After Seven Years,I Was Never His Wife

I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

My mind kept drifting back to the past; it had been Brynn who had pursued me from the start.

He wasn’t like the others. He never flattered, never chased with hollow gestures. He simply appeared, quiet and steady, weaving himself into my life little by little until all my pride and clarity were slowly worn away.

I still remembered the moment I truly fell for him, it was seven years ago, during a business trip to France.

He had contacted the perfumery I often visited a week in advance, asking the artisan to craft a limited-edition fragrance based on a scent I had once blended myself.

The night I landed in France, the perfume arrived, along with a handwritten card.

"You once said scent could carry memories of love. So, will it help you remember me?"

He never spoke of what he had done.

Back then, my father didn’t approve. He said Brynn came from nothing, that we were worlds apart in status.

But Brynn didn’t argue. Just a month later, he merged a newly acquired pharmaceutical company into my family’s business, tripling its value overnight, earning my father’s respect through sheer action.

By then, I already knew I couldn’t live without him.

I went to my father and said, "I will marry him."

Our wedding was grand, a dream bathed in luxury. He held my hand and vowed, "From this day on, through rain or shine, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life."

I had once truly believed I’d married the right man in this lifetime.

Brynn spoiled me, understood me, respected me. He never tried to control me, never forced his will on me.

Instead, he wrapped me gently in his world, soft, steady, like silk winding around the heart.

His love left its mark on everything around me.

But I never imagined that just when I had surrendered completely, just when I had fallen hopelessly in love with him, he would deal me such a cruel, merciless blow.

The very next day, I hired a private investigator. By nightfall, I was holding a photo of Brynn’s actual marriage certificate.

The date stamped on it was from ten years ago. And in that photo, he was standing next to Sylvie.

Ten years. He had been married to Sylvie for ten years. And I had only been with him for seven.

The investigator explained that it had been an arranged marriage, set up by his family in their old house, meant to ward off bad luck. A fortune teller had said it only needed to last until he turned thirty. After that, they could part ways.

If Brynn had been honest with me from the start, I might have respected him.

But he chose to hide everything and even secretly had a child with that legal wife.

The thought of Brynn in bed with another woman made my stomach churn. I stumbled into the bathroom and vomited violently.

The sound must’ve woken him. Brynn rushed over, eyes turning red with panic as he reached for me.

“No, honey, we’re going to the hospital!”

I stared at the man before me, tears choking my voice as I asked, "Brynn, do you love me?"

He froze for a brief moment, then, without hesitation, pulled me into his arms and whispered, "Honey, of course I love you. You’re the one I love the most. What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

But how could a dream compare to this cruel reality?

He had been married to another woman for ten years. He had a child with her. And still, he couldn’t even bring himself to end it.

Was this really the love I once believed in?

I shut my eyes and wept in silence.

The next day, Brynn said he wanted to take me back to his hometown to visit "his deceased friend’s child," Solomon.

I didn’t refuse.

I had never truly looked at that child before. But today, I needed to see for myself.

I wouldn’t be able to let go unless I saw the truth with my own eyes.

Solomon lived in a villa near the old house under the care of her so-called "grandmother."

Brynn told me she was the child of a childhood friend who had passed away and that only her grandmother remained. He said he pitied the child.

He even encouraged me to meet her to see if we had any affinity.

But in my heart, I was cold as stone. Grandmother? Most likely, it was just an actress Brynn had arranged.

Before we even stepped through the door, a woman came running out and flung herself into his arms.

"Brother! You’re finally back! Did you come to see me?"

Sylvie clung to him, her voice soft with familiarity, her eyes brimming with dependence.

"Stop that, so clumsy, you can’t even walk straight!"

Brynn frowned, clearly annoyed, and shoved her off coldly.

The old me would’ve stepped in, smoothed things over, and told Brynn not to be so hard on his 'sister.'

But now, I simply looked at him, catching that brief flicker of gentleness that passed through his eyes.

I said nothing. I turned and walked upstairs, not to find Solomon, but to stand just beyond their sight, quietly watching from the staircase.

As expected, the moment I disappeared from view, Sylvie leaned into him again, her voice sweet as syrup.

"Brother, when are you going to give Solomon a rightful name? He cries every night for his daddy; it breaks my heart."