He Married Me for Revenge, Not Love

She didn’t know how long she had cried, but when she finally stood, her head was spinning. A warm, sticky liquid oozed from her nose.

“Ah, Miss Carrington, you’re bleeding!” a passing staff member exclaimed, grabbing her arm. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

She wiped away the bright red blood and forced a faint smile. “It’s nothing—just a nosebleed.”

Lately, her hair had been falling out in clumps, and nosebleeds had returned for reasons she couldn’t explain. She assumed this one, like the others, would stop in a few minutes. But the dizziness worsened, her vision dimmed, and her face drained to an almost ghostly pallor.

Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Soren: Linnea, you haven’t forgotten what day it is today, have you? Get over here!

Her hands trembled as she clicked the location—Greymount Cemetery. Today was the anniversary of Ellie’s death.

She hesitated, clutching her chest as a suffocating pain spread through it. “Soren, I’m not feeling well today. Can you—”

“What did you say?” His voice over the phone was like ice. “Unless you’re dead, crawl over here and apologize to my sister!”

Not daring to delay, she rushed out into the pouring rain.

By the time she arrived at the cemetery, drenched and gasping, she saw two figures not far away. Soren was kneeling on one knee, tying an immortal knot bracelet on Agatha’s wrist. His voice was gentle. “Sister, I’ve brought the person I love to see you. Her name is Agatha—she’s the most beautiful and kind girl in the world. Six years ago, in that car accident, she risked her life to donate 1,000cc of blood for me… if it weren’t for her, I’d be dead. Sister, I’ll treat Agatha well forever. Please bless us from heaven.”

Linnea froze, the pain she had been forcing down now roaring back—her chest felt like it was burning to ash.

Six years ago, when they were most in love, Soren had been in that accident while buying her a red velvet cake. Critically injured, he needed blood—his rare type. It had been the pregnant Linnea who rushed to the hospital and donated all 1,000cc. She went into shock and lost the baby. She’d even told the doctor not to tell him, afraid he’d blame himself. And yet, somehow, Agatha became the “savior” in his memory.

Even if she told him the truth now, he would only mock her.

Soren strode over, cold fingers clamping her arm. “Kneel.”

She said nothing, obediently sinking to her knees before Ellie’s grave, banging her forehead against the stone.

Every year on this day, he found a new way to torment her. The first year, he made her scatter her father’s ashes at the grave and gather them again, bone by bone, until not a gram was missing—her fingers shattered and bleeding. The second year, she carried a hundred-pound slab up the mountain to carve Yinyin’s tombstone herself. The third year, she copied the Sutra of Rebirth a thousand times, her hands raw and bloody. The fourth year, she spent the night locked in the cemetery with five half-starved dogs.

This year, bodyguards arrived carrying a large box. Inside were all her memories with Soren.

He picked up their wedding photo, his wrist trembling.

“Soren, don’t…” she choked, dragging herself forward to clutch his leg.

But he smashed the frame to the ground, glass shattering across the wet grass. One by one, he destroyed everything: the scarf he’d knitted for her, the couple’s mugs, the blood-stained wedding dress—until only their marriage certificate remained.

“Linnea, let’s get a divorce.” His eyes glistened, but his voice was steady. “In three days, I’ll marry Agatha. You’ll be our bridesmaid. After the wedding, I’ll let you go.”

She stared, stunned. For five years she had begged for divorce, and each time he refused. Now he was willing to throw away even his hatred for Agatha’s sake.

She smiled faintly. “Okay. Mr. Duvall, can I leave now?”

But Agatha caught her wrist. “Miss Carrington, you haven’t apologized to Ellie yet. As her murderer, don’t you feel even a shred of guilt after all these years?”

Linnea’s nostrils filled with the metallic tang of blood again. No—she couldn’t let them see her like this. She shook off Agatha’s hand, but the woman screamed, collapsing from her wheelchair.

“Agatha!”

She lay on the ground, wrists scraped bloody, the immortal knot broken. Soren rushed to scoop her up.

Between sobs, she gasped, “Linnea… you killed Ellie, and now you humiliate me because I can’t walk? Was I wrong to speak to you?”

Soren’s voice was a blade. “Linnea, are you looking for death? How many people around me do you have to kill before you stop?”

He seized her wrist—and froze. It was so thin, it felt like it would snap.

She lifted her head, trying to speak, but a surge of crimson poured from her nose. “I…”