Eight Years of Fake Marriage, I Finally Let Go

The moment he placed the flowers into a vase, I shoved them violently to the floor. "Get out! I said get out!"

Shards of glass scattered across the tiles.

Terrence didn't get angry. Instead, he crouched down and began picking up the fragments. A sharp hiss escaped his lips when one of the shards sliced his finger.

Instinctively, he looked at me. But I didn't spare him even a glance. My face was turned firmly toward the window.

A heavy silence pressed against him.

Finally, he stood, moved to sit by the window, and forced my face into his hands.

"I know you're angry with me," he said lowly. "But at that moment, I could only save one person."

"Sienna was closer. So I pulled her out first."

"Besides—look at you. You're fine, aren't you?"

As if to sweeten his excuses, he pulled a piece of chocolate from his pocket as though it were some magic trick. "Eat something sweet. It'll make you feel better."

He unwrapped it and tried to feed it to me.

With disgust burning in my veins, I slapped his hand away. "Are you deaf? I told you to get out!"

The chocolate rolled across the floor, spinning several times before coming to a stop.

Being cursed at again and again stripped away the little guilt he had left. His expression hardened as he sprang to his feet.

"Keep this up, and I'll cut off your brother's treatment!"

I raised my trembling hand and pointed toward the door. "Get. Out."

This time, he slammed the door behind him.

I buried myself in the blankets, sobbing until my throat was raw, until my lungs burned.

During my hospital stay, Terrence came almost every day.

And every single time, I threw him out.

The fights grew sharper, uglier, louder.

He was the one who broke every principle, yet to outsiders, it looked as though I was spoiled and unreasonably difficult—as though I was the wife who never knew when to stop.

I pressed my palms over my ears, whispering silently to myself, 'Fifteen more days. Just fifteen, and I'll finally have that divorce certificate.'

But I never imagined that on the day of my discharge... Sienna would dare show up.

She looked as radiant as ever, wearing flawless makeup, and elegant clothes. But the venom in her smile hadn't changed a bit.

Her eyes swept me up and down, then she clicked her tongue in disdain. "A pheasant will always be a pheasant, even if it flies onto a branch and pretends to be a phoenix."

"Denise, why is your life so disgustingly lucky? First, you played the part of the fragile little flower and seduced Riguel. Then you latched onto Terrence when he was still just a promising nobody."

Her sweet face twisted with malice. "But none of that matters. I crushed you once, and I can crush you a thousand times more."

Sienna sneered as she waved the video she had cherished for years right in front of me.

“Back then, didn’t you look just like a gutter rat dragged into the light?”

On the screen, my face was pale green with shame, my body stripped bare.

Countless phones pointed at me, flashing, as waves of laughter crashed over me.

Some even reached out, mocking me with their hands.

I had thought I’d already left the past behind. But when the nightmare replayed itself, I shook uncontrollably. The old wound beneath its scab began to burn and itch.

My gaze flickered to the fruit knife resting on the table.

"What's wrong?" Sienna's voice dripped with mockery. "Uncomfortable?"

"I heard you developed depression after being expelled and even had suicidal tendencies?"

Her laugh rang like a death knell. "You're crazy, and your brother is a dead cripple. No wonder you're siblings."

She leaned closer, shoving the phone against my face, forcing me to watch.

"Do you know? I have so many of these videos. When I was abroad, I watched one every night before bed."

Her smile curved sharper, her words slow and deliberate, savoring my pain. "Oh, and one more thing. Something you probably don't know..."

She paused, enjoying my trembling silence. "The day your brother died... I was in bed with Terrence."