I walked into the law firm still wearing my wedding dress.

After eight years of marriage, I’d finally decided to divorce my race-car-driver husband.

The lawyer didn’t even look up from his paperwork.

“If you want to file for divorce, both parties need to sign the papers. Is your husband not here today?”

I forced a dry smile. “He’ll sign them,” I said quietly but firmly.

Liam and I had been legally married for eight years—yet he had canceled our wedding ceremony fifty-two times.

The first time, one of his young trainees needed gas for her car, so he left me stranded in my gown on the outskirts of town. I walked home, barefoot and bleeding, my feet covered in blisters.

The second time, that same trainee had a stomachache and wanted a certain cake from across the city. Liam drove three hours to get it, while I stayed behind, bowing and apologizing to guests, drinking until my stomach burned.

Every time we were supposed to get married, that girl somehow needed him.

And every single time, he left me to stand alone before the altar.

“She’s scared of the dark, Clara. She needs company when she trains.”

“You’re just a housewife—you don’t get the thrill of the track. Vanessa and I share the same passion. We’re soulmates.”

Today was the fifty-second time.

And just like every other time, a video of Vanessa arrived right on cue.

In it, she and Liam were tangled together on his prized race car—the one he’d never even let me touch. Her blouse was half-open, her fingers in his hair as she pressed his face into her chest, and then she looked straight into the camera with a smirk—a deliberate, mocking challenge.

I knew them too well.

For eight years, she was the reason every wedding was ruined.

Eight years ago, my family had tricked me home from the track—told me there’d been an accident. By the time I got there, they had locked my car, taken my keys, and forced me to marry my dead sister’s fiancé in her place.

They handed me a crying infant and a wounded man.

And that was it—my career, my freedom, my dream—gone.

I raised the child. I took care of the man.

Eight years of my life, traded for a home that was never mine.

I even forced myself to love them. All I ever wanted in return was the wedding he’d promised.

But to Liam, my devotion was nothing more than manipulation. A trap.

And from that moment on, he despised me.

The wedding that should’ve happened eight years ago still never came.

Now the contract of our marriage—eight years long—had finally expired.

My sister’s son didn’t need me anymore.

It was time to start living for myself.

---

When I got back to the villa, divorce papers in hand, the moment I opened the door, a piece of cake smashed into my face.

A maid hurried forward with a towel.

“Don’t you dare let her wipe that off!”

Then came the sharp crack of an ashtray—

it hit my forehead so hard I saw stars.

“You filthy woman! Who said you could wear my mother’s favorite necklace?”

Warm blood slid down my face. The maid froze, trembling.

Noah—eight years old, the boy I’d raised—stood there glaring at me.

“Useless! You can’t do anything but cook. You’re not even half as good as Aunt Vanessa!”

I stared at him, dazed.

This was the child I’d given up everything for.

He took a step back, afraid of something he couldn’t name.

“You better not touch me! You’ll never be my mom! You’re not even fit to be our maid! Aunt Vanessa and Dad belong together. You killed my real mom—and you’ll try to hurt Aunt Vanessa next! When I grow up, I’ll throw you out!”

I let out a soft, broken laugh. “No need. I’ll go myself.”

I reached out, wanting to touch his face one last time—but before I could, a door slammed.

Liam’s voice cut through the tension.

“What the hell’s going on? Look at this mess! You couldn’t clean it up? What if Noah stepped on this glass? Of course—you don’t care, do you? He’s not your real son.”

Noah ran into his arms. “Dad, she yelled at me! She even tried to hit me!”

Liam’s face darkened. “Clara, who gave you the nerve? Do you really think you’re the mistress of this house?”

I lowered my head, hiding my trembling lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

He looked ready to scold me again—but when he saw my blood-stained wedding gown, he froze.

He rushed forward. “What happened to your head? You’re bleeding—why didn’t you take care of it?”

For a second, I thought I heard real concern in his voice.

Maybe I was just lightheaded from the blood loss, because I almost believed it.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the world tilted—and I collapsed.

---

When I woke up, Liam was beside me, holding a bowl of porridge.

“I didn’t mean to leave the ceremony yesterday,” he said softly. “Something came up at the track. I couldn’t get away. The wedding’s set again for three days from now. I swear I won’t leave this time.”

