?
I let out a bitter laugh. “A marriage of convenience? Julian, we are legally married! You’re going to marry someone else, so what am I to you?”
“Chloe, be reasonable.”
He reached out to grab my hand, but I slapped it away.
“We don’t need to actually break up. We just file for a paper divorce. Once the project stabilizes in two years, I’ll end the marriage with her and we’ll get married again.”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a patronizing tenderness.
“Just deal with it for two years. You can still live here. You’ll still be my woman. I’ll give you everything you want, except the title of Mrs. Vance for now.”
I stared at him in absolute disbelief.
Twelve years of knowing him, three years of marriage.
He used to treat me like a princess. Now, he was asking me to be his hidden mistress.
“Julian, you want me to be your side piece?”
“Don’t put it so dirtily,” Julian’s face turned completely cold. “I told you, you’re the only one I love. Scarlett is just a business transaction. I won’t touch her.”
“What if I say no?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Julian stood up, towering over me, his eyes ice-cold.
“Chloe, don’t be childish. Without me, your TikTok account, your cooking studio. All of it would be shut down in a day.”
“I am letting you know my decision, not asking for your permission.”
With that, he turned and walked into the bathroom, not even glancing at the dinner I had spent all afternoon preparing.
The bathroom door slammed shut.
I collapsed back into my chair, staring at the cold food. Finally, my tears spilled over.
The love he gave me could indeed be taken back at any moment.
Chloe’s POV
That night, Julian slept in the guest bedroom.
By the time I came downstairs the next morning, he was already gone.
On the kitchen island sat a stack of divorce papers and an black American Express card.
According to the documents, he was leaving me the penthouse, my studio, and several other properties.
His compensation was generous and neat.
But seeing his signature, “Julian Vance,” at the bottom of the page only made my stomach turn.
I didn’t sign it. I threw the entire file straight into the trash can.
For the next two weeks, Julian never came home.
He was using the silent treatment to force me into submission.
Meanwhile, on Instagram, the trending topics about him and Scarlett changed every single day.
#JulianAndScarlettYachtParty
#JulianVanceSplurgesMillionsOnFiancee
#ScarlettSterlingSoonToBeMrsVance
Every headline felt like a dull knife carving into my heart.
I forced myself to focus on work.
In the studio, my assistant, Penny, looked at my pale face with worry. “Chloe, are you okay? Maybe you should take a few days off.”
“I’m fine,” I forced a smile. “Did we prepare the ingredients for today’s vegetable soup video?”
“Yes, it’s been simmering on the stove for eight hours.”
I habitually reached for a bowl to taste the broth.
Just then, the glass door of the studio was pushed open.
The sharp click of high heels echoed on the hardwood floor.
“So, this is Chloe Lynn’s studio? Honestly, it’s a bit cheap.”
I looked up and saw Scarlett Sterling walking in, wearing sunglasses, flanked by a group of burly bodyguards.
She was dressed in head-to-toe Chanel couture, carrying a limited-edition Hermes bag. She looked like a walking billboard for luxury brands.
“What are you doing here?” I asked coldly.
Scarlett took off her sunglasses, scanning me from head to toe with a mocking sneer.
“Just wanted to see what Julian’s little pet looks like in person.”
She walked over to the stove, looking at the bubbling pot of soup, and pinched her nose in disgust.
“Smells like trash. Chloe, don’t you know? Julian’s tastes have changed. He only eats food prepared by three-star Michelin chefs now. He’s sick of this garbage you make.”
My fingers clenched tightly into my palms, my nails digging into my skin.
“Miss Sterling, this is my private studio. You are not welcome here. Please leave.”
“Feisty, aren’t we?” Scarlett sneered. Suddenly, she reached out and picked up the bowl of hot soup I had just poured.
“Let me taste what kind of magic soup kept Julian amused for so long.”
But as soon as she lifted the bowl, she suddenly let go.
