When the Secret is Revealed, Your Regret Is Too Late

Christopher’s voice was filled with cold, biting certainty.

“Your birthday is in seven days! I know! That’s why I’m proposing to Liz that day! I love her! I’m not pretending! I want her to be my wife—the only wife in my heart, even if it isn’t legally recognized!”

His words hit me like a slap, but he wasn’t finished.

“You’ll just have to spend your next life as Mrs. Adam,” he sneered.

Then his voice dropped, filled with cruel amusement.

“Oh, and I saw Liz stepping on your stomach that day. I let her do it. I indulged her. Even if the child inside you is born, I won’t give him a single ounce of fatherly love.”

He scoffed. “Ariana, this is exactly what you and your daughter deserve.”

With that, he shoved me aside, started the car and drove away without a second glance.

I barely had time to steady myself before my phone rang again. It was Christopher.

His tone had changed—colder, more playful.

“Ariana, you’ll personally handle my proposal ceremony in seven days.”

His voice dripped with mockery.

“Aren’t you virtuous? Aren’t you always so composed? Then go ahead and do it.”

He chuckled. “You’d better put in some effort. If Liz isn’t satisfied, I have plenty of ways to keep your father on the trending searches every single day.”

Before I could respond, he hung up—humming a little tune as if he hadn’t just shattered my world.

I knew Christopher would follow through on his threats.

With trembling hands, I pushed open the door and walked into the living room.

The first thing I saw was the enormous wedding photo of Christopher and me hanging on the wall.

A bitter smile curled my lips.

There was no trace of a smile on Christopher’s face in the photo.

He had stood stiffly, maintaining his distance.

I had worked so hard just to rest my head on his shoulder, just to close that small space between us.

Eight years had passed.

That distance never disappeared.

I could only imagine how happy he must be while taking wedding photos with Lisa.

Forcing myself to move, I reached for the frames, one by one and took them down.

Then, with a steady hand, I tore them into pieces.

Every single memory.

I burned them in the yard, watching as they turned to ash.

Then I packed up his clothes and had them sent back to his family home.

I asked the family lawyer to draft a divorce agreement and placed it in Christopher’s study.

And finally, I threw myself into planning his proposal ceremony.

For an entire week, Christopher never came home.

The hotel was booked. The dress was chosen. The event was arranged down to the last detail.

Every day, I sent updates to Christopher, like an obedient employee reporting to her boss.

He never replied.

But there were no angry phone calls, no complaints.

That meant one thing—he was satisfied.

Or rather, Lisa was satisfied.

That was fine.

At this point, I just wanted to leave quietly.

Seven days later, Christopher knelt on one knee, holding out a ring to Lisa.

Just as he was about to slip it onto her finger, the doors of the banquet hall burst open.

An elderly woman, her hair streaked with gray, stormed inside.

It was Christopher’s mother.

Her trembling finger pointed at Lisa, her voice echoing through the hall.

“I will not allow her to marry into the Adam Family! The only daughter-in-law of this family is Ariana!”

Christopher’s face darkened.

Gripping Lisa’s hand tightly, he turned to his mother and demanded, “Why?! Even if I die today, I will marry Liz!”

His mother clutched her chest, her entire body trembling.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her son—the same son who now glared at her in defiance.

“Son…” Her voice broke. “You ask me why? Because she—because her father—is responsible for your father’s death! Because I was the one who begged Ariana to marry you! Son, please—wake up!”