After I Disappeared, He Realized that He Loved Me

It was laughable, really. The man who kept saying he'd marry me hasn't even shared a bed with me for the past six months.

Two months ago, he successfully took down his eldest aunt, the person in the company who had been suppressing him the hardest and was overjoyed. That night, while he drunk, he forced me onto the bed.

When I found out the baby was gone, I didn't feel sad or heartbroken. Instead, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

Peter stood there stiffly, frozen in place for a long time before finally unclenching his fists and said, "Gone is gone. It's not like you'd be a good mother anyway." He yanked off his tie and headed toward the bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed as my tears, no longer under control, poured down like a flood. How did things end up like this? We used to be so happy and in love.

We had been together for four years in college and he was so low-key he was almost invisible. After graduation, we lived together in a cramped ten-square-meter apartment in the city's outskirts. We did everything together, cooked, cleaned and shared every small chore. Our world was filled with nothing but each other.

Even at work, we'd bring homemade lunches to save on takeout costs and by the end of the month, we'd use the money we saved to splurge on a meal or enjoy a fun day out. We lived frugally, counting every penny, but we were exceptionally happy.

That's how we spent the first two years. Then, one day, Peter surprised me with an extremely expensive necklace. It was said to be worth nearly thirty thousand.

I was terrified. I cried, saying that we were saving for a wedding and a house and couldn't afford such luxuries.

But he just laughed mischievously, pulling me into his arms and said I had passed his test and that he wanted to take me home to meet his parents.

I was confused, not understanding what kind of test he meant. But I was happy. Meeting his parents meant we were close to getting married, so I shared my own piece of good news, I was pregnant.

The next day, however, tragedy struck. His father had an accident and passed away after unsuccessful resuscitation. It was then that I found out Peter was the eldest grandson of the famous Griffin Family conglomerate.

After his father's sudden death, his eldest aunt not only transferred her shares to her husband but also seized the opportunity to take control of the company, rallying supporters to try and wrest the Griffin Family business from them.

Suddenly, Peter had to shoulder the burden of the entire Griffin Family, leaving no time for him to return to the small home we had once shared.

His mother, mourning the loss of her husband, summoned me privately and firmly demanded that I should leave Peter.

Given the severe circumstances at the time, the only way to regain control of the situation was through a marriage alliance with the Aston Family, long-time family friends. The chosen bride was Claire Aston.

Mrs. Griffin, didn't wanting Claire to misunderstand, had no choice but to drove me away. From every angle, it was clear that I, a girl from a small, powerless town, couldn't help Peter. I would only drag him down by requiring his care.

I loved Peter, loved him down to my bones. I didn't want to leave him. I couldn't even fathom how I'd live without him. But if I stayed, I'd have to watch him marry another woman and that would be even more unbearable than death.

I never imagined that the kind of dramatic plotlines seen on TV would happen to me. It felt like I was trapped in a dream.

Before I had a chance to respond to Mrs. Griffin's ultimatum, she had already made her move. First, I was fired from my job under false accusations of causing a major loss to the company.

Then, my landlord suddenly asked me to move out, claiming that he had sold the apartment and was willing to compensate me three times my deposit.

Suddenly, two men grabbed me, trying to kidnapped me away.

Terrified, I screamed for help in the cramped hallway and when neighbors came out to see what was happening, I broke free and escaped. But every hotel and inn refused to accept me.

Hiding under a bridge, I called Peter, but he didn't answer. I sent him messages. For two days, I evaded capture, but they eventually found me. They injected me with something, making me lose consciousness. When I woke up, I was being wheeled to the airport.

Just as I was about to be forced onto a plane, Peter arrived, stopping them. He stood there, blocking my path, tears streaming down my face, I was helpless and unable to move.