“Oops!”
The boiling liquid splashed directly onto the back of my hand, and the rest shattered on the floor.
The sound of breaking ceramic was deafening in the quiet studio.
“Ah!”
I gasped in agony. The back of my hand turned instantly red, blisters blooming on my skin.
“Chloe!” Penny cried out, rushing to grab ice water.
Scarlett, however, took two steps back, putting on a show of being terrified.
“Chloe! What is wrong with you? I just wanted to try your soup, and you threw it at me?”
“That’s a lie! You dropped it on purpose!” Penny yelled angrily.
“What’s going on here?”
A deep, cold voice came from the doorway.
My whole body went rigid. I looked up and saw Julian walking in with fast, angry strides.
The moment Scarlett saw him, her eyes welled up with tears. She threw herself into his arms.
“Julian, thank God you’re here. I just wanted to visit Chloe and try her soup, but she suddenly snapped and threw the boiling soup at me. It almost burned my face…”
Julian’s eyes swept over the broken mess on the floor, finally landing on me.
He saw my blistered, red hand. His eyes flickered with a brief moment of hesitation, but it was quickly replaced by cold disappointment.
“Are you done making a scene, Chloe?”
His voice was heavy with disgust.
“Scarlett came here out of goodwill, and this is how you treat her? Since when did you become so violent?”
I stared at him, my heart freezing over.
My hand was badly burned, my body trembling from the pain.
Yet, he didn’t even ask if I was okay. He immediately declared me guilty.
“Are you blind, Julian? She threw it herself!” I choked out, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Enough!” Julian cut me off harshly. “Scarlett was raised in a gentle family. She would never do something so trashy. Stop lying, Chloe.”
He wrapped his arm around Scarlett’s shoulder, holding her like she was a fragile glass doll.
“If you don’t sign the divorce papers, I have other ways to make you do it. Stop testing my patience.”
With that, he guided Scarlett out of the studio without looking back.
I stood there, watching their retreating figures. Tears finally streamed down my face, dripping onto the shattered ceramic on the floor.
My hand burned like hell.
But it didn’t compare to the pain in my chest.
Chloe’s POV
My hand blistered badly. Penny cried as she applied soothing ointment to my skin.
“How could Mr. Vance do this… He used to freak out if you even nicked your finger with a paring knife.”
I stared blankly at my bandaged hand.
Yes, the past.
Once, when a drop of hot oil splashed on my wrist, Julian had literally replaced every single pan in the kitchen with professional-grade safety gear.
Now, half a bowl of boiling soup was dumped on me, and his only concern was comforting another woman’s fake trauma.
A man’s love really could vanish overnight.
“It’s fine. It’ll heal,” I pulled my hand back, my voice dangerously calm.
I thought that was the worst Julian could do.
But I underestimated how ruthless billionaires could be.
The next morning, I was woken up by Penny’s frantic phone call.
“Chloe! Turn on your phone! Look at TikTok right now!”
My stomach dropped. I opened the app.
The number one trending search was a hashtag with my name:
#ChloeLynnPoisonPans
I tapped on it. It was a video posted by a massive product-testing influencer with millions of followers.
In the video, the influencer was crying, claiming that after using the co-branded non-stick pan I had heavily promoted on my channel, the chemical coating peeled off, causing her family to be hospitalized with severe food poisoning.
She showed medical reports and photos of the flaking pan.
The comment section was a war zone.
“I trusted you! You promoted toxic garbage just for a paycheck!”
“You should be in jail!”
“Cancel this greedy influencer!”
I went cold.
That non-stick pan was manufactured by a subsidiary of Vance Enterprises.
Julian had personally handed me the product, assuring me that the quality was top-notch and asking me to help boost their sales.
Because of my absolute trust in him, I had used my own reputation to vouch for it.
How could this happen?
I immediately called the brand’s PR team, but the line was busy.
In desperation, I called Julian.
