Betraying Me, Then Leaving You Is the Best Punishment

Harry lazily blew out a smoke ring, his contempt-laced words cutting through Christine like a blade sharp, deliberate and without mercy.

Her chest tightened. The ache bloomed from her heart and spread through every inch of her body. Just as sorrow surged to the surface, she crushed it back down.

“Guys, keep talking. I’ll be right back!”

A man’s laughter rang out as he stood up. Alarmed, Christine instinctively turned away and fled behind another tent.

After what she’d just overheard being mocked as nothing more than a “beautiful sexual partner” getting caught now would be like having her pride ground into dust, stomped beneath their feet.

In a panic, she wiped at her face and felt warm tears. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

Five years. This was the first time Harry had made her cry.

And the first time... had shattered her completely. She left the campsite in a daze, stumbling like a lifeless shell, her steps uneven as memories clawed at her like a beast from the past.

As Harry was Jane’s younger brother, Christine remembered it had all started that summer when she left Boston for London to visit Jane who was in pregnancy.

They were living under the same roof. That was when she first laid eyes on Harry who was dangerously handsome, like a star stepped out of a dream. Even in the entertainment industry, where handsome men were a dime a dozen, Harry would still be considered top-tier.

But Christine had always been realistic. She knew good looks didn’t pay bills. So, aside from the occasional silent admiration, she never let her thoughts stray into forbidden territory.

After graduating from university, she decided not to remain in Boston, where everything came with strings attached. She chose to settle U.S. instead.

Since her brother married Jane, he became a devoted husband and father by working so hard. He frequently flew back and forth between London and the U.S., managing business through video conferences. As a result, the large villa was usually occupied only by Jane and Harry.

Christine’s talent quickly earned her a position as project supervisor. One night, she decided to celebrate it by opening a bottle of wine from her brother’s collection.

Halfway through the bottle, an unbearable heat swept through her body. Her limbs went weak. She collapsed onto the living room sofa, flushed and dazed, her beauty glowing with an intoxicating warmth.

That’s when Harry walked in. He froze the moment he saw her then noticed the bottle on the table. His expression shifted.

That wine wasn’t just any wine. It was a specially prepared blend meant for romantic nights, a “couple’s wine” that his brother had warned him never to mix up. Just a glass or two was enough to ignite passion between two people. And this woman had drunk at least half a bottle.

Realizing something was terribly wrong, Christine clutched at him desperately, begging him to take her to the hospital.

Instead, Harry caught her in his arms, lowered his head to her ear and whispered, voice like velvet.

“Darling, let me be your cure.”

That night, they gave in to a feverish frenzy. Their bodies intertwined with wild hunger and Harry’s kiss marks were left all over Christine’s skin.

By morning, she woke up aching all over, her limbs sore as if they’d been disassembled and put back together. She turned to see Harry at the mirror, smiling faintly as he gently rubbed a hickey on his neck.

Mortified, she rushed to dress, wanting nothing more than to flee this nightmare. But just as she reached for the doorknob, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his arms. Her head rested against his firm chest.

The steady thump of his heartbeat told her he wasn’t as unaffected as he looked. And yet, he schooled his expression and said coolly, “Christine, did you come here, get what you wanted… and now you’re just going to leave?”