I looked away, letting my hair fall between us.

If I hadn’t seen Vanessa’s post that night, maybe I’d have believed him.

She had uploaded a photo: two shadows kissing beneath a ferris wheel.

Caption: Eternal Love.

How could he lie so smoothly—without a flicker of guilt?

Seeing me silent, Liam’s tone hardened.

“Stop sulking already. And we still need to talk about what happened earlier—you tried to hit Noah? He’s just a kid, Clara. How could you be so petty? He threw something at you, and you wanted to hit him for it?”

My nails dug into my palms. I felt nothing.

“You’re sure that’s what happened? Did you even ask me?”

He froze for half a second.

“He’s a child. Children don’t lie.”

I almost laughed.

“Right. You’re right. Vanessa doesn’t lie. Noah doesn’t lie. So I guess the liar must be me.”

I remembered the last time—when I brought him soup I’d spent hours making.

Vanessa intercepted me halfway, took the bowl, and dumped it in the trash.

When I tried to stop her, she splashed the soup on herself.

Liam arrived just in time to see that—

and believed her.

When I’d asked him why he didn’t even ask me what happened,

he’d said the same thing:

“She’s just a young girl, Clara. She wouldn’t lie.”

That was the day something in me finally broke.

I reached for the divorce papers and turned to the last page.

“Noah’s school enrollment form. You need to sign here.”

He frowned. “You spend all day worrying about that kid. Why can’t you be more like Vanessa—have your own life?”

He was just about to sign when his phone rang.

His expression shifted immediately—worry flashed across his face.

“Something came up. I need to go.”

I laughed softly. “Let me guess. Vanessa?”

He shot me a warning glare. “She’s hardworking. Practicing this late at night. It’s only right I go check on her. Don’t start your nonsense again.”

I watched him leave—without hesitation, without a single look back.

Then I picked up my phone and sent a message to the one man who had always beaten Liam on the track:

Still taking new racers? Want to go for the championship?

The reply came instantly:

Welcome back. Three days. I’ll come pick you up myself.

The next morning, I started packing my things.

Everything I couldn’t take with me went into boxes—what didn’t fit, I threw out without hesitation.

I took down the only family photo hanging in the living room.

In that picture, I was the only one smiling.

Funny, isn’t it? Eight years together, and this was the only family photo we ever had. Liam only agreed to take it because my parents insisted.

My thoughts drifted back to the beginning—

when I had just been forced to give up my dream, and told myself that if racing was no longer an option, then at least I could devote myself to family. I still believed in love back then. I still believed in us.

“Clara, you’re such a kind girl. I’m glad Noah has you to care for him.”

“Once I finish this race, I’ll give you the wedding you’ve always wanted.”

I really thought I could be a good wife, a good mother. That the three of us could be happy.

But now, looking back, it all seems like a fool’s daydream.

“Where’s my warm milk? Why are you just standing there staring again? I told you, I need my hot milk every morning!”

Noah’s sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

The maid tried to soothe him. “Please don’t be angry, young master. The milk is right here—”

He shoved her aside, stormed toward me, and snatched the photo from my hands—then smashed it to the floor.

The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the tiles.

The only family photo we ever had lay broken at our feet—just like the family itself.

Noah didn’t even flinch. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his eyes full of hatred.

“I want you to make it! Why should you live in our house for free, doing nothing all day? This is your job!”

I stared at him for a moment, said nothing, then turned toward the kitchen.

When I brought him the milk, he took one sip—then slammed the cup to the floor.

Warm liquid splattered over my shoes.

A few sharp shards sliced my calf. I barely even reacted.

“It’s too hot!”

I knew he was doing it on purpose. He always did.

For years, he’d refused to call me Mom, treating me like hired help.

Eight years I raised him—fed him, taught him, loved him—and still, all I got in return was cruelty.

“I’ll find my own way to get rid of you,” he sneered. “Don’t think staying here means you can replace my mom. The only one who can be my mother is Aunt Vanessa.”

My hands clenched at my sides. I gave him one last glance and turned to leave.

“Didn’t you hear me, you useless servant?!”

Before I could respond, a deep voice echoed from the doorway.

“What’s going on?”

I looked up. Liam stood there—

and behind him, Vanessa.

I lowered my gaze, pretending not to see her, but Liam didn’t like that.

