The moment Isabelle filed for divorce, a single call was all it took for Marcus to drop everything, abandoning me to rush back to her side. I tore the pregnancy test result from my hand, walking away without a single glance back. Five years later, we ran into each other at the airport. She was clinging to his arm, a dazzling smile, an ethereal beauty. A perfect family of three. The way Marcus looked at them—it was filled with a tenderness, a devotion he had *never* once shown me. I gripped Leo’s hand, wanting to leave, but we were stopped. He looked at my son beside me, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and something unreadable. “Where did you get a child?” In the crowded departure lounge, little Leo tugged at my sleeve, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “Mommy, when can I have a daddy? I really envy that little girl.” He spoke softly, gesturing towards the open hall not far away. A tall man was holding a little girl, his strong arms tossing her up repeatedly. Then catching her safely, simulating a game of flying. The little girl’s crisp laughter, like little chimes, echoed through the entire lounge. Every passerby who looked their way wore a warm, envious smile. Only I, the moment I recognized that figure, felt like I was plunged into an ice storm. Every nerve tightened, my scalp prickled with dread. One thought consumed me: *escape*. I grabbed Leo, fleeing like a criminal, but accidentally bumped into a stranger’s camera. The man roared in distress, grabbing my coat, demanding compensation.
I never imagined my next meeting with Marcus would be so utterly humiliating. I was being yanked back and forth by his grip on my collar, my hair a wild mess. Leo, frightened, hid behind me, jostled back and forth by my violent movements. His eyes red-rimmed, he timidly but bravely cried out, “Don’t bully my mommy! You’re a bad man!” The man frantically accused me of breaking his camera, spinning me around again. Just then, a warm hand suddenly clamped onto my wrist, steadying me. The man was startled by the sudden force, looking up at the person behind me. “Who are you?” He was agitated, glaring hostilely at the person beside me. From above, that familiar deep voice was as steady and cold as ever. An undeniable authority. “Bullying a woman? What kind of strength is that?” The man wouldn’t let up, ranting about how I’d shattered his camera – what a prestigious brand, such a high-end lens, how it cost ten thousand dollars. Marcus gave him a brief, dismissive look, then turned to signal Isabelle. Isabelle immediately handed over several stacks of fresh cash from her purse. Marcus took the money, glancing at it – ten thousand dollars, not a penny more, not a penny less. He coldly eyed the broken lens on the ground, his eyes still holding that sharp, unyielding intelligence no one could fool. “More than enough to compensate you for this.” The man realized Marcus knew photography and wasn’t easy to swindle. He quietly took the money and left. But I had just landed, in the most humiliating, disheveled way possible, owing them money. I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, mocking my own fate. Embracing my utter disgrace, I feigned nonchalance, smoothing my messy bangs back and greeting them with a bright smile. “Hi, Marcus, hi Isabelle. Long time no see.”
Isabelle hadn’t recognized me at first, thinking Marcus was just being a chivalrous Samaritan. The moment she saw my face, she was stunned for a split second. Then, her regret became painfully obvious. She cautiously glanced at Marcus, but didn’t respond to me. I dared not look at Marcus. But even without looking, I could feel his gaze, sharp as a blade. His stare made my skin crawl, my scalp tighten. I didn’t dare to look his way. And he, very quickly, noticed the small figure hidden behind me. Leo was already curious about Marcus. To a child, an adult who could lift them high, tossing them into the air for a game, was practically a superhero. The immediate tension had subsided. He rubbed away his tears, secretly poking his little head out to look up. And his eyes met Marcus’s. In that moment, my heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat in my chest. I felt lightheaded. This was it.
Anyone with eyes – even a blind man – could see Leo was Marcus’s son. Because standing together, they were a perfect adult and mini-me. The same nose, the same eyebrows, even the same soft, perfectly shaped ears looked like they’d been cast from the same mold. Even their daughter noticed it, tugging on Marcus’s sleeve. “Daddy, that little boy looks just like you.” Marcus’s face darkened further. Strangely, Isabelle wasn’t angry. Instead, she seemed worried, clinging to Marcus’s arm, her eyes misting over as she looked up at him, feigning helplessness. “Marcus…” Marcus snapped back to reality. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave me a murderous glare. His gaze was murderous, as if he wanted to devour me, or choke the life out of me a dozen times over. He was so furious, he didn’t even register Isabelle’s feigned fragility. He yanked her hand away, coldly saying, “You go back first.” Isabelle didn’t dare say more. She gave me a deep look, her eyes filled with resentment and unwillingness. But before leaving, she gently nudged her daughter. The little girl, cunning even at her young age, mimicked her mother’s innocent, vulnerable look as she spoke to Marcus, “Daddy, come home soon.” Marcus’s expression softened. He gently looked down, responding, “Okay.”
