I Dumped My Ex and Married His Uncle

Dayana's face went pale, the light in her eyes dying as if the life had been drained out of them.

Understandably so.

Three years of living through a nightmare would leave anyone scarred.

She dragged in a deep breath, forcing back the storm building inside her. Her fingers curled into fists. The car slipped under a bridge, sending fleeting shadows across Carter's expressionless face. He was the same as ever—cold and remote.

Swallowing the bitterness, Dayana dared to ask, "Carter... was it really you who paid those people off in prison?"

She had been pushed to her limit, still clinging to the hope that he might care for her—even as despair threatened to swallow her whole. She had once feared that without her, his life would become unbearable. Now she couldn't understand how the man she loved could be so cruel.

When their eyes met, Carter answered with chilling indifference. "What answer are you hoping to hear?"

Dayana faltered. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. So was this his confession?

In Carter's eyes, she had been jealous of Nora—jealous enough to orchestrate a kidnapping that nearly ruined Nora's life. The evidence had been overwhelming, leaving Dayana powerless against the accusations.

Nora had been the only one willing to risk everything—and she had won.

A harsh laugh tore from Dayana's throat as the realization hit her: seven years of love, and she had been so naive. Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, vacant and unfocused, until the car stopped in front of the home she and Carter had once shared as husband and wife.

She had been meticulous about every detail of their home—choosing the flooring, placing the flower pots, even painting the walls herself. She had dreamed of spending her life here with Carter. Now Nora's belongings were scattered through every room.

Everywhere she looked, it felt like a thousand needles were piercing her heart. The pain was so sharp it almost didn't feel real.

Carter, oblivious to the storm inside her, turned to the waiting housekeeper. "She's a mess. Make sure she gets cleaned up."

The housekeeper nodded and led Dayana to the bathroom. Once inside, she paused, then said with barely concealed disdain, "Miss, when was the last time you showered? You're still young. How can you let yourself go like this?"

She was only twenty-four. Didn't she want to be clean?

Dayana said nothing. She dismissed the housekeeper with silence and locked herself in the bathroom, scrubbing herself almost raw for nearly an hour.

Her body carried the marks of the "special treatment" she'd endured for three years. The past month had offered some relief, but many wounds had barely begun to heal.

Some scars were hidden from casual view—bruises and cuts layered over one another. Pinches, scratches, kicks, knife wounds—each told its own story.

With no medical treatment in prison, some injuries had gotten infected. The worst was a long scar across her left foot. It had been there for over a year, throbbing whenever it rained—a constant reminder of what they had done to her. But she told herself it would heal. Somehow.

Whenever the pain became too much, Dayana clung to that fragile hope.

The clothes the housekeeper had laid out fit her surprisingly well. When she opened the bathroom door, she nearly collided with Carter.

Caught off guard, she lost her balance and nearly fell—until Carter instinctively caught her by the waist.

The movement was automatic. Pure reflex.

For one fleeting moment, Dayana was pressed against Carter's chest, both of them startled by the unexpected embrace. His cologne clung heavily to his clothes, and she felt the fabric crumple beneath her grip.

The instant she realized what was happening, she pulled back and stepped away, her expression carefully blank. "I'm sorry, Mr. Munoz. It was unintentional."

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the cigarette in his hand. He must have been about to head outside to smoke.

"What did you call me?"

Carter's eyes narrowed. His voice went sharp, his gaze fixed on her like an accusation. "Mr. Munoz? Dayana, what are you trying to pull now?"

Dayana bit her lip and looked down, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. No matter what she did, she was always wrong in the eyes of the man who had once loved her.

Even as she withdrew, Carter felt an unexpected emptiness—a hollow ache in the wake of her retreat. There she stood, eyes reddened by tears she wouldn't let fall... Something darker stirred in him, an inexplicable urge to reach out to her.

Carter lit his cigarette, his throat tight as he wrestled with his rising frustration. "Looks like those three years taught you how to play men even better." His words dripped with sarcasm. "What's the matter? Eager to put those skills to the test?"