After Ten Years of Betrayal

I closed the door gently behind them, their angry voices still echoing faintly as a sharp pang hit my heart.

Dragging my suitcase to the hospital, I passed the area where thick smoke rose constantly—clothes and shoes contaminated by illness were destined to be incinerated there. As I opened the suitcase, each item of clothing fell into the furnace, the flames consuming everything instantaneously.

It was over. Tomorrow, I could finally leave.

Back in my hospital bed, I fell asleep in less than ten minutes, for once not plagued by insomnia. However, my phone buzzed incessantly through the night, waking me too early in the morning.

When I turned it on, a deluge of notifications bombarded me. The top three trending topics were all about me, Dennis, and Priscilla.

"Scandal! CEO caught on set with his mistress!"

"Dennis takes Priscilla home; Estella burns her clothes in fury."

The internet was swarming with comments, denouncing Priscilla as the other woman. Despite Dennis being married for years, Priscilla had knowingly taken on that role, leading to her being blacklisted everywhere.

I skimmed the comments. The insults were from countless anonymous accounts. I could guess her aim with this drastic act—it was to burden Dennis with guilt, ensuring her future as the next Mrs. Ford.

Then Dennis arrived, grabbed my phone for a quick look, and smashed it to the floor.

"Estella, you're ruthless. You knew acting was Priscilla's passion, and now you've annihilated her career. Are you happy?"

"I see why you were so calm last night; you planned to ruin her all along, didn't you?"

"She just had a miscarriage and can't take this kind of pressure. If I hadn't found her, she might've jumped!"

"Come with me… She's on the thirteenth floor of the hospital. You're coming to apologize!"

Apologize?

I couldn't help but laugh incredulously.

"Apologize for what? Was anything online untrue? Isn't Priscilla the homewrecker?"

"She knew you had a family, yet flaunted her actions in front of your wife. Doesn't she deserve criticism?"

Dennis seized my wrist, dragging me out. He didn't hear a word I said; his mind was consumed with thoughts of Priscilla, like some fragile heroine from a tragedy.

Seeing Dennis pull me along, the journalists by the bed sprang to life.

"Mrs. Ford, are the photos online real? Did Dennis and Priscilla really flaunt their relationship in front of you?"

"Mrs. Ford, Priscilla has been the other woman for years; have you been unaware?"

Just as I was about to speak, Dennis leaned in, hissing in my ear, "Estella, I know you have a flight tonight. If you speak up, you know what I'm capable of."

Indeed, with his resources, it wouldn’t matter where I tried to escape.

I laughed bitterly at myself.

Facing the reporters, I declared loudly, "Miss Lane is not the mistress. The photos are all doctored. It was my jealousy that led me to hire people to defame her."

As I finished, Dennis gave me a firm shove. "Apologize!"

Gazing at Priscilla's seemingly delicate face, I bowed deeply. "I'm sorry, Miss Lane. I was wrong from the start, intruding on your relationship."