Better a Dog Than a Husband Like You

On my wedding night, I suffered a heart attack. My body convulsed, leaving me unable to consummate the marriage. Andrew Smith, disgusted that I had ruined the mood, threw me into the living room.

Then he called in his female assistant, and the two of them spent the entire night under the covers, their voices echoing till dawn.

It wasn’t until I dragged myself, half-dead, to the basement, knocking on the door for help and attracting the dog’s attention, that I was rushed to the hospital just in time.

The next day, when I returned home, Andrew confronted me with fury:

“Did you steal Chloe’s necklace? It was here this morning, and now it’s gone. If you dare to bully her again, I’ll divorce you!”

I sneered. “She’s nothing. Why would I stoop to stealing from her?”

“Divorce it is! Marrying you is worse than raising a dog!”

What he didn’t know was—we couldn’t divorce, because we were never legally married in the first place.

When I stepped back into the house from the hospital, shredded clothes were scattered everywhere, proof of the chaos from the night before.

Covered in scratch marks, Andrew barked at me:

“You’re not dead? Then clean this mess up. Keep it quiet. Chloe was exhausted last night and is still sleeping!”

Andrew was always rigid, even keeping a household schedule. In the past, if I woke up just one minute late due to illness, he would mock and humiliate me.

But Chloe was different. For her, he bent every rule.

The scent of hawthorn blossoms in the air made me nauseous. I swept up the torn clothes and threw them away.

Seeing that I didn’t cry or fight back, but obediently cleaned instead, Andrew looked surprised. After all, I used to cause a scene whenever I was treated this way.

But now, I no longer cared.

The living room was a mess—clothes mixed with dog fur and blood.

Thinking of last night made my heart ache.

Just because Chloe was allergic to dog fur, Andrew had locked away the dog I had raised since childhood in the basement.

In order to save me, little Buddy broke free from his chains, smashed through the glass at the door with his head, and dragged me to the roadside.

I was saved, but Buddy was gravely injured and was now fighting for his life at the veterinary clinic.

As I carefully picked up the blood-stained fur, shards of glass cut my hands until they bled.

Andrew roared at me:

“You vile woman! Chloe is allergic to dog hair, and you’re collecting it to hurt her again?”

Again? How laughable. The supposedly rational Andrew lost all reason once Chloe was involved.

Whatever she said, he believed.

When Chloe woke up, she whined for Andrew to help her get dressed. His tender, child-coaxing tone was something I had never once heard directed at me.

Andrew ordered me:

“Chloe’s clothes are all torn. Go fetch the custom dresses that arrived a few days ago.”

I whispered in protest, “Those are mine. They won’t fit her.”

“I had them altered to her size already.” Andrew’s eyes shone with pride, as if waiting to see me crumble.

Chloe, dressed like a colorful butterfly, now had a wardrobe full of luxury couture, each piece both costly and perfectly fitted.

Andrew, who never posted photos on social media, now took shot after shot of Chloe.

His caption: The true lover isn’t beside you but forever in your heart.

After tidying up Buddy’s belongings, I hurried to the clinic.

But before I could leave, Chloe suddenly gasped:

“My necklace! It was right here yesterday!”

“I left it here, how could it just vanish?”

Her words were laced with accusation, all but pointing the finger at me.

Andrew didn’t even think twice before glaring coldly: