Ninety-Nine Times, Then No More

The man was a musician June had stolen a song from years ago, leaving his career in ruins. I recognized him from a news article I'd read. He lunged toward our table, and June screamed, scrambling backward and knocking over our chairs. We were trapped in the corner booth.

"You lying bitch!" the man roared, his eyes wild. He raised the bottle. It was acid.

June pointed a shaking finger at me. "It was her! She told me to steal your song! She was jealous of your talent!"

The man's crazed eyes shifted to me. "You..."

Just as he was about to lunge, the cafe door flew open. "Get away from them!"

It was Chase. He must have followed me. He took in the scene in a second-the crazed attacker, the acid, June cowering behind me.

His eyes met mine. For a split second, I saw something flicker in their depths. A choice being made.

Then he looked at the attacker and his voice rang out, cold and clear. "If you're going to throw that at someone, throw it at me. But let my wife go."

My wife. The words hit me like a physical blow.

The attacker hesitated, confused. June, seeing her opportunity, whispered frantically from behind me, "He doesn't mean it! He loves me! He's just protecting me! She's the one he cares about!"

Chase's plan was clear. He was sacrificing me to save her. He was painting me as the beloved wife to make me the target.

He took a step forward, positioning himself between me and the attacker, but his words were a performance for the other man's benefit. His voice was laced with a cruel, theatrical mockery.

"June? Her?" He let out a short, dismissive laugh. "She was just a game. A distraction. You don't really think I'd care about someone like her, do you?"

He was talking about June, but his eyes were locked on mine. Every word was a poisoned arrow aimed directly at my heart.

"But Elena..." he continued, his voice softening into a parody of love. "She's different. She's my wife. The heiress to the Carrillo fortune. She's the one who stands by me. The one who loves me no matter what I do."

He started listing things. Things I had done for him in secret. The time I stayed up for three nights straight helping him prepare for a crucial board meeting. The time I sold my mother's favorite necklace to anonymously buy back shares in his company when a rival tried a hostile takeover. The time I nursed him through a fever for a week, never leaving his side, while he murmured June's name in his delirium.

He knew. He had known all of it. All my secret sacrifices, all my quiet acts of love. And he was using them now, twisting them into weapons to destroy me. He was laying my heart bare for a madman to see, all to protect the woman who had orchestrated my misery.

The pain was suffocating. I couldn't breathe. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. This was it. This was the one-hundredth cut. The one that severed the last thread of feeling I had for him. It wasn't just cruelty anymore. It was a desecration of everything I had ever given him.

The attacker, confused and enraged by Chase's words, let out a frustrated scream and lunged, not at me, but at Chase. He threw the bottle.

I don't know why I did it. A stupid, leftover reflex. I shoved Chase to the side.

He stumbled, and the acid splashed across his arm and chest instead of his face. He cried out in agony, a raw, guttural sound of pure pain. The attacker, shocked, was tackled by the cafe's security guards.

Chase clutched his burning arm, his face pale and beaded with sweat. I reached for him, my hand hovering near his uninjured shoulder. "Chase..."

He flinched away from my touch as if I were the one who had burned him. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a cold fury. "Don't touch me."

June rushed to his side, her face a mask of concern. "Chase! Oh, my God, are you alright?"

She carefully took his good arm, ignoring me completely, and started to lead him out of the cafe. "We have to get you to a hospital."

He went with her without a backward glance. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't even look at me. He just left, leaning on her for support.

I stood there alone, in the wreckage of the cafe, the smell of burnt fabric and acid stinging my nostrils. I looked down at my hands. They were steady. My heart was quiet. The pain was gone.

All that was left was a vast, cold emptiness.

I finally understood. He hadn't just used my love. He had despised it. He had taken the most vulnerable parts of me and held them up for ridicule. He didn't just want to hurt me. He wanted to annihilate me.

I laughed. A quiet, hollow sound. It was funny, really. I had spent five years loving a monster.

And now, I was finally free.