Five years of marriage to my germaphobe billionaire husband, Ethan Shaw. And today, I found a suspicious, murky stain on the passenger seat of his sports car. Just as I was about to confront Ethan, his secretary, Chloe Reed, walked up. Tugging at her tight, micro-mini skirt, she flashed a sweet, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I have a habit of going commando, and I think I might have ruined Mr. Shaw’s beautiful leather seats. My bad.” Ethan merely nodded, completely unfazed. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” That night, I gave Ethan a cold warning. “I don’t share dirty men. If anything like this happens again, we are getting a divorce.” The very next day, he fired Chloe. I thought that was the end of it, until the day my mother passed away. That afternoon, I received a Snapchat video from Chloe. Through a foggy glass window, I could clearly make out two tangled silhouettes. And then came Ethan’s heavy, lust-filled voice over the speaker: “Stop playing around…” My eyes welled with tears. Before I could save the video, she deleted it. A sharp pain pierced my chest. Without hesitation, I texted my divorce lawyer: “Draft the divorce papers immediately. I want them ready now.”
On the day of the funeral, Ethan arrived late. He looked as elegant and high-society as ever, but as he stepped closer, I caught the scent of sweet, cheap perfume clinging to his designer suit. I looked down. Right on his collar, partially hidden, was a dark red hickey. The last ounce of warmth in my heart died right there, washed away by the freezing rain. He walked up to me, but before he could say a word, a figure burst into the chapel. It was Chloe, Ethan’s ex-secretary. She was wearing a loud, skin-tight red dress that hugged her hips, with a carefully painted look of grief on her face. She walked straight toward Ethan. “Summer, please accept my condolences,” she said softly. Suddenly, her heel twisted. With a sharp gasp, she lost her balance and fell directly into Ethan’s arms. Ethan didn’t push her away. Instead, his hands instinctively gripped her waist. In the chaotic stumble, Chloe lifted her face just as Ethan leaned down. Their lips met. Softly, easily. Ethan frowned slightly, holding her steady. His voice was low, gentle, and filled with a helpless indulgence I had never heard before. “Careful.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. My mind instantly flashed back to that provocative video. He had used that exact same indulgent, breathless tone when he whispered: “Stop playing around…” It made me think of our wedding night. I had put on a beautiful silk nightgown, gathered all my courage, and gently kissed his lips. It was just a light, fleeting touch. But he had shoved me away so violently that I hit the nightstand. He rushed into the bathroom, and I heard him dry-heaving inside. After that, he spent a full thirty minutes brushing his teeth, almost self-harming, until his gums bled heavily. When he finally walked out, his face was pale and his eyes were dead cold. “Summer, I told you. Do not touch me.” … The whispers of the guests rushed over me like a tide. The looks they threw at me were filled with curiosity, pity, and a sick sense of amusement. My father, Arthur Vance, turned absolutely livid. Clenching his fists, he muttered under his breath, “Is this how the Shaw family shows respect to the deceased? What a disgrace.” Grandpa Charles Shaw banged his cane heavily against the marble floor. “Enough! What kind of circus is this? Do you have no shame, Ethan?” Ethan’s face turned pale. He finally let go of Chloe, but he still kept her shielded behind his back. He lowered his head to Grandpa Charles. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. Chloe didn’t mean to.” *She didn’t mean to.* Such a light, effortless excuse. With those words, he dragged my dignity, my dead mother’s memory, and the entire Vance family name through the mud. I spoke, my voice so calm that it sounded foreign even to me. “Ethan. Take her and get the hell out of here.” He stared at me, a flash of panic and guilt crossing his eyes. He quickly stepped closer and whispered, “Summer, don’t throw a tantrum at a time like this, okay? Chloe just tripped…” He was still defending her. I looked him dead in the eye, repeating his words. “A tantrum?” “You are openly defending another woman at your wife’s mother’s funeral, and you think *I’m* the one throwing a tantrum?” His lips parted, but the words that came out broke my heart completely. “I owe her, Summer,” he pleaded quietly. “Please, don’t make this look any uglier than it already is.” Behind him, Chloe peeked out, her eyes wet with fake tears but sparkling with triumph. At that moment, I actually laughed. Why should I care about making a scene? No matter how hysterical I acted, nothing could hurt more than the knife he had just plunged into my chest. “I