It rang for a long time before he finally answered. His voice was distant. “What is it?”
“What’s going on with the non-stick pans? Why are people getting food poisoning from the coating?” I asked frantically.
Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds.
“There was a minor issue on the production line. The quality control check failed,” Julian said flatly.
I felt like I had been hit by lightning. “You knew? You knew there was an issue and you didn’t tell me? My followers are dragging me to hell right now!”
“Calm down, Chloe,” Julian’s voice carried a hint of annoyance. “Mistakes happen in business.”
“Then what are we doing about it? The company needs to issue a recall and clear my name immediately!”
“No,” Julian refused without hesitation.
“Why?!”
“I just transferred that subsidiary to Scarlett as part of her engagement gift,” Julian said, his voice smooth and cold. “The Sterling Group is going public next week. They cannot have any negative press right now.”
My breath caught in my throat. It felt like icy water was being poured down my spine.
“So… to protect Scarlett’s reputation, you’re making me take the fall?”
“You’re just a food influencer. Post an apology, take a break from social media for a while, and this will blow over,” Julian said, his tone dripping with casual arrogance. “I will compensate you tenfold for your financial losses. Just be a good girl and don’t make trouble for me right now.”
“Julian Vance!” I screamed. “That channel is my life’s work! My reputation! How dare you ruin me just to protect her?!”
“I can do it because everything you have was given to you by me.”
Julian’s voice was ice.
“Get a grip on reality, Chloe. At 3:00 PM, my PR team will use your login credentials to post the apology. You better cooperate.”
The line went dead.
I sat on the cold floor, clutching my phone.
Looking at the vile, hateful comments flooding my screen, my stomach suddenly churned.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up violently in the toilet.
I threw up until there was nothing left but bile and tears.
At 3:00 PM, my Instagram and TikTok accounts automatically posted a pre-written statement, taking full responsibility for the faulty pans and announcing my indefinite hiatus.
In an instant, I went from a beloved food creator to a pariah.
My sponsors pulled out, leaving me with millions of dollars in breach-of-contract fines.
I locked myself in the kitchen, mechanically chopping vegetables.
I wanted to make a simple pasta.
But when I put the food in my mouth, I froze.
Nothing.
No acidity, no sweetness, no saltiness. Nothing.
In a panic, I grabbed the salt shaker, poured a handful of salt into my palm, and licked it.
Still nothing.
The extreme trauma and absolute despair had taken away the most precious thing I possessed as a cook. My sense of taste.
I stared at the salt on my hands and began to laugh hysterically.
And as I laughed, my tears fell into the white grains.
Julian Vance, you won.
You didn’t just kill my love. You destroyed my dreams and my entire life.
Chloe’s POV
I don’t even know how I survived that night.
The next day, I put on a thick layer of makeup to hide my ghost-like paleness and took a cab to the Vance Enterprises headquarters.
The door to the CEO’s office was slightly open.
As I approached, I heard laughter from inside.
“Julian, this macaron is so sweet. Try a bite.”
It was Scarlett’s voice.
Then came Julian’s low, indulgent chuckle. “I don’t like sweets. You eat it.”
“No, you have to try it.”
I pushed the door open.
On the leather sofa, Scarlett was sitting on Julian’s lap, holding a pink macaron to his lips.
Julian hadn’t refused. He was holding her hand, taking a bite.
Hearing the door, they both turned.
Seeing me, Julian’s brow furrowed. He pushed Scarlett off his lap and stood up, adjusting his suit jacket.
“What are you doing here? Who let you up?”
His voice was laced with irritation.
Looking at the crumbs on his lips, I felt incredibly sick.
“I’m here to discuss the breach of contract fees,” I said, my voice empty of any emotion. “Because of your PR team’s stunt, I am facing thirty million dollars in fines.”
“It’s just thirty million,” Scarlett chimed in with a giggle, wiping her fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Julian spends more than that on a single sports car. Miss Lynn, coming here to beg for money is a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?”