Marcus called his assistant, Ben, and handed Leo over to him. Then, we sat in the car together, in silence. He rested an arm on the window, his fingers idly stroking his lips, a deep frown etched on his face as he watched a distant plane take off. I knew his concern. “It’s fine. I won’t ask you for child support, and you don’t need to be responsible for Leo.” Suddenly, Marcus exploded. He snapped back to reality, seizing my wrist, pressing me back into the seat. His eyes were blazing red with fury, his voice shaking with raw anger. “…You think I’m worried about child support? Aria, five years! You disappeared without a trace for five whole years! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? I’ve needed sleeping pills every night just to get some rest! Every moment, every second, I’ve been terrified, dreaming of you being cruelly murdered, trafficked to some island, or having your organs harvested! Do you know how scared I was?!” Scared? I never thought those words would come from the formidable, legendary CEO Marcus. But the bloodshot intensity in his eyes was real, not an act. His reaction completely threw me off. I was utterly bewildered. This bewilderment only infuriated him again. But this time, he looked deeply hurt. “What? In your eyes, am I truly that heartless? That I wouldn’t care if you vanished?” I scoffed. “You’re married. Why are you putting on this ‘devoted lover’ act?”
When Marcus married Isabelle, I was on an operating table. For this child, I worked five different jobs, even delivering food right up until I was seven months pregnant. The constant strain led to complications, and even a C-section was touch-and-go. As I lay there, bleeding profusely, fighting to save the child inside me, I heard the television from outside. The TV was broadcasting a lavish, ‘wedding of the century’ ceremony. The protagonists were Marcus and Isabelle. I screamed, my voice raw from the pain, as they walked down the aisle. My womb was cut open, a bloody mess, as their eyes met. I lay on the operating table, pale and barely clinging to life. They exchanged rings, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, speaking vows of ‘never leaving.’ The way he looked at her was pure adoration. In that moment, I felt like I had died. The heartbreak was a searing pain, worse than childbirth. But after the pain, a strange calm settled over me. The nurse, wiping sweat from her brow after a frantic shift, wheeled me back to my room. The wedding on TV was slowly drawing to a close. Marcus and Isabelle embraced, kissing. The audience applauded thunderously, tears streaming down their faces as they blessed the couple. Even the nurse who was administering my IV couldn’t help but sigh, “What a perfect match.” Yes, what a perfect match. Ever since high school, ‘perfect match’ had been synonymous with Marcus and Isabelle. The whole world seemed to be rooting for them to get married, saying if they didn’t, love itself would cease to exist. Isabelle, however, fell in love with someone else. Marcus was heartbroken and furious. He drowned himself in alcohol, spiraling into self-pity, and then he confessed his feelings to me. He was truly pathetic then, sobbing in my arms, asking if I’d be with him. Against my better judgment, I said yes. And just like that, we were together, our relationship surprisingly uneventful. He did everything a boyfriend was supposed to do. But whenever he saw anything about Isabelle, his handsome brows would furrow, and he’d fall silent for the entire day. I foolishly believed he’d eventually get over her. But even more heartbroken than him were the people who desperately wanted him and Isabelle to be together. They were furious with him, demanding to know why he was with me, why he wasn’t fighting to win Isabelle back. Marcus, clearly annoyed, retorted, “She chose to be with an ordinary man, so I’ll choose to be with an ordinary woman. If this fairytale is going to be shattered, let’s shatter it completely.” So that was it. I had just found out I was pregnant when I heard him say that. I was in the room, carefully and excitedly holding the ribbon-wrapped gift box with the pregnancy test inside, planning to show it to him. The moment I heard his words, my blood ran cold. The ribbon-wrapped gift box in my hand suddenly felt incredibly ironic. How could I have thought he truly liked me, that he’d want a child with me? How could I have ever believed that *he* would fall in love with a woman like me? I didn’t have Isabelle’s beauty, or the privileged background of a socialite, or her reputation. I didn’t have the idyllic childhood she shared with Marcus. Why did I ever think he truly wanted to be with me? I had once believed he held at least a little affection for me. But at that moment, I snapped to a harsh realization: he was only with me out of spite. Out of spite against Isabelle.
