He Humiliated Me for His Ex,Now He's Begging Me to Stay

"Good. Let this be a warning. If you ever pull something like this again, it'll be a hundred times worse."

No apology for the misunderstanding.

No remorse for the damage done.

He didn't even acknowledge what she'd said about me, the cruelty she'd hurled in my direction.

Just a cold, flat warning.

I watched his back as he rushed out the door.

The burning sting on my cheek had gone numb.

Sleep was no longer an option.

I changed into clean clothes and was about to start packing when Victor knocked on my door.

His face was blank. Expressionless.

"Go make her some calming herbal tea. She's shaken up."

I paused. So this was it. His version of an olive branch. The most generous gesture he believed himself capable of.

Before, I would have jumped at it like a child handed a scrap of candy. Whatever he asked, I did. If he said one, I'd give him ten.

But now, I just shook my head.

"I can't. I have things to do tomorrow. I need to rest."

I closed the door.

A long silence followed.

Then a violent kick slammed against it.

"Make it or don't. I gave you a chance and you threw it away. Don't come crawling to me later, because there won't be a next time!"

His footsteps faded down the hall.

I smiled bitterly to myself.

"There won't be a next time."

After I turned him down, he took Alice and stormed out, the front door crashing shut behind them.

Half an hour later, the house filled with people. A cleaning lady. A cook. A housekeeper.

I understood the message perfectly.

He was telling me that from now on, I'd never again have the excuse of cooking his meals, brewing his soups, doing his laundry, tidying his home. Every small domestic ritual I'd used to stay close to him, every thread of contact I'd woven through service and devotion, was being cut.

I let out a quiet, helpless laugh. But before I could retreat to the bedroom, the housekeeper stopped me.

"Miss Farley, this property is Mr. Swanson's premarital asset. Since you two aren't married yet, you're not authorized to stay here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

My feet stopped. A dull ache bloomed behind my ribs.

I nodded, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out.

That was Victor. If things didn't go his way, he'd make sure you regretted it.

But it was fine. The woman marrying him wasn't going to be me.

I checked into a hotel for the night.

The next morning, a full hour before we were supposed to register the marriage, I called him.

No surprise. He didn't pick up.

A photo message from Alice popped up on my screen.

Victor was in a hospital room, half-kneeling beside her bed, carefully cleaning a wound on her arm.

Sorry, this shameless man just won't leave no matter how hard I try to shoo him away. Sit tight and wait a little longer, okay?

This wasn't the first time Alice had sent me something like this during the year and a half since she and Victor had supposedly broken things off.

The last time, my father had been rushed to the hospital after a stroke. I'd begged Victor, practically on my knees, to use his influence so the doctors would operate.

The surgical team was prepped and ready to go. Then Alice called, and Victor pulled every last one of them away.

By the time I saw the message and rushed to the hospital room, he had an entire team of specialists huddled around Alice, treating a scratch from a stray cat.

If that had happened any earlier in my life, I probably would have stormed in and torn the place apart.