He Begged Me to Stay After I Stopped Loving Him

She had barely rounded the corner when she ran headlong into Morton, rushing toward them from the other direction.

The man cursed under his breath and vanished into the shadows.

Morton went straight to Zara's side, his eyes brimming with undisguised concern.

"What happened? Who was that man just now?"

Zara's gaze darted away, and she looked at me with a timid, frightened expression.

"I... I just got here and found Viola hiding in the garage with that man... having some kind of secret rendezvous..."

"He probably got spooked when he saw you and ran off."

I stared at her in disbelief. I'd just saved her, and she was twisting the whole thing around, repaying my kindness with a knife in the back.

But Morton believed every word. He was convinced I'd been cheating on him.

He wouldn't let me explain. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the car, practically shaking with fury.

Back at the house, Morton flung me onto the couch.

The room spun as he pinned me down beneath him.

His jaw was clenched so tight the words came out through gritted teeth. "No wonder you've been avoiding me lately. You've got someone else on the side."

I fought against his grip. "I don't!"

"Zara saw it with her own eyes. You're still going to lie to my face?"

His eyes were bloodshot, and buried somewhere in those depths was a flash of hurt I couldn't quite understand.

"Viola, I'd finally made up my mind to make this marriage work. Why would you do this to me?"

Before I could answer, he crushed his mouth against mine in a kiss that was more punishment than passion.

I froze. For a moment, I forgot to push him away.

Three years of marriage, and Morton had never once touched me willingly.

On our wedding night, I'd come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and slipped my arms around him from behind. He'd flinched away in disgust and told me to keep my distance.

Later, I tried wearing lingerie and sliding under his covers. He didn't even glance at me. He just rolled over, putting his back to me, and fell asleep.

No matter how hard I tried to please him, he was unmoved. A stone wall would have been warmer.

It wasn't until last year, at a gala where he'd drunk himself blind, that he mistook me for Zara.

That night, he pressed me into the mattress and didn't stop until dawn.

The memory of my clothes being torn hit me like a slap.

By the time I came back to my senses, I'd already struck Morton hard across the face.

He went rigid. The shock in his eyes curdled into white-hot rage.

"You think I wanted to touch you? If you hadn't spent the last three years following me around like a dog, I wouldn't even stomach looking at you!"

"In my heart, you're not worth Zara's little finger!"

He kicked over the coffee table and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

That night, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

At first, Zara just sent messages to taunt me.

Morton got drunk and won't leave my place. What can I do?

You've been chasing him like a lovesick puppy for years, and you still can't make him love you? I'm embarrassed for you.

He can't get over me. Guess you just don't have what it takes. You couldn't compete with me in college, and nothing's changed.

When I didn't respond, she sent photos. Morton, shirtless, asleep in her bed beside her.

What a sad excuse for a wife. Can't even keep your own man satisfied.

I looked at those shameless photos and those poisonous words, and I felt nothing. Not a ripple. Not a sting. Just stillness, like the surface of a lake after the last stone has already been thrown.

That night, for the first time in a long while, I slept soundly.

The next morning, it was a phone call that jolted me awake.

My coworker's voice was frantic. "Viola, someone's poaching your clients! Get to the office, now!"

Confused, I rushed in and found the lobby buried in roses.

Zara was nestled against Morton's chest like a helpless little bird, her smile dripping with satisfaction.

Morton glanced at me, then deliberately wrapped his arm around Zara's waist.

His voice was laced with exaggerated tenderness.

"Zara, whatever you want, it's yours. As long as it makes you happy."

Zara pressed her palms to his chest in a show of bashful protest. "Stop it. Everyone's watching."

The onlookers whispered among themselves, their eyes drifting toward me one by one.

Some people looked sympathetic. Others were clearly enjoying the show.

"Isn't Mr. Harding her husband? Flirting with another woman right in front of his wife? That's bold."

"Please. Viola doesn't even seem to care. Why should we?"

"I heard Miss Fox and Mr. Harding were the real couple all along. Viola schemed to drive her away, then trapped him into marrying her."

"Well, no wonder she got cheated on. Karma."

Watching me get torn apart by the court of public opinion, Morton strolled toward me with a satisfied look on his face.

"Viola, if you just swallow your pride right now, I might consider giving you another chance."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly would you like me to do?"

Morton stood there like he'd already won. "Get on your knees and beg me not to leave you."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

The sheer arrogance. Standing there like a king on a throne, as if he'd forgotten that everything he had came from me.

"Morton, I think it's best if my lawyer handles the rest of this conversation."

I'd already contacted an attorney the night before to file for divorce. Between the messages and photos Zara had sent me, I had more than enough to prove his infidelity during the marriage. He'd walk away with nothing.

Morton hadn't even processed what I'd said before Zara launched into her performance.

She grabbed my arm, her voice dripping with desperate sincerity. "Please, stop fighting over me. I promise I won't contact Morton anymore. Just don't be angry..."

The accusations from the crowd grew louder.

I was done with her lies. Done with the act.

I was about to expose her right there in front of everyone when a furious shout erupted from behind me.

"You! You ruined my deal last night. I'll kill you!"

I turned around.

It was the man from the parking garage, the one who'd been struggling with Zara the night before.

He had a knife in his hand, and he was charging straight at me.