He stepped closer, frowning. “Look at this mess. You didn’t think to clean up? What if Noah steps on the glass and gets hurt?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “What, am I really your maid now?”

His expression stiffened, his brows knitting together.

“I just asked you to clean the floor. Do you have to be like this? You’re the only one here who does nothing all day. Who else should do it—me?”

Vanessa’s soft voice chimed in behind him, sickly sweet.

“Let me do it, Liam. Clara’s the lady of the house—she shouldn’t do something so rough.”

She crouched, reaching for a shard of glass—then gasped dramatically.

“Oh! I cut myself!”

A single red dot bloomed on her fingertip. It was barely visible.

But Liam’s reaction was instant—he grabbed her hand, eyes full of panic, and brought it to his lips.

“Don’t touch that,” he scolded gently. “Your hands are made for racing, not cleaning floors. Let Clara do it. If you get hurt, it hurts me too.”

His words stabbed straight through me.

Eight years of devotion, and all it took was one drop of her blood to erase it all.

He didn’t even glance my way again.

He took Vanessa’s hand and led her upstairs, calling to the maid,

“Bring up Vanessa’s luggage. She’ll be staying in the master bedroom from now on.”

Then, without missing a beat:

“She needs to rest—she’s got important races ahead. Clara, move your things out. And make sure her meals are nutritious and varied. No repeats.”

It was an order, not a request.

Noah’s face lit up. He ran over and threw his arms around Vanessa.

“Aunt Vanessa, you’re staying with us? That’s awesome! I wish you were my mom—you could even teach me how to race!”

The three of them—laughing together, radiant and warm—

the picture-perfect family.

Only I didn’t belong in it.

I left the room without a word.

Not long after, a knock sounded at my door.

Suppressing my irritation, I opened it.

“What is it?” I asked flatly.

Liam hesitated at my tone.

“I just wanted to say—Vanessa and I are just teacher and student. She’s talented, Clara. There aren’t many racers like her. I hope you can understand. I can’t exactly take you to the track—you wouldn’t know what to do there. You’d only embarrass me.”

I stared at him, numb.

He’d said those same words years ago—

the first time we fought about Vanessa.

“You’re just a housewife. You don’t understand the passion of the track. Don’t twist something pure into your dirty imagination.”

Those words had carved themselves into my memory,

each repetition cutting a little deeper.

He reached out, taking my hand. He looked like he wanted to say more—

but before he could, a soft, sugary voice drifted from behind him.

“Liam, this wedding dress is so beautiful. Can I wear it?”

“Liam, this wedding dress is so beautiful. Can I have it?” Vanessa’s voice rang out from the stairs, light and sugary, like she already knew the answer.

Liam didn’t even hesitate.

“Clara, give your wedding dress to Vanessa. She’s young, beautiful—it’ll look better on her anyway. You just stay home doing chores all day. You think a tired housewife with a shapeless figure should still be wearing a wedding dress?”

Vanessa giggled softly, looping her arm through his.

“Oh, Liam, you always treat me the best.”

I stood there frozen, the words slicing into me one by one.

That gown wasn’t just fabric—it was mine. I’d designed it for our wedding, spent eight years adjusting every lace and stitch. It held all the love, the patience, the foolish hope I had poured into him.

So no, I couldn’t blame Vanessa for liking it. It was beautiful—because it was made for love.

Liam noticed my red eyes and sighed, his tone turning cold.

“Don’t be so petty. Just name your price.”

Petty? Eight years of being treated like a servant in my own marriage, and now even the wedding dress I’d waited half a lifetime for was up for sale.

What price could you put on that kind of humiliation?

None worth counting.

I didn’t respond. I just glanced at my phone—

a single message glowing on the screen:

The registration form’s in. I’ll come pick you up.

I unlocked the glass cabinet and took out the gown, placed it neatly aside, then turned and walked back to the guest room.

Their laughter echoed behind me, sticky and sweet as poison.

---

That night, I sat at my desk, reviewing recent race club data. My focus was sharp, deliberate—like a blade I was slowly sharpening.

Then came the knock.

Vanessa stood in the doorway, her lips curved in a mocking smile.

I didn’t bother hiding my irritation. “What do you want?”

