Stella's hesitation vanished in an instant.

"I know you've always been jealous of Laurent, which is why you kicked him so hard," she said resentfully. "But why do this at our wedding? Are you trying to humiliate me? I need you to apologize to him now!"

I let out a bitter laugh, then strode over to Laurent and slapped him across the face. "There! How's that for a sincere apology?"

"What is wrong with you?" Stella roared.

In a flash, the bodyguards tackled me, forcing me to grovel like a dog at Laurent's feet.

Looming above me, he grabbed a bottle of champagne and poured it over my head. Not only did Stella not stop him, but she smashed the empty bottle against my skull.

Sharp pain radiated through my entire body, but she wasn't done. Her icy voice echoed in my ears. "We'll get married once you grovel and beg Laurent for forgiveness."

She looped her arm through Laurent's and started to walk away.

I glared at them, growling, "If you care about him that much, you don't deserve to be my wife!"

She stopped in her tracks.

...

The rims of Laurent's eyes reddened, and he whimpered, "Did I cause trouble for you again? I shouldn't have even shown up today. Go finish the wedding with Mr. Rowe. I'll be fine on my own."

His acting was painfully obvious, yet it melted Stella's heart.

She turned back to me, her eyes blazing with disgust. "Is this another one of your petty jealousy games? Fine! If you think I'm not worthy, go marry that Husky instead!"

She linked arms with Laurent even more tightly and stormed out of the wedding venue without looking back.

The guests' stares, mocking or pitying, burned into me. I clenched my fists, swallowing the humiliation. "Sorry, folks. The wedding is off. Leave as you please."

I had just closed the door to the lounge when my body gave out, and I fainted.

When I regained consciousness, the sharp scent of disinfectant assailed my nostrils. The hospital room's heater was blasting, but it couldn't warm my frozen heart.

I had adored Stella for a solid ten years and had given her everything I had.

Until yesterday, I'd believed that I'd finally won her heart. But the farce had been a resounding slap in the face, waking me up and finally killing my feelings for her.

I hit the call button by the bed. The door opened, but the one coming in wasn't a doctor or a nurse. It was Stella, but her hair was a mess.

Her lips were swollen, and fresh hickeys dotted her neck.

Her frown eased a bit when she saw I was awake. But then she lit into me, sulking, "You look fine. Guess Laurent was right; this is just another pity ploy. Seriously, how can a grown man be so petty? You tanked our wedding. Have you come to your senses yet? Ready to apologize to Laurent?"

I stared at her, stone-cold silent.

Once, I would have swallowed my pride and groveled to Laurent just to appease her. In fact, I had listened to her and done such things before.

On my birthday, when Laurent deliberately smashed my cake in front of everyone, I had to apologize to him.

During a meeting, when he deleted the pitch deck I'd pulled all-nighters to create, I had to apologize to him.

Even when I was laid up in the hospital and he tripped on the steps, I had to say sorry.

The most ridiculous part? My constant compromise had earned me nothing but the title of being petty.

Six months ago, Laurent carelessly tossed a cigarette butt, starting a fire in the conference room. To let him escape first, Stella used my body as a shield.

In the end, my back got third-degree burns.

I lay in bed, groaning in agony, while Stella took the unscathed Laurent on a so-called stress-relief trip.

A month later, on the day I got discharged, she finally showed up with nothing but mean words. "You chewed Laurent out in front of everyone that day, which put him in a bad mood and led him to smoke in the conference room. He's had nightmares for a month. Go apologize to him, and then we'll get married. Deal?"

I'd caved for love back then. But from that moment on, my feelings for her started to fade. Until the wedding, when she left with Laurent, my love for her died completely.

Unsettled by my silence, she hurled a few more harsh words and stormed out.

After the doctor checked me over, I grabbed my phone to hire a caregiver. But as I scrolled through my feed, I saw Laurent had taken that Husky to my new house and let it defecate all over my bed.

In the video, he grinned at the camera. "Mr. Rowe, I heard this method can cure your dog's fur allergy. Don't thank me too much."

Rage surged through me, and I hammered Stella's number until my phone nearly died. When she finally answered, her voice was laced with irritation. "What, regretting it now? Ready to apologize to Laurent?"

"Apologize my ass!" The curse flew out before I could stop it. "Did you take Laurent to my place? That's trespassing and vandalism. I can sue you both!"

