When Your Lover Surpassed You, You Destroyed Them

Paisley's POV

“You said it yourself. There will be no divorce going on between us, only widowhood.” I leaned in close and continued, “So, Mr. Dittman, if you won’t kill me, then I’ll have to kill the two of you.”

Just then, blood dripped onto the floor, and only then did he notice the cut on my hand from when I was smashing things.

Right after seeing that, he slowly loosened his grip on my shoulders.

“Well done,” he said. “I never wanted that child anyway.”

He then lifted my hand and gently wiped the blood away. When he pressed iodine to the wound, he did the same soft exhale he always did, a little habit from when he used to tend my injuries. Back then, when my father beat me until I was bruised all over, he could only find alcohol to sterilize my wounds. Even now, even if he wouldn’t use alcohol, he still took care not to hurt me.

Suddenly, a bloody palm print smeared his face.

“Stop it. It’s filthy,” I muttered.

His face was slightly turned due to impact, not arguing whether I meant the blood or him. Instead, he called for the housekeeper, Albert Curry, and handed him the first-aid kit.

The other woman’s name was Audrey Warren. When I tried to dig further, everything seemed to disappear. I knew Geoffrey was protecting her. If I hadn’t moved fast, I might never have even learned her name.

So I confronted him. “Is that how much you like her that you block my access to information?”

He only sighed. “Paisley, what’s the point of clinging to her?”

Tired of this game, I threw the divorce papers down in front of him again. “Sign. Then of course I won’t pester her.”

But after holding the papers for less than two seconds, he ripped them to shreds and flicked the fragments into the air, so they settled like confetti on the floor.

“I told you, divorce can't separate us, only death.”

I laughed.

The next second, a wine bottle was smashed into his head, and red liquid ran down his face. I couldn’t tell whether it was wine or blood, but I grabbed the dagger on the table and lunged.

But he swiftly clamped my wrist, countering my force.

“Geoffrey,” I said while we were less than an inch apart. “Do you really think I daren’t? Divorce, or one of us dies?”

Our hands were shaking, but I wouldn't back down. For a moment, the standoff held. Then he let out a soft laugh and redirected his strength inward. As such, the dagger drove into his shoulder under my hand, and blood splashed onto my face.

“I told you, I won’t let you die before me.”

“Geoffrey!” I ground my teeth as he released my wrist.

“Do it, Paisley,” he said.

When I pulled the dagger free with all my might, he gave a muffled groan, and my face was streaked with blood. The metallic tang brought back the rainy night in our final year of high school.

I swayed and fell. Luckily, he caught me before I hit the floor.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. I’m here.” His hand smoothed my cheek.

I watched the beads of blood drip from his brow and land on my face. He showed no concern for his own wound, only for me. During the countless nights my father beat me until my skin split, he had held me like this. He used his back to shield me from bottles, stools, and even knives. Amid my father’s rage, he’d grin and whisper, “Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Once, we’d clung to each other in blood and kissed in the downpour. But love pushed to the extreme made betrayal that much more monstrous.

With that thought in mind, I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”

Then, stumbling, I fled the room heavy with the smell of blood.

For a while, we kept our distance and pretended to be okay. But the girl was still being protected by him, and there wasn’t a trace of her for me to find.