She leaned casually against the doorframe, looking down at me like I was something beneath her heel.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” she said, her voice smooth and taunting. “You’ve gotten cleverer since the last time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied flatly. “I’m tired. I’d like to rest.”

Vanessa’s smirk deepened. She stepped closer until her perfume invaded my space.

“I heard,” she whispered near my ear, “that you can’t get pregnant anymore.”

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms.

She smiled—satisfied, cruel.

“How about a bet? Want to guess how long it’ll take me to get pregnant with Liam’s child? Or maybe you’d like to guess where that vegetable juice from three years ago came from?”

I froze. The air left my lungs. My voice came out trembling, thin as a thread.

“Get out.”

She straightened, her smile widening like victory, and left.

The moment the door clicked shut, my knees gave way. I slid down to the floor, covering my face as quiet sobs escaped me.

Because she was right.

I would never have children again.

The first time, I’d miscarried after drinking the “vegetable juice” Liam brought home.

The second time… Noah had spilled oil on the stairs. I slipped.

The baby was gone before I even made it to the hospital.

I bit my lip, swallowing the sound of my grief, but pain doesn’t disappear when you silence it. It only digs deeper, like countless needles piercing skin and bone until there’s nothing left but emptiness.

---

I woke up the next morning to laughter drifting from the backyard.

Through the window, I saw Vanessa playing with Noah in the garden. Liam sat nearby, watching them with a gentle smile.

They looked perfect—like the family I’d pretended we were for eight years.

I closed the window, but no glass could block out their laughter.

I grabbed my bag and headed out. There were still forms to submit—licenses, race registration, proof of identity.

Just as I reached the door, Vanessa appeared, her expression dripping with smugness.

“Heading out? Great timing. I want the pastries from that little shop in the north alley. Could you grab some for me?”

Then she smiled, tilting her head. “Thank you, Madam Mentor.”

She dragged out the words deliberately, as if branding me with them.

My gaze fell to the faint red marks on her neck. My hands curled into fists before I could stop them.

I didn’t answer. I just walked past her, the air too thick to breathe.

---

I didn’t go home right away after finishing my paperwork.

I wandered—city blocks, empty cafés, the quiet hum of traffic filling the silence I couldn’t bear at home.

When I finally returned that evening, Liam’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“You come home and can’t even say hello?”

I ignored him, slipped off my shoes.

His tone hardened. “Clara. Come here.”

I placed my shoes neatly in the cabinet, keeping my face calm.

“There are things I don’t like repeating,” he said, his voice low—dangerously low.

I didn’t want to provoke him, not now, not when I was so close to being free. I crossed the room and sat down beside him.

He studied me, frowning. “Where were you all day? You didn’t make dinner for Vanessa or Noah. We had to eat takeout because you couldn’t do the one thing you’re good at.”

I kept my voice even. “I was just out walking.”

Something flickered in his eyes—something uncertain, fleeting.

He picked up a piece of carrot and dropped it into my bowl. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Eat something, then go to bed.”

I stared at the orange slice in my bowl. My lips curved in a small, humorless smile.

“Liam, I’m allergic to carrots.”

He froze. Just for a second.

But before he could speak, I pushed back my chair and left the dining room.

---

After my shower, I came out to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through my laptop.

My chest tightened. “Is there something you need?”

He looked up. “Your room’s missing a lot of things lately.”

My pulse skipped. For a second, I thought he’d seen something—something that would ruin everything.

“I got bored of the decor,” I said lightly. “Just changing things up.”

He nodded slowly, seeming to accept it.

But then his voice dropped lower.

“Someone just messaged you. Asked when you’re coming back to the track.”

He stood and stepped closer, searching my face. “What track, Clara? What’s going on that I don’t know about?”

I forced my expression to stay neutral. “It’s a game. Just a racing sim. Don’t overthink it.”

He stared at me for a long moment. I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not—but finally, he said nothing more.

I thought he’d leave after that.

But instead, he reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist.

I flinched—hard—pressing my hands against his chest.

The shock in my reaction made him scowl.

There was a time when I’d have melted into that touch—when I’d been desperate for it. But now, all I felt was cold.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear.

I couldn’t stand it. I pushed him away, hard enough to make him stumble.

Breathing unevenly, I whispered, “I’m sorry… I’m not feeling well tonight.”