After 99 Betrayals, I Finally Gave Up on My Boyfriend

When Debbie opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the hospital.

She was in the master bedroom of the Robbins family villa.

Beside the bed sat Armando, with a gleaming luxury watch on his wrist—the one gifted by the Andrade family. The shimmer of metal on his skin made him look like a stranger, nothing like the man who once lived with her in a shabby rented apartment.

The moment he saw her awake, he stood quickly, voice soft and rehearsed in that familiar tone of gentleness.

"Debbie, you're awake? Do you feel uncomfortable anywhere?"

Gone was the arrogance he showed in the hospital.

When he reached out to touch her forehead, she turned her head away. His hand froze awkwardly in midair.

He sat down at the edge of the bed, taking her uninjured hand.

"I know Karylle went too far. But she only did it because of me. Let's just let this go, okay?"

"The Andrade family has been watching me closely. My engagement to Karylle is just a temporary arrangement. Once I gain full control of the Robbins family, I'll call it off and marry you instead."

He tried to sound sincere, rubbing her hair the way he used to, evoking the past like it could erase everything.

"I still remember when you carried me to the hospital that winter night, and when you sold trinkets to help pay for my medicine. I haven't forgotten, Debbie. I promise you, I'll give you a better life."

But Debbie pulled her hand free, her voice cold and distant, as if her heart had turned to glass.

"Enough," she intoned coldly. "I don't want to hear any of that."

Even the words she heard in the hospital now felt like nothing more than a dream.

Whether he meant them or not no longer mattered. His indifference had already become fact.

Armando's composure cracked. He lowered his voice, almost begging. "Debbie, just give me time. I'll protect you."

Hearing those words, she couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Protect?"

Her voice trembled with sarcasm.

"Do you want me to watch you get engaged? Or do you want me to keep enduring all the pain while listening to your empty promises? Armando, we can't go back anymore. The kindness you gave me was real—but so was the pain. You're no longer the man who once cared for me."

Her eyes were filled with quiet disappointment. "Why bother pretending to be affectionate now?"

She forced herself to sit up despite the sharp pain in her legs. Her eyes were calm—too calm—like a lake long frozen over.

Armando looked at her, panic flickering in his eyes. Every excuse he had prepared suddenly felt hollow in the silence between them.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. A servant's anxious voice followed.

"Mr. Robbins! Miss Andrade was making soup for you in the kitchen and accidentally burned her hand!"

"Burned?" Armando's brows furrowed at once. Whatever faint concern he had left for Debbie vanished instantly.

Without even glancing back, he turned and walked out.

Debbie sat frozen on the bed, her fingers curling weakly.

If he had only turned back for one second, he would have seen the redness in her eyes—tears she had been holding back for far too long.

Still, she forced herself to follow.

When she reached the living room, Karylle was sitting on the sofa, her eyes red, a damp towel wrapped around her left wrist. The moment she saw Armando, her voice quivered with tears.

"Arman, I just wanted to make some soup for you... I didn't expect..."

Armando crouched in front of her, his voice patient and gentle—a tone Debbie had never heard him use before.

"I told you, you don't have to do these things for me." He gently lifted the towel and frowned at the reddened burn on her skin. "You've never even cooked before—why push yourself?"

Why force yourself to do something like this?"

He picked up a tube of ointment, dipped his fingertips in, and carefully applied it to Karylle's wound, bit by bit. Between them lingered an unspoken intimacy.

Debbie stood silently at the door, her fingertips cold as ice.

It wasn't until Armando finally looked up and noticed her that he remembered her presence. He stood abruptly, his voice a little awkward.

"Debbie, actually... I still like the dishes you make best. They suit my taste more than anything else. Why don't you go and cook?"

In the past, Debbie would have smiled through her tears, washed her hands, and gone straight to the kitchen, no matter how tired or unwell she was.

But today, she just looked at him quietly. Her voice was soft—yet firmer than ever before. "There are servants in the kitchen. Let them handle it."

"After three years of playing your housemaid, I've had enough."

Silence filled the room. The air seemed to freeze around them.

Armando sensed something in her tone. The carelessness in his eyes faded as he stepped closer, trying to take her hand.

"Debbie, don't be angry. I'm just worried about Karylle."

He spoke quickly, as if to justify himself. "And I already told Karylle to stop bullying you. We only have a cooperative relationship. You're the one I truly love."

Before he could finish, Karylle's soft voice interrupted. She lowered her gaze, her tone full of gentle guilt.

"Arman, don't blame Debbie. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have caused you trouble..."

"It's only natural for her to hate me. If she's unhappy, I'll leave right now."

Armando turned to Debbie at once, his tone carrying a faint trace of reproach.

"Look at you—Karylle even said that, so don't be angry, okay? If you want to blame someone, blame me. This has nothing to do with her. We're all good friends—don't take it so seriously."

Debbie stared at him, feeling as if the man in front of her had become a stranger.

"Armando, you may be friends with her, but I'm not."

Without another glance, she turned and walked back to her room.