said get out. Are you deaf?” Ethan closed his eyes in pain. Ultimately, he turned around, took Chloe by the arm, and escorted her out of the chapel. As Chloe passed me, she shot me a smug, victorious look. And Ethan didn’t even dare to look at me again. The funeral finally ended. I forced myself to say goodbye to the remaining guests before walking alone into my mother’s old bedroom. The room still smelled of her. I stared at the photo of her gentle, smiling face on the vanity. And just like that, the tightly wound string inside me snapped. A wave of overwhelming grief and the crushing humiliation of betrayal washed over me. I covered my mouth to muffle my sobs, but my knees gave out, and I slid down to the cold floor. My mother’s face in the photo blurred. Eventually, everything went dark.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I tried to move my hand and felt the cold prick of an IV line. The door opened, and a tall man in a white lab coat walked in. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a gentle, comforting presence. It was Luke Montgomery. I had only met him once at a charity gala. He was the heir to the prestigious Montgomery family, but he had chosen a quiet life as a humanitarian doctor. “You’re awake?” He handed me my chart. “Summer, you are six weeks pregnant. But due to extreme emotional distress and exhaustion, you are showing signs of a threatened miscarriage.” “If you want to keep this baby, you need absolute bed rest.” My heart sank. My hand instinctively flew to my flat stomach. This baby—the one I had prayed for, the one I had gone through so much pain to conceive—was now nothing but a cruel joke. My father stood by the bedside, his brow furrowed in anger. He and my mother had lived separate lives for years, and he had his own mistresses and secret kids. His fury right now wasn’t out of love for me; it was because Ethan’s public stunt had embarrassed him. “That absolute bastard! Just wait till he gets here. I’m going to ruin him!” But within minutes, my father’s phone rang. He took the call and left immediately. In the end, I was still completely alone. By evening, Ethan showed up. He was carrying a thermal flask, his expression tense. Seeing me awake, he let out a sigh of relief and rushed to my side. “Summer, how are you feeling?” I didn’t look at him. He began to ramble, trying to justify himself. “About yesterday at the funeral… I’m sorry. But Chloe has no one in this city. She’s completely helpless, and I couldn’t just leave her. I need you to understand that.” I slowly turned my head and stared at him. The man before me felt like a complete stranger. “Did you ever try to understand me?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Ethan, do you remember what I did to make you comfortable with me? I soaked my hands in harsh disinfectant, washing them over and over until my skin cracked and bled.” “It took me five whole years of patience just to get you to willingly hold me.” “But Chloe? She gets to stain your car. She gets to be cradled in your arms at my mother’s funeral.” “Tell me, Ethan. Why?” My voice was shaking, every word dripping with raw pain. His face turned completely pale, and he couldn’t find a single word to say. Silence was the most brutal answer. It told me, loud and clear, that my five years of devotion were nothing but a massive joke. Ethan couldn’t look me in the eye. Seeing how agitated I was, he tried to do what he always did—throw money at the problem. “Summer, to make it up to you, I’ll set up an art foundation in your mother’s name.” “The Shaw Group will fully fund it. Think of it as a tribute to her.” He was always like this. Measuring everything with money. My feelings. His guilt. And now, even my mother’s dignity. “Get out,” I spat. He froze, shocked by my tone. He had never been spoken to like this before. I grabbed the pillow behind me and threw it at his face with all the strength I had left. “I said, get the hell out of my sight!” Late that night, a friend sent me a screenshot of an Instagram Story. In a cozy dessert shop, Chloe was leaning sweet-tempered against Ethan’s shoulder. She was holding a spoon of half-eaten ice cream up to his lips. Ethan’s head was turned toward his phone, but he didn’t push her away. The caption read: *He still only eats what I feed him.* This was the same man who would vomit if I offered him a bite of my cookie. The same man who insisted on sanitizing our shared silverware dozens of times before touching it. Yet, he was perfectly fine eating ice cream Chloe had already put in her mouth. My stomach churned violently. I scrambled out of bed, rushed to the bathroom, and threw up until nothing was left. Staring at my pale, hollow reflection in the mirror, I felt a deep, sickening disgust. I wasn’t just disgusted by him. I was disgusted by myself for having crawled in the dirt for him for five long years.