Stella froze, then shot back, "Who are you swearing at? Don't get ahead of yourself! You said that the house was a gift for me, right? So, it's mine! Besides, you roughed up Laurent, and he was just venting. That's already merciful. Don't act like the victim! I was even considering getting the marriage license with you, but since you're so unrepentant, forget it. I'm marrying Laurent instead."

Right after her words, Laurent's excited voice chimed in, "Really? Don't toy with me, Stella."

"Absolutely. We're going right now."

"Wow, so tonight's our wedding night? Let's handle the important stuff first, then make it official. Come here, babe."

What followed was a nauseating, sloppy kissing sound. My hand trembled as I gripped the phone. Those scum were doing shit in my house.

First thing after discharge, I'd put the house on sale.

My phone suddenly rang, interrupting my thoughts. It was the honeymoon hotel I had booked a while ago. "Mr. Rowe, we're confirming your honeymoon suite booking. What's the check-in time?"

I took a deep breath and replied firmly, "Cancel it. I don't need it anymore."

But then, I changed my mind. "Hold up! Postpone it by a week. And fill the room with red roses. Thanks."

Three days later, I was finally out of the hospital. I'd lined up a realtor to sell the house, so I headed home early to pack.

Pushing open the door, I caught Laurent stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. His bare chest was covered in scratches and bite marks.

...

He jumped at the sight of me, but his shock soon melted into a smug grin.

Before I could say a word, Stella emerged from the same bathroom, also in a towel. She cooed, "Honey, you were amazing just now. I..."

Her voice died in her throat as she spotted me standing there. She faltered, then gathered her courage to ask sharply, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?"

Catching the chill in my stare, she paused, then lied through her teeth, "The pipes burst, and Laurent came to fix them. His clothes got soaked, so I let him shower here."

Laurent shot me a mocking glance. "Yeah, I was fixing the pipes. Total flood. Sprayed me good."

I balled my fists, ready to punch him, but Stella, catching my intention, jumped in front of him, snatched a baseball bat from the corner, and jabbed it at me.

"Fresh out of the hospital and losing it again?" she warned. "I haven't settled the score with you yet. Touch Laurent, and I'll send you back there."

The scene was all too familiar.

Ten years ago, she'd thrown herself in front of me like that, and it'd hooked me for life. Ironically, a decade later, she was shielding someone else.

For a moment, it all felt pointless.

"This is my house. Get the hell out!" I ignored them, heading straight to the bedroom.

The soiled bedsheets from the Husky had been changed. Along with them, our wedding photo had been replaced by intimate pictures of her and Laurent—some so explicit they were eye-searing.

The floor by the bed was littered with over a dozen used condoms.

Stella followed me in, cringing when she noticed my gaze on the pictures. Clearing her throat, she softened her tone. "I photoshopped them to get back at you. They are not real. Look, if you own up to your mistake and swear it won't happen again, I'll swap our wedding photo back."

I stared at her face—still pretty, but it didn't stir a thing in me anymore. I said flatly, "No need. If it got replaced, it was trash anyway. Just toss it."

She fumbled for the right words to respond, but before she could, Laurent sauntered in with a bowl of gooey slop. "Mr. Rowe, what Stella said on the phone about marrying me was just to rile you up. Don't get the wrong idea. To clear the air, I whipped up some peanut paste for you. Have a try."

He shoved the bowl under my nose, but I didn't take it.

Stella scowled. "Laurent is being nice, making it fresh and bringing it to you. What's with that sour face?"

Laurent sighed, "Guess he is not ready to bury the hatchet."

I laughed dryly, then took the bowl.

Stella nodded, pleased. "That's more like it. Since you're being reasonable, we'll redo the wedding this weekend. One catch—I want Laurent to stand in for the early parts of the ceremony."

"Sure," I agreed without hesitation.

Stella blinked, then probed, "Are you really cool with that? You always hated me getting too close to him."

I kept it even. "I'm cool because it's what you want."

Satisfied, she flashed a rare smile at me, and Laurent clapped my shoulder. "Mr. Rowe is finally getting it. Don't worry. I'll make sure this wedding goes off without a hitch. Oh, and I've got a special wedding gift lined up for you."

Meeting his cocky expression, I chucked the bowl of peanut paste into the trash. "I'll have a surprise for you two as well. Stay tuned."