Julian looked at me coldly. “I told you, I’ll take care of the money. Deal with the financial department directly. There’s no need to come to my office and cause a scene.”
“Cause a scene?” I let out a dry laugh. “Julian, you ruined my career, dragged my name through the mud, and you think I’m just causing a scene?”
“Chloe Lynn!” Julian’s voice raised, his eyes sharp. “How much is that stupid social media account even worth? I can support you for the rest of your life easily! Do you really have to fight with me over such a trivial thing?”
A stupid account.
A trivial thing.
I looked at this man who was once my whole world. He looked so foreign now.
I thought he understood me.
I thought he understood my passion for cooking, the sleepless nights I spent developing recipes.
But to him, my dreams were just a cheap hobby that could be paid off.
“Julian, I lost my sense of taste.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
Julian froze for a split second, then his scowl deepened. “What game are you playing now? Are you seriously making up a medical lie just to get me to retract the PR statement?”
He didn’t believe me.
He actually thought I was lying.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Believe whatever you want.”
I pulled a document from my bag and slammed it onto his desk.
“These are the final divorce papers. I don’t want a single penny of your assets. I’ll figure out the thirty million on my own.”
Julian’s eyes locked onto the papers, his pupils shrinking.
“Chloe, have you lost your mind?!” Julian snatched the papers, ripped them in half, and hurled them onto the floor.
“Without me, how are you going to pay thirty million? By begging on the streets?!”
“I’d rather beg on the streets than stay here as your dirty secret!” I yelled back, refusing to back down.
Slap!
Julian slammed his hand onto the desk in fury, making his coffee cup rattle.
“Fine! Great! You’ve got guts, Chloe!”
He pointed toward the door, laughing in anger. “If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come back crawling to me. I won’t help you even if you beg on your knees!”
Without a second thought, I turned and walked out.
“Julian, don’t be mad. She just doesn’t appreciate how good you are to her…” Scarlett’s voice faded behind me.
I didn’t look back.
Stepping out of the corporate building, the bright afternoon sun blinded me.
I didn’t cry. My tears had run dry last night.
I went back to the penthouse we shared, packed only a few clothes, and left all the jewelry, designer bags, and even my wedding ring on the table.
When the heavy door clicked shut, I knew my twelve years with Julian Vance were officially over.
That night, I rented a cheap basement apartment in Queens.
I boiled some cheap pasta in plain water.
No salt. No oil.
I forced myself to swallow it.
But as I chewed, my tears slipped into the bowl.
I had no taste.
I could never make Julian’s favorite soup again.
But that was fine. He didn’t need it anymore.
Chloe’s POV
Three days after I moved into the basement, Julian’s assistant showed up at my door.
The suited assistant stood in the damp, smelly hallway of my building, looking at my thin, pale face with pity.
“Mrs. Vance, Julian wants you to come home.”
“I’m not Mrs. Vance anymore,” I said calmly. “The divorce papers have been mailed to his office.”
The assistant sighed. “He ripped them up. He said if you just apologize and admit you were wrong, he’ll clear your debt and help you reopen your studio.”
I let out a cold laugh.
A slap in the face followed by a sweet treat. Julian really loved playing corporate mind games with me.
“Tell him I’d rather starve to death than take a single dollar of his money.”
After the assistant left, I began looking for jobs.
But with the “toxic pan” scandal attached to my name, no company would hire me.
I even tried applying for dishwasher jobs at local diners, but the managers recognized me and kicked me out.
“We don’t hire scammers here. Get lost!”
Standing on the busy New York streets, watching people pass by, I felt utterly powerless for the first time in my life.
Then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
“Miss Lynn, I hear you’re desperate for cash.”
The voice on the other end was familiar, arrogant and dripping with condescension.
It was Scarlett.
“What do you want?” I asked guardedly.
