Three days before my wedding to Ashton, I walked in on him cheating with his secretary. They were right there, in our new bed. For twenty years, I’d never seen him break. Now, his hands trembled. Tears fell. He blamed the booze. Swore it would never happen again. But one look at Valerie told a different story. Her face, a mask of cool contempt, said this was a well-practiced routine. When my mother asked if I still intended to marry him, I let out a wet, broken laugh and nodded. “The wedding is on.” Only this marriage could save my father’s failing company. It was just disappointment. Love was long gone. It didn’t matter who I married anymore. My wedding day was a storm of chaos. I sat at my vanity, detached from it all. My father found me there. He led me to the ballroom doors, his hand trembling as he fought back tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. My heart clenched. I forced a faint smile. “Don’t be. Ashton… still cares for me. I’ll be happy.” He fell silent. His shoulders slumped in defeat. Finally, the grand doors swung open. Ashton waited, poised in a crisp white suit, a bouquet in his hands. Forcing a smile, I stepped forward. And the memories crashed over me. Our families, the Reynolds and the Bennetts,were once neighbors, equal. Ashton, three years my senior, had always watched over me. The day I took my first steps, he stood before me, holding my tiny hands, guiding me forward. At ten, he wiped milk from my lips, then stole a kiss. My face burned. I pushed him away, my lecture on personal space firm and swift. Ashton stared back, his eyes blazing with a possessive certainty. “What are you afraid of? I’m going to marry you someday.” The memory faded. My steps faltered, then stopped. Ashton came to me, holding the flowers. My father placed my hand in his, his voice a low, desperate plea. “Please, be good to my daughter.” Ashton’s eyes were red as he promised. “I will.” It was just like when I was eighteen, when he’d held my hand tight before our families, vowing to love only me, forever. Back then, I’d blushed, believing every word. I was full of hope for a loyal, unwavering love. Now, at twenty-three, I was finally marrying him, just as I’d always expected. Then the officiant’s voice cut through. “Do you take this man…? Then, the dam broke. All the sadness I’d held back came rushing out. I lost control. Tears streamed down my face. Ashton’s face blurred behind the veil of tears. For a terrible moment, I couldn’t even see who I was marrying. I just closed my eyes and a choked whisper escaped my lips. “I do.”
The wedding was over. We were home. He was drunk, the driver helping him onto the sofa. I wrung out a cloth and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead. He frowned, eyes suddenly opening. He stared at me for a moment, then pulled my hand to his, laughing softly. “I finally married you. Wifey… wifey? That sounds so good. Will you call me that too?” His possessiveness had always been overwhelming. Since we started dating at eighteen, he’d been eager for me to call him ‘husband.’ But I believed in acting the part and never gave in. Back then, he’d just shake his head with a helpless smile, ruffle my hair, and call me his ‘good girl.’ Now, meeting his expectant gaze, I just smiled and loosened his tie. “You’re drunk. Let me help you to bed.” Ashton’s grip on my hand tightened sharply, making me wince in pain. “Why won’t you say it? Just once! Call me ‘husband’!” I pressed my lips together, staring at him, utterly silent. Finally, Ashton closed his eyes. A wave of pure torment seemed to crash over him as he collapsed into frustration and rage. “Fine! I messed up, I know! Are you still angry, Chloe? Then why won’t you yell at me? We have twenty years, and this is the only thing I’ve ever done wrong! Just this one thing!” His voice was laced with desperation. As if I was the one who was guilty. The Reynolds family had invested poorly this year, and our company was teetering on the brink of collapse. Our previously equal standing with the Bennetts had suddenly plummeted. I even felt a pang of insecurity, feeling unworthy of Ashton. My father’s company had a massive funding gap. But then Ashton suddenly proposed at that very moment. “After we’re married, we’ll be truly family. Then it’ll be my duty to help your father, and you won’t have to worry anymore.” Ashton held me close, chuckling softly against my ear. “Besides, you were always meant to be mine, weren’t you?” That day, I sobbed uncontrollably, overwhelmed by a twisted mix of gratitude and relief. The greatest burden on my heart had been effortlessly lifted by this man, once again. A tidal wave of immense love enveloped me. I wanted to give him everything. I truly felt like the happiest person on earth. I hugged him back fiercely, vowing to love him for the rest of my life. With three days left until the wedding, I was a bundle of excitement and anxiety. I was sending him messages almost constantly. If he didn’t reply within half an hour, I’d get so anxious I’d want to cry. As a bride-to-be, I had been staying at my parents’ house during that time. One day, Ashton’s messages were delayed. I waited for a long time, and for some reason, I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to visit the new home Ashton and I had bought. My mother drove me there. When I opened the front door, a shockingly high-pitched scream echoed from the bedroom. The sounds rose and fell, one after another, sickeningly familiar. One listen was all it took. I instantly went cold, my hands and feet numb. Instinctively, I pushed my stunned mother back outside. Step by step, I walked to the bedroom door. Ashton was thrusting like some primal beast, a disgusting grin plastered across his face. His sweat-soaked hair was slicked back, revealing those wild, captivating eyes. He was spewing vile, demeaning words I’d never heard from him before. Bitch. Whore. I stood there like a puppet, frozen. My purse slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a soft clack. Every hope, every dream, shattered with that sound.
Ashton explained to me. He’d gotten drunk, and Valerie, his secretary, had brought him back to our new house. It was a drunken mistake. His eyes red, he swore to me. It was just this one time, he’d only made this one mistake. Under the massive shock. I inexplicably leaned forward, sniffing his breath. No alcohol smell. Instead, a pungent, indescribable scent. It felt utterly, sickeningly filthy. I gasped for air. My awareness and emotions clashed violently within me. I was in too much pain to even cry out loud. My life had always been smooth sailing, following every rule, every expectation. The biggest setback I’d ever faced was my father nearly going bankrupt. And even that problem had been effortlessly solved by Ashton. From my earliest memories to my first blush of love. This man was everywhere, inside and out. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to slap him hard. Then, stand tall. And with dignity, announce the cancellation of our wedding. But then I saw my mother’s anxious figure at the door. Reality slammed back into my mind. I forced a smile, stretching my stiff lips into a grotesque grimace. After that day, the wedding proceeded as planned. Ashton and I maintained a silent, unspoken facade of decency. Only I knew. Everything was different now. … Now, Ashton was still waiting for my answer. As if, if I just acknowledged his role as my husband. Everything could still be salvaged. I opened my mouth. But my throat seized up. Ashton sighed, standing up first. “Never mind. It’s late. Let’s just go to bed.” He took a step, then paused. Turning back, he looked at my hand gripping his jacket sleeve, a surprised joy spreading across his face. “.Wifey?” I managed a strained smile, my voice meek. “Husband.” Ashton’s face lit up. He turned back and hugged me tightly, pressing kisses all over my face. It wasn’t until my eyes met his, blazing with raw desire, that I suddenly clapped a hand over my mouth. A wave of nausea hit me.I clamped a hand over my mouth, gagging as I pushed him off. I pushed him away before stumbling to the bathroom to throw up until nothing was left. I never saw his expression darken in that instant. I never saw his fists clench.
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