Chapter 1

In the fifth year of my husband's affair with his assistant, I stormed into their corporate office.

I stripped them bare.

I broadcasted their sex tape across the massive LED screen in the lobby.

With bloodshot eyes, my husband screamed that I was insane.

Yet tears of relief fell from my eyes—because he finally started caring about me again.

He began coming home on time. He voluntarily handed over his phone for me to inspect.

I truly believed I had finally reclaimed his heart.

Until the night of our anniversary.

I hid his ID and phone, wanting nothing more than a quiet, peaceful dinner together.

He looked at me with an expressionless face.

"Is this it? Every time I see Stella, you punish me like this?"

My heart trembled. Stiffly, I nodded.

The moment my chin dipped, he grabbed the steak knife and sliced a chunk of flesh straight out of his own arm.

"She’s sick. I have to go to her."

"I’ve served my punishment in advance. Can I leave now?"

At that exact moment, I felt like the biggest joke in the world. Five years of desperate clinging and fighting, and I had never won. Not even once.

He would rather mutilate his own body just to see Stella.

This relationship had never belonged to me from the start.

Wordlessly, I pulled his ID and phone from my bag and pushed them across the table.

"Julian, let’s get a divorce."

We faced each other in absolute silence.

It was so quiet that the only thing I could hear was my own racing heartbeat.

Suddenly, Julian let out a cold laugh.

"Don't flatter yourself. Playing the mature, understanding wife won't make me stay."

His face was pale, his lips trembling uncontrollably from the pain.

Yet his tone was unyielding.

I lowered my gaze, digging my fingernails deep into the palms of my hands.

"Isn't it good that I'm giving you your freedom?"

Julian’s laugh grew louder, dripping with mocking scorn.

"Elena, what kind of game are you playing now?"

"First, you used that fake gunshot wound to manipulate me. What, now that your lie is exposed, you're threatening me with a divorce?"

He spat the words "gunshot wound" with pure hatred.

The venom in his voice struck hard.

The old scar on my back began to throb with a phantom ache.

"You really never believed me, did you?"

"I only believe what I see with my own eyes."

His blood dripped rhythmically onto the hardwood floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Like a morbid countdown to the end of our marriage.

Staring at his mangled, bloody wound, I lost every ounce of desire to defend myself.

I had told him the truth a thousand times.

Five years ago, we were caught in a terrorist bombing overseas.

The building Julian’s firm was located in took a direct missile hit.

By the time I rushed to the scene, he was buried deep under the rubble.

I tore him out of the debris with my bare hands.

Yet on the way to the hospital, a sniper's stray bullet tore straight through my back.

I was in a coma for over two weeks.

When I finally woke up, his assistant, Stella, was already standing at his bedside.

No matter how many times I explained, Julian only believed what he saw.

"When I opened my eyes, Stella was the one beside me. She took care of me day and night."

"Stella is my savior. I will never abandon her."

After we returned home, Stella claimed to suffer from severe PTSD.

Julian immediately stepped in, bankrolling every single cent of her living expenses.

He took her on luxury vacations, fought to buy her limited-edition designer bags, and effortlessly bought her a luxury penthouse in the heart of the city.

Anything that made Stella smile, Julian did without hesitation.

I used to think that the misunderstanding would eventually clear up. I believed that one day, Julian would return to my side.

Now I saw it for what it was: sheer, pathetic delusion.

The room plunged back into a deathly stillness.

Then Julian’s phone rang. Stella’s fragile, whimpering voice came through the speaker.

"Julian... it hurts so much..."

Julian’s brow instantly furrowed, his eyes overflowing with raw panic and worry.

"Hang in there. I'm coming right now."

Over the past five years, I had grown numb to his rage and curses.

Hearing him speak with such tender warmth felt completely foreign.

"Elena, I really have to go."

I looked at the frantic desperation in his eyes.

Quietly, I whispered,

"Go."

It took me five agonizing years to finally accept the truth.

One person's love cannot keep a dead marriage alive.

The next morning, I called a divorce attorney.

I wanted the papers drawn up immediately.

My fingers hovered over the screen, typing and deleting messages.

In that instant, I realized I didn't even know Julian anymore.

I didn't even know what words would compel him to sign the papers.

My mind was a blur.

Until the attorney across the desk cleared his throat.

"Miss Vance, are you joking with me? Bringing in a fake marriage certificate?"

"My time is billable. I don't have time for pranks."

I froze.

My breath hitched in my throat.

"I’ve been married for five years. How could my marriage certificate be fake?"

"There's no official state seal. It holds zero legal validity."

With trembling hands, I took the certificate back.

How could it be fake?

I had gone through every single step with him.

The registry, the grand ceremony, the honeymoon in Europe.

He had orchestrated an entire lavish charade just to make me believe the certificate was real.

The first time I caught him sneaking out to see Stella, I went berserk. I cornered them with a pair of shears pressed against my own throat, demanding an explanation.

The very next day, he got down on one knee and proposed.

He said he couldn't live without me. He swore his heart had only ever belonged to me.

It was all a lie.

Tears cascaded down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.

With shaking fingers, I dialed Julian’s number, desperate for an answer.

Before the call could even connect, a colleague from the hospital called me in a panic.

"Elena, get here now! Julian’s been admitted to the ER!"