That brief moment of clarity saved my life, and yet, it also shattered it. I turned and threw the pregnancy test into the ocean. Then, I went to the clinic and had an abortion. I had to leave him. Even if I wasn’t Isabelle, even if I didn’t possess her unique beauty, I wouldn’t willingly be a pawn in his spiteful games. I had my dignity. That day, I went to the clinic alone, had the abortion alone, and left the clinic alone. Dragging my weak, exhausted body back to the resort we were staying at to pack my bags. When Marcus learned I wanted to leave him, he went ballistic, snatching my things and throwing them aside. He gripped my hand tightly, so hard. “What’s wrong? What don’t you like about me? Just tell me!” It was the first time I’d seen him so furious. His anger usually simmered, a cold, silent threat that sent shivers down your spine without a single word. But that time, when I said I was leaving, his fury erupted, threatening to incinerate me. He kept asking what I disliked about him. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t tell him he didn’t love me at all. That he saw me as a mere pawn in his petty feud with Isabelle. How could he possibly admit it? If he were that honest, he never would’ve confessed his feelings to me in the first place. If he’d seen me as a human being, he wouldn’t have played games with me, deceiving me for so long! It was my own fault for being so foolish. How could I have believed he’d ever truly let go of Isabelle? I didn’t explain anything, I just kept packing my bags. Then, he proposed to me. He got down on one knee, directly sliding the ring he had prepared onto my finger. His voice was softer and more resolute than ever. “You think I won’t marry you, don’t you? Fine, I’ll tell you now: I, Marcus Sterling, will take responsibility for you until the very end. I’ll spend my entire life with you.” Every word reeked of ‘responsibility.’ Who needs your sense of ‘responsibility’? I couldn’t help but laugh. “When I went for the abortion today, the doctor told me I might have trouble getting pregnant again. Your family, with you as the only son, needs heirs. I’m not fit for that.”
When Marcus learned I’d secretly had an abortion, his anger morphed into something far more complex. For a moment, I thought he wanted to strangle me. But then, reason seemed to pull him back. He hated me, hated me for killing his child. Disappointment, confusion, sadness, and even a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes. His thoughts tangled, making his dark eyes seem even deeper, but in the end, it all just turned to ice. He roared in fury, slamming his fist into the wall beside my head, drawing blood. He gasped for air, so consumed by hatred he probably wanted to kill me, but all he could do was gasp. I thought, with things like this, we could finally end it all. But who would have thought? Instead of letting me go, he held me captive in the hotel. He kept me there, refusing to let me see anyone or contact the outside world. Then, one night, he appeared, completely wasted, and took me roughly. —His fierceness felt like it was tearing me apart. And after that, he came every day. Every day, he acted like he wanted me dead. As if all his pain and hatred needed to be released this way. He’d attend events with beautiful young women on his arm, but he refused to end things with me. It was his twisted way of constantly trampling my dignity, watching me helpless as people ridiculed me, treating me like an idiot. I tried to break up, he refused. Every time I tried to sneak away, his bodyguards and Ben would block me. That lasted for six months, until the news of Isabelle’s divorce broke.
Isabelle got divorced. He left immediately, flying non-stop to Japan that very night. He went straight to her Tokyo home, beat up the man who had wronged her, and it made international headlines. The news showed a photo of him escorting Isabelle from her house. Isabelle’s face was bruised and tear-streaked from domestic violence, and she clung pitifully to his chest. His eyes were full of tender pity, laced with regret for not having protected her. It was a perfect opportunity. The first time in six months of trying to escape that his bodyguards and Ben weren’t around. But I didn’t leave immediately. I was still holding onto a sliver of hope. I called his cell phone. At first, no one answered. Then, finally, he picked up, only to say “What?” impatiently before hanging up. Later, I called again in the dead of night. The phone was answered, but there was no sound. After a while, I heard Isabelle crying, and Marcus’s gentle comforting words. He said, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of you from now on.” I didn’t listen any further. I threw away the cell phone Marcus had bought for me. I pried open a drawer, snatched every dollar he’d left behind, and left that very night. The car’s AC wasn’t on. It was cold. His breath plumed white in the cold car, his eyes bloodshot, as if he were holding back tears.
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