“Come to Club V888 tonight at 8:00 PM. If you show up, I’ll give you a million dollars.”
I wanted to hang up immediately, but the thought of the thirty million dollar debt made me squeeze my eyes shut. “Fine.”
At 8:00 PM, I pushed open the heavy door to the VIP lounge at Club V888.
The room was dimly lit, filled with expensive cigar smoke and loud music.
Julian was sitting right in the center of the plush leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey, looking relaxed and regal.
Scarlett was clinging to his arm, surrounded by several wealthy young heirs of New York.
The room went dead quiet when I walked in.
Julian’s eyes landed on me. Seeing me in a cheap oversized t-shirt and worn jeans, looking noticeably thinner, his brow twitched slightly.
But he quickly masked it with cold mockery.
“Well, well. Did your pride run out that quickly?”
I ignored him and walked straight to Scarlett. “Why did you call me here?”
Scarlett giggled, pulling a check from her designer bag and slapping it on the table.
“Chloe, there’s a million dollars right here. All you have to do is drop to your knees and drink this entire bottle of tequila, and the money is yours.”
She pointed to a bottle of high-proof liquor on the table.
The rich kids around her laughed and cheered.
“Whoa, isn’t this the proud Chloe Lynn? Look at her now.”
“Julian, your ex-wife is really pathetic. Kneeling for just a million?”
“Scarlett, you’re brutal!”
I stared at the check, my hands clenching into fists, my nails drawing blood from my palms.
I looked at Julian.
He swirled the whiskey in his glass, his eyes cold and detached, as if watching a stranger.
He wasn’t going to stop her.
He was letting her humiliate me.
“What’s wrong? Don’t want it?” Scarlett mocked. “Then get the hell out and stop ruining our night.”
I took a deep breath.
The thirty million dollar debt was a mountain crushing me. I had no other choice.
Slowly, I began to bend my knees.
But right before my knees could touch the dirty floor, Julian slammed his whiskey glass onto the ground.
Smash!
Glass shattered everywhere.
The lounge fell into dead silence.
Julian stood up abruptly, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me up with brute force.
“Chloe Lynn, have you lost all self-respect?!”
His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me in fury.
“For a lousy million dollars, you’re willing to throw away your dignity? Where is your pride?!”
My wrist hurt from his grip, but I only let out a broken laugh.
“Dignity? Julian, didn’t you step on my dignity a long time ago?”
I yanked my hand out of his grip, my eyes entirely dead.
“Who are you to judge me? I am in this position because of you.”
“Get her out of here!” Julian shouted at his bodyguards, frantically loosening his tie.
“Julian, what are you doing…” Scarlett complained, grabbing his sleeve.
“Shut up!” Julian snapped at her, his voice so cold that she instantly went quiet.
I was dragged out of the club by his bodyguards and thrown into the back of a black Maybach.
The car sped through the city, finally stopping in front of a secluded mansion in the suburbs.
This was the house we bought when we first got together.
I was shoved inside, and the heavy oak door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking into place.
“Mr. Vance ordered that you are not to leave until you’ve cleared your head,” the bodyguard’s cold voice came from outside.
Looking at the empty, quiet house, I closed my eyes in despair.
He wasn’t just ruining me. He was locking me up.
The mansion was huge, but it felt like a gilded cage.
I was locked there for a whole week. No phone, no internet, no TV.
The maid delivered three meals a day, but I barely touched them. Food meant nothing to me now. The extreme mental stress made me drop weight rapidly. My clothes hung loosely on my bony frame.
Every day, I just sat by the window, watching the sun rise and set, replaying the last twelve years in my mind.
At twelve, I saved his life.
At twenty, I ran away from my family to marry him when he had nothing.
At twenty-three, he became the billionaire CEO of Vance Enterprises, and he wanted me to be his hidden mistress.
Love is a losing game. I bet everything, and I lost down to my bones.
Chloe’s POV
On the seventh evening, the heavy front door finally opened.
