On our wedding night, Ashton held me close and suddenly said: “I’ve been having an affair. It’s her birthday tonight, and I need to be with her.” My head started spinning. “If you love someone else, why did you marry me?” He got up and started getting dressed. My kiss marks were still visible on his neck. “Nora, I love you. But we’ve been together too long. I need some excitement.” My throat tightened. “So you’re going to leave me on our wedding night to celebrate another woman’s birthday?” He pinched my cheek. “You’re already my wife. We’ll have plenty of nights together in the future. Just let her have tonight.” “And if I don’t?” I asked. He smiled. “Then we’ll divorce. But you’ll get nothing!” Ashton sighed and stroked my hair. “Remember the day you tried on your wedding dress? I was in the fitting room right next to yours, taking her virginity. She didn’t dare make a sound, holding back her moans like a kitten. That kind of thrill is something you can’t give me. Do you understand?” All the blood in my body seemed to freeze, yet tears kept streaming down my face. That day, I had been so happy trying on what I thought was the most beautiful wedding dress. When I came out, I couldn’t find him anywhere. When I called, his voice sounded strained. He said he had an urgent business deal to handle. I thought he was just in a bad mood, so I stupidly tried to comfort him, telling him not to work too hard. Ashton caught my tears, his voice gentle: “Actually, I didn’t want to miss a single second of you in that wedding dress, but that little temptress was too clingy. I didn’t get out of bed all day.” I stared blankly at the ceiling for so long I forgot to blink. Ashton clicked his tongue and lifted my hand to kiss it. “I’m sorry, Nora. I know you’re hurt. If you really want a divorce, I can give you a villa in the city center as compensation.” “But if you’re willing to endure this for me, everything I have is yours. My heart too.” Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I married the man I’d been with for eight years. Dream wedding, million-dollar diamond ring—everything felt like a fantasy. Just five minutes ago, we were making love, completely lost in each other. Now I was crying like a fool, asking him: “Why did you tell me? Why tonight of all nights?” Ashton wiped my tears over and over, his eyes almost tender: “Silly girl, because I care about you. I know I’m terrible, but now that we’re married, I should be honest with you.” He paused, then suddenly smiled: “Of course, there’s another reason. I’ve been dying to see your reaction when you found out the truth. Just like I imagined—so pitiful it makes me want to take care of you even more.” “So, let’s not divorce, okay? I’ll still love you like before, hmm?” I slapped him hard across the face. I grabbed everything within reach and threw it at him, screaming with all my strength: “Get out! Get the hell out!” Ashton tilted his head and wiped the corner of his mouth, standing up with a light laugh. He straightened his collar and walked toward the door. “Nora, calm down. I’m going to celebrate her birthday now.” The door closed softly. I saw my reflection in my ring—like a person who’d lost their mind.
I huddled in the corner of the bed, tearing at my hair like a madwoman. I banged my head against the wall over and over, until the pain became numb, until my consciousness sank completely into darkness. The moment I closed my eyes, I was transported back eight years. In that cramped room, Ashton stood between me and my abusive father, shielding me with his body. His back was a bloody mess. I screamed for them to stop. When the police sirens finally wailed, he smiled at me with a missing tooth: “Don’t be afraid, Nora. No one will ever hurt you again.” Later, we stayed in homeless shelters, collected recyclables. His thin back was my bed. Eventually, he worked construction sites, did sales jobs, until he finally earned enough for a tiny studio apartment. He held me tight and said: “Nora, we have a home now.” Those memories were too beautiful. I drowned in them in my dreams for too long. When I opened my eyes again, I’d been woken up by my best friend Jessica bombing me with SnapChat messages. “Nora! It has to be fake news! Ashton loves you so much! It can’t be true!” I numbly clicked on the link she sent. One glance made my whole body freeze. Ashton caught with his mistress having sex at a rooftop restaurant, witnessed by hundreds of people. It was trending everywhere. My hands shaking, I called him to demand answers. His voice was hoarse: “Oh, that. We just got carried away. I didn’t want you to see it. The news is hard to suppress. If you really can’t handle it, deal with it yourself?” Like a walking corpse, using the last of my strength, I went to the address he’d sent me. In a daze, I remembered when he was just starting his business. A real estate mogul’s daughter and an import-export tycoon’s heiress both pursued him. The whole city was betting on which wealthy family he’d marry into. But Ashton surprised everyone. He contacted hundreds of media outlets to publish just one sentence: “I have a girlfriend. I love her very much. Only death can separate us.” From that day on, the whole world knew Ashton loved me. That’s why today, his betrayal felt so shocking to everyone. I found Ashton’s second home, but ran into his assistant Richard at the door first. The way he looked at me, full of pity, made my breathing stop. I pushed open the door. Clothes were tangled all over the floor. Ashton was lounging on the sofa with a woman. Hearing the noise, he patted her back: “Get dressed. My wife is here. Show some manners.” The woman slowly pulled on her dress, acting cute as she asked him to zip up the back. Then she stuck her tongue out at me: “Sorry, I didn’t think Ashton would really leave you to celebrate my birthday. I got too excited and we got carried away.” She blinked, as if suddenly remembering something, and gasped: “I think we didn’t use protection. But I’ll take the morning-after pill, so don’t be mad, okay?” I covered my mouth as my stomach churned violently, bending over in painful dry heaves. Ashton’s expression changed. He immediately got up to support me: “Nora? