Dumped by the Man I Saved, I Married His Worst Nightmare

“Then you truly have hurt her for her to leave like that…”

Those were the last words I heard as Mara’s voice carried faintly through the room. She wasn’t talking to me. She was on the phone—with him. With Dorian.

I froze, the sweater I had been folding slipping from my hands.

My chest tightened as if the air itself had turned against me. Mara’s back was to me, her voice taut with anger, and then the call ended abruptly.

The silence that followed was unbearable until Mara sighed and turned to me, her brows drawn in worry. “Are you really sure about this, Cassie? I mean… it seems like he’s looking for you. You could talk, just like the old times when you both had misunderstandings. You used to fix things so easily.”

I shook my head slowly, my throat tightening. “No. Not this time. This isn’t something a talk can fix. He hurt me, Mara. He let me be humiliated in front of everyone. He stood there while they threw food at me, mocked me, treated me like I was dirt. He didn’t even defend me.” My chest burned as I forced the words out. “So no, I won’t let him find me again.”

Her gaze softened, though it didn’t lose its edge. “Do you still love him though?”

I closed my eyes, the silence stretching between us. My lips trembled before I finally whispered, “Yeah. And I don’t think I’d ever not love him. That’s the problem.”

The confession broke something inside me. My body leaned back against the chair, eyes closing as an old memory rose unbidden.

We were in the apartment back then, our world small but enough. The cupboards were almost bare, the fridge humming weakly with only a carton of milk, some leftovers, and cheap coffee inside.

The floorboards creaked whenever we walked, and the peeling wallpaper carried the scent of old paint. But it was home. Our home.

Dorian was bent over the tiny stove, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to make rice and a few vegetables stretch for both of us. The pan hissed as he stirred too quickly, and I laughed from where I sat at the rickety table.

“You’re going to burn it again,” I teased, resting my chin on my hand. “Do you really hate me that much, Dorian? Poisoning me slowly?”

He shot me a mock glare over his shoulder. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a natural-born chef. This is a secret recipe.”

“Secretly inedible, maybe,” I quipped, grinning.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scooped the unevenly cooked rice onto two chipped plates. The vegetables looked limp, the seasoning almost nonexistent, but he carried them to the table with the pride of a man serving a feast.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, setting the plate in front of me with a grin so wide it made my chest ache. “One day, Camille, I’ll buy you a whole feast. Every day, every meal—you’ll never have to worry about empty cupboards again.”

I stared at him for a moment, the sincerity in his eyes stealing the air from my lungs. Then I shook my head, a soft laugh escaping me as I reached across the table to take his hand.

“Don’t make promises like that. I don’t care about feasts or palaces. Just stay with me. That’s all I want.”

His thumb brushed against my knuckles, rough from working shifts that exhausted him as much as me. He squeezed gently, leaning forward. “I will. I’ll always stay.”

I blinked rapidly, dragging myself back into the present, and Mara reached out to squeeze my hand. “Don’t worry. We’re in an island now. He won’t find us here. You’re safe.”

I nodded, though my chest still ached. “Thank you, Mara. For everything.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “But tell me honestly, Cassie… what are you going to do with Landon? Are you really going to marry him?”

The question sat heavy on my chest. I swallowed hard, my eyes drifting away. “I’m… not sure. I have to think. I can’t make another mistake. Not again. I need to be clear with him before I decide anything.”

Mara squeezed my hand again. “Whatever it is, I’ll be here. Always.”

I gave her a small, weary smile and nodded.

Later that evening, I busied myself with arranging my things. The room smelled faintly of sea breeze, but it couldn’t mask the heaviness in my heart.

As I folded clothes into a suitcase, my hands brushed against something stiff. I pulled it out—an envelope filled with old photographs.

My breath hitched.

It was us. Me and Dorian, back in that little apartment. His smile was wide and carefree, his arm slung around my shoulders as though the world outside didn’t exist. In another photo, I was laughing so hard my eyes had disappeared into crescents, while Dorian looked at me like I was the only thing worth seeing.

I sank onto the bed, clutching the pictures to my chest as the tears finally spilled. They burned as they slid down my cheeks, soaking the photos until the images blurred.

“What happened to us?” I whispered into the silence. “When did we stop being enough for each other?”

The sobs came harder, my body trembling with the weight of everything I’d lost. My chest felt tight, my stomach churning until suddenly I lurched forward.

I barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting, my body rejecting everything at once—food, tears, grief.

When it was over, I pressed my palm against the cool tiles, my body shivering. My head spun, vision darkening at the edges. I stumbled back toward the bed, my knees weak.

And then the dizziness overwhelmed me.

The last thing I saw was the photograph of us slipping from my hand to the floor as I collapsed beside it, my body giving in at last.