Marrying My Divorced Husband's Uncle as Revenge

The smug look on Karylle’s face didn’t fade for long. With a quick, fierce motion, she shoved me back, her eyes blazing with anger. I staggered but caught myself, eyes narrowing as I took her in. Her supposedly “injured” leg—the one Brendon had been carrying her around for—seemed perfectly fine. She didn’t even flinch.

My heart pounded as I held her gaze, seeing the satisfaction in her eyes as she adjusted her stance, perfectly balanced.

“You’re faking,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re delusional, Jasmine. Maybe you should stop obsessing over every little thing. Brendon has more important things to worry about than your drama.”

My fists clenched at my side as I glanced at Brendon, who still stood beside her. “She’s not injured, Brendon. She’s lying to you. Can’t you see that?”

But he just shook his head. “Jasmine, you need to stop. It’s embarrassing. Karylle has been nothing but patient with you, and all you do is attack her. She is your sister!”

A low laugh escaped me, bitter and cold. “Patient? Sister?” I repeated. “You think she’s the patient one here? While I was holding Allen’s hand last night, while he was asking for his father, she was out with you, pretending to be helpless. Is that what a sister is supposed to do?”

Karylle lifted her chin, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, don’t try to turn this around on me, Jasmine. I’ve seen the way you use Allen’s illness to get Brendon’s attention. It’s disgusting.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I felt my blood go cold, the disbelief settling in as I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “It’s pathetic, really,” she continued. “The way you cling to him, pulling the sympathy card whenever you feel him slipping away. Allen’s illness, your little sob stories—it’s all part of your act.”

The rage in me twisted into something deeper, darker, something beyond the pain I’d been holding in. “How dare you. How dare you even speak his name.”

Brendon’s face tightened with discomfort, but he said nothing, just stood there between us, as if this were some kind of minor spat. The weight of it hit me all at once—he was never going to see the truth, never going to put anyone above her, no matter what she said or did.

“Jasmine,” Brendon started, his voice low. “Can we stop this now? This drama of yours has to end. I’m tired of being pulled into every little argument.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I met his gaze, feeling the last bit of patience drain out of me. “Drama?” I repeated, my voice laced with bitterness. “You think this is about me trying to make a scene? I wanted a life with you, Brendon. I wanted you to be there for Allen, to be there for us. But all you’ve done is let me down.”

He didn’t respond, just looked away, his expression blank, as if my words barely registered. The indifference cut deeper than I’d expected.

“Fine,” I said, my voice shaking, though I forced myself to stay steady. “You want peace, Brendon? You can have it.”

Karylle’s smirk widened, her satisfaction obvious as she folded her arms, watching me like I was a show for her amusement. “Finally,” she muttered, almost to herself. “I was starting to wonder how long you’d keep this up.”

Ignoring her, I turned fully to Brendon. “I’m done, Brendon. I can’t keep fighting for someone who’s already given up on me. If you want her so badly, then take her. But I’m not sticking around for this. I want a divorce.”