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital!” I pushed away his hands as he tried to hold me. Tears and vomit came out together in a pathetic mess. Ashton’s face darkened as he barked at the woman: “Get out!” The woman stamped her foot and whined. Ashton frowned but still went over to kiss her lips, coaxing softly: “Don’t pout. I’ll have Richard buy you the pill later. Tonight I’m still yours, okay?” Only then was she satisfied. She deliberately draped her lacy underwear over his shoulder and shot me a provocative glance before leaving. Ashton casually tossed the scrap of fabric onto the sofa, then turned back with concern in his voice, gently rubbing my back: “Nora, feeling better? I know this is hard for you to accept. I understand. So if you want a divorce, I won’t blame you.” I wiped the filth from my mouth and looked up, staring at him with red, swollen eyes. “Ashton, I’m not divorcing you.” I didn’t even know what I was thinking. Maybe it was disgust, anger, but mostly it was unwillingness to let go. I didn’t want to cut my losses. I was like a gambler who’d lost everything, desperately clutching at the chips that said he still loved me. I cried, I screamed, I even held a knife to my own throat as a threat. Ashton finally gave in and promised he’d end things with that woman completely. See? He still cared about me. As long as he loved me, maybe everything could still go back to how it was. But I never expected the slap in the face to come so quickly.
A month later, on my birthday, photos of him getting intimate with Jessica in her office went viral. The double betrayal felt like a dull knife slicing my throat. I violently coughed up blood. I used all my strength to write a long expose, bribing media outlets to try and destroy both their reputations. But Ashton crushed all my struggles with one simple move. He produced a forged psychiatric evaluation and announced to the world that I was mentally unstable. At the same time, he paid a fortune to send Jessica to a top overseas university, saying at a press conference: “She is an exceptional woman. I look forward to her return after graduation.” I became a joke. And Ashton, after the spotlight faded, gently took my hand. His tone helpless yet indulgent, like comforting a child who didn’t understand: “Nora, last time you threatened me with your life, I was very unhappy. Sleeping with Jessica was just a little lesson for you.” He sighed: “I’ve been patient with you. I haven’t found anyone new for a whole month, but a man’s nature—you can’t stop it.” “I thought since you two were such good friends, you wouldn’t make such a scene. I’m disappointed.” “If you pull this again, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The day after he said that, he found a college student. To show off his affection, and more importantly, to warn me. He sold our original studio apartment. That place held all our memories from when we were young. In that tiny studio, we once shared a single cup of instant ramen, dreaming about our beautiful future. He said he’d never let me down. I got on my knees and begged him. I could give up everything, just please keep that apartment. But I failed. The apartment money became Chloe the college student’s allowance. After two months with Chloe, he moved on to Lily, a restaurant server. My mental state was deteriorating. I went back and forth between therapists and an acupuncture clinic. I often ended up looking like a pincushion. Until one day I came home early and found Ashton with someone in our marital bed. This wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time I witnessed it myself. I attacked him like a madwoman, attacked that woman, and beat her badly enough to send her to the hospital. To get revenge for his new lover, Ashton had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. Three days of electroshock therapy. The day I came home, the bedroom door was locked. I could hear his heavy breathing inside: “Nora, wait outside for a bit. We’ll be done soon.” I waited from daylight until late into the night. When Ashton came out, I’d already slit my wrist with a knife. I woke up in the hospital. He was at my bedside with dark circles under his eyes. He gripped my hand tightly, his voice trembling: “I’m sorry, Nora. I went too far this time.” “But how could you gamble with your life like that?” “If you really can’t take it anymore, you can ask for a divorce. I’ll give you satisfactory compensation.” Eight years together—saying we hadn’t suffered would be a lie. But he suffered much more than I did. We didn’t eat well, but at least I could eat my fill. He was always hungry, collapsing at construction sites, collapsing on the street, collapsing right in front of me. That year I was so afraid he’d starve to death because of me, I threatened to break up, went on a hunger strike. That was the first time he cried, begging me not to leave: “Nora, don’t go. If you leave, I really won’t make it.” Now, lying in the hospital bed, I gently touched his face and asked seriously: “Ashton, do you still love me?” He squeezed my hand hard and kissed my palm over and over: “Silly girl, how could I not love you?” During my hospital stay, he seemed to transform back into the Ashton who used to love me most. We held hands, hugged, kissed, gave ourselves to each other.
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