My Fiancé Delayed our Wedding Nine Times

5

Margery’s POV

When I woke up again, I found myself in the hospital—with no one by my side.

My phone buzzed. It was another message from Wanda.

The video showed Gibson treating her with the utmost tenderness. Every small wound on her body was enough to make his expression fill with pain and pity.

I stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, then saved all of the videos.

Along with them, I transferred the surveillance footage from the funeral—the moment when Gibson and Wanda had raised their hands against me—onto a flash drive.

For the next two days, neither of them appeared before me.

The only reminders of their presence were the endless stream of videos Wanda sent, flaunting how blissfully happy they were together.

For the tiniest scratch on her skin, Gibson not only called every doctor in the vicinity but even went so far as to hire top specialists from nearby cities.

In those two days at the hospital, I lost count of how many nurses and patients spoke enviously of Wanda.

And yet, strangely enough, my heart had gone completely still.

After packing my things, I returned to the villa in Belltown. This place was meant to be my marital home with Gibson.

But now, I had made up my mind—I was moving out.

I gathered all the letters he had written to me, the handmade trinkets he had crafted, the preserved flowers he had painstakingly put together, and the little clay figurines that represented “us.”

In this, Gibson had never failed. Every thoughtful gesture, every gift wrapped in love, every tender look—each one had only driven me deeper into a delusion.

But as I looked back now, I realized none of it should have ever existed.

One by one, I threw it all into the fire.

As the flames roared to life, the affection I had once held for Gibson burned away with them, until nothing remained but ashes.

And it was at that very moment—when the fire had nearly consumed everything—that Gibson appeared with Wanda at his side.

His brows furrowed as he looked at me. Behind him, Wanda wore a smug, triumphant smile.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I said nothing.

He was about to press further, but Wanda tugged lightly at his sleeve.

Immediately, his expression shifted into one of unease.

“Because of what happened a few days ago, Wanda’s health has been fragile,” he said at last. “She’s moving into the villa. That way, I can take proper care of her. Think of it… as my way of atoning for you.”

As he finished, he protected Wanda behind him, as if I were the threat.

The sight of his guarded stance tore a laugh from my throat.

“You destroyed my mother’s funeral for her. You even smashed her ashes. And now, you dare say this is atonement?”

My scorn made his brows knit deeper.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s eyes filled instantly with tears.

“Gibson, maybe I should just leave,” she whispered. “Even though my wounds still hurt, I can bear it. It doesn’t matter.”

She turned as if to go, but Gibson caught her hand at once.

“You’re always so considerate, Wanda. Even when you’re not at fault, you still think of others. Don’t worry. You’re moving in. If anyone dares object, then they can pack their things and leave!”

He said it deliberately, his gaze cutting toward me.

I let out a cold laugh. “You don’t have to drive me out. I have no intention of living under the same roof as people like you.”

Without waiting for a response, I went upstairs, grabbed the suitcase I had already packed, and walked straight out of the villa without sparing them a glance.

Gibson hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. He must have remembered what had happened at the funeral. His eyes flickered with panic and something like… pain.

“Wait—” he called after me, stepping forward.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Wanda tugged at his sleeve with wounded fragility.

He hesitated. And at that moment of hesitation, all he could do was watch my back as I continued to walk away.