After 99 Betrayals, I Finally Gave Up on My Boyfriend

By the third year of living with Armando, Debbie had been tormented ninety-nine times by his obsessive pursuer, Karylle.

The first time, Karylle deliberately ran over Debbie's leg again and again with her car until the bone shattered completely.

Debbie spent three months in a coma.

When she finally woke up, the first thing she saw was Armando sitting by her bed, whispering softly, "Debbie, Karylle is still young. She's just... playful. I already scolded her, so don't be mad, okay?"

The second time, Karylle tricked Debbie's best friend into climbing a mountain at night. When a sudden storm hit, Debbie went up to rescue her. They almost froze to death.

Armando's eyes were red when he held her tight.

"Debbie, I've already yelled at Karylle. She's just spoiled—she doesn't mean any harm."

The third time, Karylle locked Debbie in a room and tried to burn her alive.

Armando broke down the door and dragged her out, coughing from smoke—yet still defended Karylle.

"Debbie, Karylle didn't mean it! Please, forgive her one last time!"

...

She endured until the ninety-ninth time.

Under the cold glare of the shadowless surgical lamp, Debbie's wrists were bound to the operating table. Karylle stood beside her, red nails tracing Debbie's pale cheeks as her voice dripped with venom.

"Debbie, Armando is now the heir to the Robbins family. Someone like you—a pathetic insect—doesn't deserve him, or anything he cares about."

She tilted her chin toward the trembling surgeon and ordered, "Do as I said—break her legs, drain her blood, and remove her uterus. Don't worry. The Robbins family will protect you."

Just as the scalpel was about to pierce her flesh, the door burst open.

Armando rushed in, his white coat still stained with wine from the Robbins family banquet. He shoved Karylle aside and froze at the sight of Debbie's blood-soaked gown. His voice trembled for the first time.

"Save her! Save her at all costs!"

Debbie coughed blood, her trembling hand clutching his sleeve. "Armando... this time... she has to go to prison..."

His hand hovered over her wound, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. Then, slowly, he looked away.

"Debbie, I've just been recognized by the Robbins family. Karylle... she's the fiancée they've chosen for me. The family can't afford any scandal right now."

He crouched down, his voice trembling with a rare, pleading tone.

"Please, forgive her one last time, alright? I swear, I won't ever let her hurt you again."

Debbie looked into his eyes, seeing the struggle and compromise warring within them. A hollow laugh escaped her lips, echoing through the sterile room. Blood foam spilled from the corners of her mouth, streaking down her chin and staining the white sheets beneath her in vivid red.

Her trembling fingers loosened their grip, and the light in her eyes dimmed bit by bit—like ashes fading after a final spark.

"Armando," she rasped, her voice hoarse beyond recognition, "your so-called concern has never outweighed your status as the heir of the Robbins family."

The stabbing pain in her abdomen twisted with the tight ache in her chest, forcing her vision to blur. She blinked weakly, the world spinning, and then her body went limp as darkness pulled her under.

Before losing consciousness, the last thing she saw was the fleeting panic and unwillingness that flashed across Armando's eyes when they met hers.

When Debbie next opened her eyes, voices were echoing through the corridor outside her ward.

Pain stabbed through her abdomen with every breath. The door was ajar, and through the crack, she heard Armando's calm, detached tone.

"My engagement banquet with Karylle is set for next weekend. Everything will follow Robbins family's protocol."

There was not even a single word about the woman lying half-dead in the hospital bed because of his so-called fiancée.

"Also, keep an eye on the ward. No one must take pictures of me and Debbie. The media must never find out we lived together for three years."

The assistant hesitated.

"Mr. Robbins, Miss Ingram is stable now. If she wakes up and tries to contact you..."

Armando let out a low, mocking laugh. That sound cut through Debbie's chest like a blade.

"Contact me? For what?" He paused, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Tell finance to transfer her the rent and utility fees for the past three years. After that, we're even."

Narrowing his eyes, he continued, "Remember, from now on, I don't know anyone named Debbie Ingram. She's just a nobody. I fed her, housed her, paid her medical bills—that's more than she deserves."

"B-but you once said you'd protect Miss Ingram..." the assistant murmured.

Armando interrupted him, his tone edged with impatience.

"Before is before. Now, I am the heir of the Robbins family."

His voice grew colder.

"What's the point of keeping a woman who does nothing for me—who only drags down my future?"

He turned away slightly, his tone final and merciless.

"Make sure this matter is never mentioned again. Even if it's true that I, Armando Robbins, owe Debbie—consider that debt erased!"

Inside the ward, Debbie bit her lip until she tasted blood. Only when the metallic tang filled her mouth did she finally let go. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

So that was it.

The love she thought had been deep and selfless was nothing but her own delusion.

In his world of power and family politics, she wasn't even worth the dust beneath his shoes.

The pain in her abdomen was unbearable, but it still couldn't compare to the pain in her heart.

Her thoughts drifted back to when they'd first met.

Back then, Armando wasn't yet the Robbins family's heir. He was simply a man who held her in his hands as though she were his entire world.

They lived in a tiny rental apartment—less than fifty square meters. There was no heating in winter. Armando always wore a thick, old coat, yet he would still hand her the only hand warmer. His fingertips were red from the cold, but he smiled and said,

"I'm a man, I can handle it. Your hands are cold—don't let them freeze."

Once, after she stayed out late selling goods, a sudden downpour drenched her to the bone. When she finally reached home, she found Armando waiting at the entrance, holding an umbrella and a cup of warm ginger tea.

The moment he saw her, he ran toward her, tilting the umbrella so it covered her completely. Half his body was soaked but he didn't care. He nervously touched her forehead and asked, "Did you catch a cold? I made ginger tea—drink it quickly while it's still warm."

Another time, when she fell seriously ill with a 39-degree fever, she fainted in his arms. Armando had carried her for three streets to the hospital, running breathlessly through the night. His face was pale, his lips trembling, yet he never let go of her hand. He stayed by her bedside until morning, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. When she finally opened her eyes, he said in a hoarse, trembling voice, "Debbie, you scared me to death. Please, don't get sick again."

He used to tell her that when he got better, he would work hard and earn enough to rent a house with heating—so she'd never have to freeze again.

They once dreamed of saving enough money to get married. It didn't matter if there was no grand wedding; as long as they could stay together, that was enough.

He said, smiling gently, "The luckiest thing in my life is meeting you. As long as you don't mind me, Debbie, I'll definitely marry you."

Back then, the way he looked at her was filled with tenderness and dependence—as if she were his whole world.

But now?

Now, he stood under the dazzling spotlight, holding another woman's hand, promising her a grand wedding before the world.

He had forgotten everything—the words he once spoke, the countless sleepless nights she spent for him, the days she starved to save money for his medicine, and how she carried him through three streets to the hospital in the pouring rain.

Debbie wiped her tears with trembling fingers, her skin icy cold.

It turned out that all those beautiful moments were nothing but his dependence when he was desperate—his comfort when he was weak.

Once he stood high above the world, once he gained better choices, those past tenderness became a burden he no longer wished to remember.

After a long silence, Debbie hesitated but finally reached for her phone. Her voice was weak but resolute. "Thaddeus... I want to go home."

There was a brief pause, and then a respectful reply came from the other end.

"Yes, Young Miss. I'll come for you in three days!"