Better a Dog Than a Husband Like You

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

I laughed bitterly. “She’s not worth my effort.”

“You still deny it? If you don’t apologize, then it’s divorce!”

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

I stormed out, but Andrew’s men blocked my way.

“You packed everything. Now the necklace is missing and you want to run? No way!”

He dragged over several garbage bins and shoved my head inside, warning I couldn’t leave until I found it.

For Buddy’s sake, I searched, retching from the stench, my hands cut open by shards of glass until the blood ran down my arms. Finally, Andrew called it off.

Chloe pinched her nose disdainfully. “Andrew, it’s not here. Maybe she’s hiding it on her.”

Andrew didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Hand it over.”

I forced myself upright, my eyes burning with defiance. “I told you, I didn’t take it.”

“Is that so? Then let’s search.”

At his signal, two burly bodyguards lunged at me.

My blouse was torn, my pants ripped open, my shoes gone save for one.

I struggled desperately, only to be slapped twice so hard that my head spun, the taste of blood filling my throat.

By the time they stopped, I was stripped down to just two undergarments, clutching my exposed body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Only then did Chloe stroll out leisurely. “Andrew, I just found it under the pillow. Oops, I must’ve blamed my sister by mistake.”

Her tone was light, her eyes gleaming with glee, not a hint of guilt.

Andrew frowned, looking annoyed, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over me.

“Sorry. The little one doesn’t know any better.”

At the veterinary clinic, Buddy was hooked up to an IV. His most serious injury was a shard of glass lodged in his skull.

Separated by the sterile glass, we gazed at each other, both our eyes brimming with tears.

Buddy had to remain hospitalized, so I went out to buy food and supplies.

On my way back, I passed a flower shop and saw Chloe squatting beside a huge bouquet of roses, posing for photos while Andrew watched her with adoration.

When he noticed me, Andrew said awkwardly, “There’s one for you too. I’ll have it sent to your office later.”

Then he took Chloe by the arm and led her into a limited-edition sports car, seating her in the co-pilot’s seat no one else was allowed to touch.

After making sure everything for Buddy was arranged, I returned to work.

Ever since my father passed, I had become the sole heir. To secure my position, I agreed to a business marriage with Andrew, arranged by Mr. Smith.

Of course, part of it was my own desire too.

Years ago, when Andrew was a rebellious teen skipping class, he stumbled across me being bullied. He beat them off arrogantly, declaring:

“She’s under my protection. Touch her if you dare.”

To him, it was nothing.

To me, it was everything.

He didn’t even know my name back then.

Naturally, he never realized that from that moment, I had loved him—silently chasing after him for ten long years.

When I reached the office building, the entrance was overflowing with flowers. Only then did I realize—it was Valentine’s Day.

I held back a trace of hope as I looked for Andrew’s bouquet to me.

It was a small, withered bunch, squeezed and dehydrated, looking like the discarded scraps from Chloe’s arrangement.

Just like our relationship—what I received was only what Chloe didn’t want.