Eight Years of Fake Marriage, I Finally Let Go

My fingers tightened secretly around the fruit knife.

Hidden under the blanket, my hand was already riddled with shallow cuts—pain keeping me barely tethered to reason.

"You came all the way here just to tell me this. What do you want, Sienna?" I choked out.

"I'll divorce Terrence. You don't need to push me like this."

Her eyes widened, stunned for a split second before fury flushed her face.

"Divorce? Do you think I need you to step aside? You're nothing but a filthy parasite!"

With sudden force, she shoved me off the bed.

I hadn't expected her to strike so openly. My body slammed hard against the cold floor.

Freshly healed wounds tore open, sending a sharp burst of pain through me. My vision swam in black.

The knife slipped from my hand and clattered loudly against the tiles.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to get up. But Sienna's heel pinned my wrist down without hesitation. The sharp stiletto dug cruelly into my flesh.

"Did you really think a lowlife like you could compete with me?" she sneered.

Just then, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

In an instant, Sienna smeared my blood across her face, collapsing into pitiful sobs.

When Terrence pushed open the door, all he saw was me on the floor in a pool of blood... and Sienna weeping delicately behind him.

"Terrence," she cried, clinging to his sleeve, "I only wanted to congratulate Sienna on being discharged. She grabbed my hand and—she... she tried to throw herself on the knife!"

He froze, instinctively reaching to help me up—but her trembling whimpers halted him mid-step.

He pressed his fingers against his temple, voice taut with irritation. "Denise, can't you, just once, stop making things difficult for me?"

"For days I haven't had a single good night's sleep because of you."

I stared at the dark shadows beneath his eyes, bitter laughter rising in my throat.

"Not sleeping well... is that because of me? Or because you've been in Sienna's bed?"

He faltered, then crouched down to wipe the blood from my face. His voice softened to something almost coaxing.

"Denise... sometimes, it's better to pretend you don't understand. It's easier for both of us."

"I love you—but that doesn't mean I can't like another woman."

"When I've had enough of her, I'll avenge you. I promise."

The last sentence was whispered, almost too soft to hear.

I scrambled back, but his lips still brushed the corner of mine.

Not a flicker of emotion stirred in me—only revulsion.

So vile that in that moment, I regretted ever meeting him.

...

When they finally left, my phone rang.

"Miss Watkins," a staff member's voice came over the line, "we've checked the system. Both you and Mr. Hanson is registered as unmarried."

I froze. "What... what did you just say?"

"The marriage certificate you submitted—it's fake. There's no record of your marriage anywhere in the national registry."

My mind went blank. Even the pain in my body seemed muted.

"Miss Watkins? Are you still there?"

"I..." My throat was dry, words scraping out like sand. "You're saying... the certificate was fake?"

"Yes." The confirmation was merciless.

"The number doesn't exist, and the details don't match. Legally speaking, you and Mr. Hanson was never married. Which means your divorce agreement cannot take effect."

"I understand. Thank you." I ended the call mechanically. The phone slipped from my hand.

Fake...

The word pierced straight through my chest.

Terrence had given me a counterfeit marriage certificate. He had crowned me with the empty title of "Mrs. Hanson," letting me devote myself to him, wait for him, and endure humiliation after humiliation.

He had never once intended to give me a rightful place in his life.

Disgust welled up inside me—stronger, more suffocating than the revulsion I'd felt when he kissed me.

My stomach twisted. I gagged violently, but nothing came out.

Only tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. And yet, there was one silver lining to this devastation—At least now, I saw him clearly for what he truly was: rotten to the core.

And it made walking away that much easier.

After bandaging my wounds at the hospital, I went straight to the nurses' station and demanded the surveillance footage from earlier.

Sienna still thought I was the same Denise she once tormented.

When she returned from abroad, I hadn't fought back—because I trusted Terrence.

Because I believed his promises.

But now I know better.

What's owed to me, I'll reclaim with my own hands.

Armed with the footage and every record of Sienna's harassment, I compiled everything into a single folder.

I scheduled the files for a timed release.

...

Back at the villa, I packed.

The luxury items Terrence bought me—I left them untouched.

When I moved in, I only brought one small suitcase.

Now that I was leaving, I filled barely half of it.

Without looking back, I headed straight for the airport.