After His Betrayal, My Husband Begged Not to Divorce

"Alright, tell me—this car is dirty. How much are you planning to pay for it?"

It had been a long time since I'd been this angry.

Probably even Lyndon didn't expect it. "Claire didn't mean to. I'll pay for the car wash myself," he said.

I scoffed. "A car wash? Do you think that will get rid of the stink inside this car?"

"I want the entire interior replaced. Or better yet—replace the whole car," I added.

Claire's face went paper white. "Ms. Miranda... I may not have money, but I have integrity. You don't have to humiliate me like this, do you?"

I gave her a faint, amused smile. "Having dignity means you don't have to pay? Did I humiliate you? Or would you like to smell it yourself?"

The words barely left my mouth before her tears fell like broken pearls.

Lyndon shot me a cold glance. "That's enough."

"All compensation will be mine. It has nothing to do with Claire. Don't use your malice to dirty someone's heart."

I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but despite it being midsummer, a chill ran down my spine.

The smile on my face stiffened. Suddenly, I felt it was all pointless.

I watched him hurry into the convenience store, carefully selecting a brand and type of sanitary pads.

Claire spoke up unexpectedly. "Ms. Miranda, you'll never understand the connection between Lyndon and me."

"We are kindred spirits. He appreciates my music, and I understand his struggles. None of this has to do with money or social class." She sounded proud, almost radiant.

"I'm different from you. I don't have a rich father, but I have an honest heart."

"Back then, Lyndon only married you because he was forced into a corner. If I had appeared a few years earlier, maybe he wouldn't look so refined and complete on the outside, while feeling utterly empty inside."

Empty inside, Lyndon?

I remembered the year I met him—he was working four jobs just to survive.

A boy whose father had gambled away the family's debts, forced to quit school and work early.

In the dead of winter, he wore a worn black cotton coat full of holes, his frame all skin and bone.

Even those striking eyes of his were lifeless.

I didn't know about teenage pride—I only knew he needed something, and I just happened to have it. So I pulled him out of the abyss, forcing him to accept all my kindness.

Forcing him to lift his head and look at me.

By the end, everyone in New York knew: Lyndon married me because he had no choice.

They said, "An aloof, poor genius boy—how could he resist the demands of a spoiled rich girl?"

Until that boy was cultivated into a tree everyone admired, they finally said I was lucky.

But no one knew that my contribution to this relationship went far beyond luck.

"He's a man, not your possession," Claire kept whispering in my ear.

In the past, my temper would have made me slap her twice. But seeing the man rushing toward us and the timid yet deliberately provocative woman, I changed my mind.

"You're right—he is a man. But he's my man. If you want to flaunt him in front of me, you'll need my consent—and you'll need to ask if he's really willing to be a heartless man who swallows a thousand needles for you."

My voice wasn't loud, yet it carried just enough to reach Lyndon's ears.

He frowned. "Reina, there's nothing between Claire and me. The gossip outside may seem trivial between us, but for a single girl like Claire, it's a huge slander."