Julian walked in, bringing the chilly winter air with him. He was dressed in a pristine, custom-tailored black suit, looking as powerful and untouchable as ever. But when his eyes fell on me sitting on the carpet, looking like a skeleton, a flicker of pain and frustration crossed his face.
He quickly masked it, returning to his usual cold demeanor.
“Are you done throwing your tantrum?” He walked over, looking down at me, and tossed a document onto the table. “Sign this. Then we’ll go get the divorce finalized.”
I turned my head slowly, my eyes landing on the paper.
“I thought you ripped up the last copy because you didn’t want to divorce,” my voice was raspy, sounding like sandpaper.
“Chloe, don’t be naive,” Julian said, his tone brutally calm. “Next Wednesday is my engagement party with Scarlett. You need to accept reality. The title of Mrs. Vance belongs to her now.”
My heart squeezed painfully, a sharp ache radiating through my chest.
“If you’re getting engaged, why are you keeping me locked up here?” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot.
Julian knelt down, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Because I’ve designated you as the head chef for the engagement party.”
My pupils dilated. I stared at him in utter horror.
He wanted me, his wife, to cook for his engagement party to another woman?
“Are you insane, Julian?” My voice finally cracked. “What do you think I am? How much more of my dignity do you need to crush before you’re satisfied?!”
“What are you? A chef who once cooked for the Vance family, or a woman who needs to learn her place.” Julian’s eyes were merciless.
“Your assistant, Penny, and the rest of your studio staff. I have them blacklisted. If you don’t make this dinner perfect, I’ll make sure none of them ever find a job in New York again. They will be drowning in debt.”
“You monster!” I raised my hand to slap him, but he caught my wrist mid-air.
“I’m just teaching you how the real world works,” Julian said, throwing my hand back and standing up. “Chloe, if you behave, do this one last job, and prove you’ve let go of your obsession with being my wife, you can stay by my side. I’ll make sure you live in luxury.”
I trembled, staring at him for a long, long time.
So long that Julian actually looked away, unable to meet my gaze.
My eyes were completely dead.
The twelve years of love, adoration, and warmth had burned to ash in a single second.
I finally accepted that the boy who once carried me on his back for five miles in a rainstorm was dead. This man was a stranger.
“Fine,” I said, my voice flat and lifeless. “I’ll do it.”
Julian blinked, clearly surprised by how quickly I agreed.
“Good. Sign the papers and prepare. Don’t think about running away.” He turned and walked out, his back cold and unyielding.
When the door locked, I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up during the week of isolation. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers. Each stroke felt like a cut through my past twelve years.
Over the next few days, I started eating again. I even asked the maid to bring in premium ingredients. The guards thought I had finally given up, so they relaxed their security.
I worked like a robot, making batch after batch of wild mushroom soup. But this time, I didn’t use any of the rare, gut-healing herbs I used to source from all over the world.
I opened the pantry and dumped thousands of dollars worth of premium, health-boosting ingredients straight into the garbage.
Julian, you wanted me to cook? I’ll cook. But from now on, your health, your stomach, and your life have absolutely nothing to do with me.
The following Wednesday, at the Waldorf Astoria in New York.
The engagement party of the century between Vance Enterprises and the Sterling Group had taken over the entire penthouse ballroom. Every powerful family in New York was there.
But in the kitchen, the atmosphere was tense.
I stood in a white chef’s uniform, my hair tied back neatly, staring blankly at the prep station.
The other chefs looked at me with pity and whispered gossip.
Everyone knew I was Julian’s secret wife, now forced to cook for his new bride. It was the ultimate humiliation.
“Miss Lynn, they are calling for the soup in the ballroom. Is the wild mushroom soup ready?” the head chef asked cautiously.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
I sprinkled a bit of fresh parsley over the soup. It looked beautiful, but it lacked the rich, healing aroma it used to have.
Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open.
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