I'll Stay until the 101st Time He Leaves Me Broken

Davina’s POV

Dexon Langford, the famous football player, sent me the 95th video of him and Cleo—his so-called cousin—entangled in a way that no two relatives should be.

The first time—at our very engagement party.

She’d just gotten into college and jumped into his arms… to kiss him.

The second time—on our seventh anniversary.

He’d stepped out to take a call. Just five minutes later, I got a photo of him and Cleo lying together on the same bed.

And on and on it went.

This time, the 95th time they betrayed me, was on our very wedding day.

Daxon disappeared in the wedding venue without a word. I stood there in a white gown, looking like a fool, apologizing to the guests for the groom’s sudden “emergency.”

Then my phone buzzed.

Fireworks lit up the night sky on screen.

Cleo leaned against Daxon’s bare chest, her eyes locked on the camera like she knew I’d be watching. Like she was daring me to react.

I ripped off my veil and threw it in the trash. Pulled off the ring that never quite fit right. Wiped my tears, smiled through the ache, and told everyone Daxon must’ve had a good reason.

Once the crowd had cleared, I cried in my mother’s arms.

Then, for the 95th time, I forgave Daxon.

What he didn’t know was… I was counting.

I was waiting for him to betray me until the hundred and first time.

That’s how many times he’s proposed to me over the years.

That’s the day I’ll leave him for good.

But how come, after I agreed to an arranged marriage and became a billionaire’s bride, Daxon was suddenly the one on his knees, begging me to come back?

I watched his hurried figure leaving. When he was out of sight, I wiped my face and called the number I hadn’t dialed in years.

“I changed my mind,” I said. “Is it too late?”

When I heard a “No,” right then and there, I started saying goodbye to Daxon in my heart.

‘I don’t want to be the bride in a wedding like this, Daxon. And I certainly don’t want a man like you to be my husband!’

……

When he got home that night—hours after vanishing on our wedding day—he tried to make it up to me. He held me close and kissed me gently… like we were still in love.

For a second, I let myself soften. I sank into his arms… until his phone rang.

“Daxon,” Cleo’s voice came through the line. “My graduation party’s starting! We’re all waiting for you!”

Daxon looked at me with a sorry smile, already pulling on his shirt.

“I have to go,” he said. “It’s her big night.”

I said nothing. Just watched him leave. Again.

Cleo had moved to L.A. three years ago for college and turned my relationship into a nightmare.

She had perfect timing—always calling when it would hurt the most.

I lost count of how many times Daxon left me in the middle of the night because she needed something.

Eventually, she moved into our apartment, claiming she had issues with her roommates.

After that, she stopped pretending. She’d walk into our bedroom without knocking. More than once, Daxon and I scrambled to get dressed under her smug, unbothered stare.

At first, Daxon tried to set boundaries.

But somehow, she became part of “us.”

Every anniversary. Every big moment. She was always there.

And somewhere along the way, she became more important than me.

Like today.

Just one phone call from Cleo, and my wedding was canceled. Daxon left me on the aisle just ‘cause Cleo needed him at her fucking graduation party.

Goddamn it, I was the woman carrying his child—seven weeks along!

Not long after he left, an unknown number sent me a video.

On the screen, I watched my groom and Cleo wrapped around each other under the sky lit with fireworks.

It didn’t take long for that to hit the internet.

Daxon was America’s football golden boy—every glance, every gesture caught the public eye. And this scene was no exception.

I looked at the screen, pulled a tired smile, and felt absolutely nothing.

I closed my eyes and counted.

‘Ninety-six.’

I couldn’t remember when the pain stopped—when the numbness took over.

But I knew one thing. ‘At one-hundred-and-one, I’ll walk away.’

He’d proposed to me that many times. The last one was three months ago—right after I found out I was pregnant.

‘I’ll take 101 betrayals… ‘cause that’s how many it’ll take to kill what’s left of the love between us.’

It was already three in the morning when Daxon came home.

He slid behind me in bed and wrapped his arms around my waist.

‘That scent… Vanilla… Cleo’s perfume.’

“Babe,” he whispered, “I promise—I’ll give you the wedding you deserve. Grand. Perfect.”

His hands moved slowly down my back, pulling me closer.

Usually, I’d melt.

But this time, his breath on my neck made my stomach turn.

I took a deep breath and gently pulled away.

“No sex tonight, Daxon,” I said flatly. “The doctor said it could hurt the baby.”

He froze.

In the dark, I could feel the silence between us.

Then he kissed my forehead. “Get some rest,” he whispered.

The next morning, I woke up to the empty space next to me on a king-sized bed; Daxon was gone.

And my phone buzzed again.

Photos this time—him in the shower.

Though the bathroom’s steam blurred the image, it wasn’t enough to hide my love’s unmistakable perfect body and the long scar slashing across his tight, sculpted abs.

The one he got years ago when he shielded me from a knife.

Back then, he was covered in blood and trembling. But he managed to hold my hand and whisper, “Davina, babe, I’ll never let anything hurt you.”

I wiped a tear from my cheek.

‘Never let me get hurt, huh? Then what the hell is all this?’

Still, like a fool, I called him.

Today was my prenatal appointment. At least for his child, he should’ve been there.

I was prepared for him not to answer.

But I wasn’t prepared for Cleo to pick his phone up.

“Hey. I mean… Oh, hi there, my future sister-in-law,” she said sweetly. “Daxon’s still asleep. He wore himself out making my night perfect.”

I didn’t say a thing, but my fingers felt cold when I hit the end button.

When I turned to the doctor, the words slipped my tongue.

“I don’t want this baby anymore.”

‘And I don’t want Daxon either.’