Treat Me Like A Dog, My Bride Will Never Be Her

Halfway through the collaboration procedures, Giselle Bentley—my “iron-willed” childhood sweetheart—sent me a photo of her attempted suicide by slamming her head into a block of tofu.

She didn’t say a word. Just left.

Left me and ran off with that so-called childhood friendship of hers to get a marriage certificate and fly abroad for their honeymoon.

That very night, her new husband updated his social media feed—photo after photo littered with used condoms.

Then Giselle followed up with a message.

“Even though Davis Holmes and I are married now, he still doesn’t mind you being the third. You should learn from his generosity—stop being so ignorant.”

“I know you can’t live without me. When your father’s entire estate is legally transferred to me, I’ll make time to visit you—once a week.”

“Davis doesn’t want kids, so any children you might have in the future will be handed to him. After all, he’s the elder and you’re the junior. If you want to keep my heart, you better learn to be more understanding.”

I laughed.

As the only son of the head of one of the four great families in northern Chicago, whoever marries me gets a stake in a fortune most people can’t even dream of.

But what Giselle didn’t know was—

The moment she walked away, I had already changed the beneficiary on my marriage license.

——

One month later, I saw Giselle again at a private charity auction.

She was sitting on Davis’s lap, arms draped around his neck, kissing him like no one was watching.

The moment I walked in, the crowd's whispers turned into open mockery.

“Oh, Giselle—your little lapdog finally couldn’t stand being alone and came crawling back, huh?”

“Young Master Orson, breaking your endurance record this time. A whole month! You must’ve been going crazy without her!”

Giselle lifted her head from Davis’s neck, completely unfazed.

She raised an eyebrow at me with a smirk.

“Adam, have I been too soft on you? Do you even know what you are? Don’t come crying to me now. Even a lapdog should know its place. You’re pathetic.”

Five years of dating her—I’ve heard this kind of insult more times than I can count.

Back then, I loved her with my whole heart.

Even when she humiliated me in public, I’d swallow the shame, too scared to upset her.

I’d go home and reflect endlessly, like a dog begging for forgiveness.

Terrified she would stop loving me.

But now?

I simply said, calmly, “I’m not here for you.”

She blinked, stunned. Thought I was just putting on a show.

She kicked over the chair in front of me.

“Still playing hard to get? Stand up and listen well. If Davis wants something, you better bid like your life depends on it. If he’s happy, maybe—maybe—I’ll forgive you.”

“Giselle, enough.”

Davis tugged at her arm, sighing with faint annoyance.

“I don’t want him spending his dirty money buying things for me. Guys like him—second-gen rich kids who just flash cash from their parents—who knows if that money’s even clean. I want to earn everything with my own ability.”

Giselle stroked his face lovingly, smiling sweetly.

“Yes yes, my Davis is independent and capable. Unlike someone who only knows how to leech off his daddy’s fortune.”

“It’s Adam who insisted on buying it for me. You know how desperate he is. Let him waste his money—consider it charity.”

Davis laughed, clearly pleased, then turned his smug gaze toward me.

“Young Master Orson, seriously—you’re rich, but you cling like a damn leech. Be a man. Have some dignity. You live off women and act like a spineless shrimp.”

I glanced down at the custom-tailored suit worth millions draped over him and gave a faint smile.

A nanny’s son preaching about dignity and independence…

To me—the only heir to the wealthiest family in northern Chicago?