After getting discharged, I went alone to the gallery where we first met. Five years ago, I held my first solo art exhibition here. The gallery had been packed that day, but Ethan had stood in front of a painting called *The Caged Bird* for an entire afternoon. I thought I had found my soulmate. Standing in front of that same painting now, I realized how foolish I had been. He didn’t understand my art. He just saw his own reflection in it. And I was just a self-righteous savior who had willingly jumped into a tragedy of my own making. The next day, a lawyer from the Shaw Group delivered a thick stack of documents. It was a family trust fund for my and Ethan’s future children. “Mrs. Shaw, this is from the Elder Mr. Shaw and Mr. Ethan Shaw,” the lawyer explained. “If you have a child, they will automatically become the third-largest shareholder of the Shaw Group. This trust…” Grandpa Charles had always pushed us to have a baby to secure our business marriage and Ethan’s inheritance. I used to look forward to this, enduring endless medical treatments and humiliation just to conceive. Now, this document felt like a fresh slap in the face. I cut the lawyer off calmly. “No need. We won’t be needing this trust fund. Ever.” I wanted absolutely nothing to do with Ethan Shaw. Later that afternoon, I went to the equestrian club. Before I officially walked away from this marriage, I wanted to paint one last piece as a farewell to the baby in my womb. But I didn’t expect to run into those two again. Chloe was dressed in a tight, fiery-red riding outfit, looking radiant. Ethan stood by the fence, his eyes locked onto her. Suddenly, Chloe shrieked and fell off her horse. Ethan’s face went completely pale. Without a second thought, he bolted toward her. As Chloe whimpered in pain, Ethan completely forgot his germaphobia. He scooped up her dirt-covered body and rushed her toward the medical clinic. My paintbrush hovered in mid-air. The sun was warm, but I felt freezing cold. I remembered the time I had a sudden panic attack and collapsed in our living room. Ethan had stood a safe distance away, shouting for the housekeeper and the doctor, but he never once reached out to touch me. It turned out his germaphobia was selective. It wasn’t that he couldn’t touch anyone. He just didn’t want to touch me. My heart went completely numb. I guess when disappointment reaches its peak, all you feel is absolute exhaustion. That evening, my assistant called, her voice frantic. “Summer, there’s trouble! Ethan just beat up Victor Sterling, the CEO of Sterling Corp, because of Chloe!” My head throbbed. “What?” “Apparently, Chloe claimed Victor harassed her. Ethan barged right into their business dinner and beat Victor so badly he’s in the ER.” “Ethan was covered in cheap booze and blood, but he didn’t care at all. He went straight back to the office to call an emergency board meeting. Overnight, he managed to tank Sterling Corp’s stock…” I listened in silence. For Chloe, he could be reckless. He could fight. He could tolerate the dirt and blood he hated most. He could throw all his principles out the window. For Chloe, he could do anything. I quietly hung up and emailed the signed divorce papers to Ethan. Then, I drove back to my art studio. This time, I wouldn’t give him another chance to explain.
I went back to the penthouse studio to grab my medical records. The place was a wedding gift from Ethan, overlooking the river. But when I pushed the door open, the sight before me made my stomach turn. The studio was a total mess. The air was thick with the unmistakable, musky scent of sex. The painting I had spent days working on for my baby was ripped off the easel, thrown onto the floor, splattered with random paint, and covered in dirty footprints. Beside the easel lay a discarded lace bra and adult toys. My breathing stopped. Rage and disgust boiled in my chest, quickly replaced by an icy, hollow feeling. I let out a bitter laugh, knelt down, and began packing my paintbrushes and sketches into a box. Just as I taped the last box shut, the electronic lock on the front door beeped. Then came the sound of heavy breathing, giggling, and a woman’s suggestive whimpers. “Ethan… let’s do it right here…” Then, Ethan’s strained, familiar voice replied, “Stop…” I hid behind a large canvas, watching coldly. Chloe was wrapped around him like a snake, kissing him aggressively while her hands worked on his shirt buttons. Ethan’s breathing was shallow and fast. He made a weak, stiff attempt to push her away. But that resistance lasted only a few seconds before he gave in. A wave of nausea hit me, and I accidentally knocked over a jar of brushes. Ethan snapped his head toward the sound. When his eyes met mine, he panicked and violently pushed Chloe off him. “Summer! Let me explain!” he cried out, his voice cracking. “I’ve been looking for you ever since I got the divorce papers! There’s nothing going on between us, I swear!” He reached out to grab my arm, but froze when he saw the sheer disgust in my eyes. “I… I have this place cleaned every day. I don’t know how she got in…” “Summer, please don’t leave. Don’t look at me like that.” “Can we please just talk?” He was rambling, his eyes filled with genuine panic. But Chloe just laughed. She stepped forward and kicked my packed box of art supplies, sending my sketches and paint jars flying across the floor, ruining my clothes. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Summer, what explanation do you want? Want him to admit he loves me more?” “A pathetic woman like you doesn’t deserve to have Ethan’s baby anyway.” “Honestly, I feel bad for your dead mother. She probably died just to get away from a depressing loser like you.” “Shut up!” My self-control snapped. I raised my hand and swung it hard toward her smug face. But before my hand could land, my wrist was grabbed in a brutal grip. It was Ethan. He pulled Chloe behind him and shoved me back. I saw it clearly. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were filled with a deep, ugly irritation I had never seen before. He looked like a completely different person from the man who had just begged me to stay. I stared at him in utter shock. Time seemed to slow down. The sheer disgust in his eyes was sharper than any of Chloe’s venomous words. It felt like my heart had been pierced, letting the very last drop of my warmth drain out. I stumbled backward, my lower back crashing hard against the heavy wooden easel. A sharp, blinding pain exploded in my abdomen. My vision went black, and I felt a warm, terrifying rush of liquid running down my legs, staining my dress red. *Bam!* The studio door was kicked open. Luke rushed in, looking frantic. He had probably come looking for me because I hadn’t answered his calls. The moment he saw the pool of bright red blood beneath me, he ran over and scooped me up into his arms. “Are you insane?!” Luke roared at Ethan, his eyes burning with fury. “Did you seriously not know she was pregnant?!” Ethan froze on the spot, his hands trembling violently. “Pregnant? No… how…”
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