In the third year of our marriage, my husband, Ethan, paraded his 99th mistress, Tiffany, in front of me.

He indulged her every whim.

He gave her the watch I bought for our anniversary. He let her replace my favorite painting with a portrait of herself.

It was because of her that my mother missed her only window for surgery.

When I called him, begging for help, he hung up on me to attend a private party with Tiffany.

Afterward, he sent a new sports car as an apology.

"Don't be so dramatic, Ava," he told me later, his voice smooth as silk.

"You know you'll always be the one and only Mrs. Archer."

But my mother was already gone.

And a part of my heart died with her.

What was the point of being Mrs. Archer anymore?

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1

After arranging my mother's funeral, I took out the divorce papers I’d had drawn up long ago.

I waited until the early hours for Ethan to return, reeking of perfume and alcohol.

"Darling, did you like the gift I sent?"

His shirt collar was flecked with a stranger's glitter as he leaned in to kiss me, his eyes hazy with liquor.

I fought back the bile rising in my throat and shoved a stack of documents in front of him.

He squinted as he flipped through them, a disdainful smile playing on his lips.

"Trust fund transfers? I suppose I have spoiled you rotten over the years."

"Fine, it's just money. If it makes you feel better, I'll sign off on however much you want."

With that, Ethan grabbed a pen and scrawled his name across the documents with a flourish, one after another.

When he reached the very last one—the divorce agreement—he stopped.

"What's this? It looks different."

Just as I was about to speak, a message from Tiffany flashed on his phone.

"Ethan, you promised you’d stay with me all night! How could you run back to her the second she throws a fit? You’re totally playing favorites."

It was followed by a video of them partying wildly at a nightclub.

Ethan's breath hitched.

He hastily scrawled his signature on the divorce agreement and grabbed his jacket to leave.

At the door, he paused as if remembering something and glanced back at me.

His tone was a mixture of impatience and placation. "Be good. We have an agreement. We have an open marriage, and you know the one rule was no catching feelings for anyone on the side."

"Tiffany's just an immature kid; she was only joking. Don't take it out on her. Just let it go. We should all try to get along. You'll always be my one and only Mrs. Archer."

Then, without waiting for my reply, he vanished behind the door.

The door clicked shut with a dull thud, leaving me alone in the cavernous penthouse.

The endless night swallowed me whole.

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand, and finally, the tears fell.

Our beginning had been like something out of a romantic movie.

I was curating an exhibition at a gallery when I ran into Ethan, who was hiding from the paparazzi.

He claimed it was love at first sight—that he'd fallen for my silhouette the moment he saw it.

His arm was injured, yet he stubbornly insisted on getting my contact information.

I had no intention of getting involved with the notorious Wall Street playboy, but he seemed genuinely ready to change for me.

He cut ties with all his other women and pursued me with single-minded devotion.

Rare jewels, limited-edition sports cars—he sent them one after another.

Private jet getaways, firework displays that lit up entire private islands—he arranged them night after night.

Once, my mother's condition became critical, and the ambulance was stuck in traffic.

Just as I was at my wit's end, Ethan used his family's connections to fly in the country's top medical team, saving my mother's life.

His old injury flared up, his hand shaking violently, but he held me tight.

"Ava, marry me. I swear I'll change for you. I'll only love you for the rest of my life."

Looking at his sincere, earnest face, I tearfully accepted.

But the fairytale of the reformed playboy was short-lived.

Ethan soon grew tired of a stable life and returned to his world of hedonism and extravagance.

When I shattered a wine glass in anger, he had a more expensive set delivered the next day.

When I suggested we separate, he threatened to cut off my mother's medical care.

The vows of eternal love we once made had shattered into a million pieces.

The expensive gifts became the bars of a gilded cage.

Eventually, Ethan grew tired of arguing.

He gave me an unlimited black card and proposed that absurd "freedom within the marriage" agreement.

"Ava, I really do love you, but monogamy is just too boring."

"We're still young; we should experience more of life. I promise, once I've sown my wild oats, I'll settle down for good and build a real life with you."

In three years of marriage, he had countless lovers.

Some lasted a few days, others a month.

Only Tiffany had remained for a full six months.

He broke his own rules for her, again and again.

He slowly eroded our love and, in the process, completely broke my heart.

Now, my mother was dead.

I no longer had to endure this loveless marriage for her sake.

Once the cooling-off period ended, Ethan and I would be strangers.

He and his little mistress could have all the freedom in the world.

For the next two weeks, Ethan didn't come home.

I stayed in, sorting through my mother's belongings and choosing a final resting place for her.

He was out with Tiffany, shopping, drinking, and watching sunrises.

Not a single message from him.

Tiffany, however, sent me photos every day from different burner accounts.

She gloated, showing off how much Ethan doted on her.

Respect, favoritism, patience—all the things I never received, Ethan gave to her in spades.

After I blocked the seventeenth of Tiffany's burner accounts, Ethan finally came home.

He held out a beautifully wrapped gift, his tone as casual as if he'd just returned from a business trip.

"Darling, I'm exhausted. Pour me a drink."

Ethan made no effort to hide the glaring hickey on his neck. He was oblivious to the nauseating cloud of another woman's perfume clinging to him.

When he saw that I remained motionless, he frowned, a hint of displeasure in his eyes.

"Still mad about Tiffany?"

"If you ask me, this is your fault. The girl was just joking, and you overreacted. I had no choice but to spend more time calming her down."

"Alright, don't give me that look. I've paid you back for the painting, and I had another watch custom-made. As for your mom... I've already lined up specialists in Europe for her. You don't have to worry."

A sharp pain lanced through my chest, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

Over half a month had passed, and not only was Ethan completely unaware of my mother's death, but he was also using such a clumsy lie to placate me.

I suppressed my heartache and looked at him.

He was looking down, texting Tiffany, completely oblivious to my sorrow.

In just three short years, he had completely forgotten our past.

Tears streamed down my face.

Ethan looked up, startled to see me crying, and fumbled to offer some comfort.

"Don't cry, Ava. I'll spend more time at home with you from now on, okay?"

Just as he finished speaking, his phone rang.

"Ethan, the charity gala is about to start. Why aren't you here yet? Miss Tiffany has been waiting for ages."

Ethan glanced at me, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

But it vanished as quickly as it came.

"Alright, Ava, I said I'd spend time with you, and I will. Let's go out together, have some fun, and clear your head."

Without giving me a chance to refuse, he dragged me into the car.

The moment I opened the passenger door, a stray earring on the seat caught my eye. Ethan awkwardly snatched it and tossed it into the glove compartment.

"She's just playful. You'll have to put up with her."

I didn't fly into a rage as he expected. Instead, I calmly wiped the seat with a wet wipe.

Ethan looked surprised and instinctively tried to block the center console screen, which displayed an intimate photo of him and Tiffany.

He asked tentatively, "You're not mad?"

"There's nothing to be mad about."

I turned my gaze out the window, indifferent.

The moment Ethan signed that agreement, he became a stranger to me. Not worth an ounce of my anger.

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

Ethan started to speak several times but seemed at a loss for words.

Since he'd proposed that agreement, peaceful conversations had become a distant memory.

All that remained were endless arguments and anger.

And now, I didn't even have the energy to argue.

My mother's death had drained the last of my strength.

I just wanted to quietly endure these final days.

And put an end to this rotten marriage for good.

When we arrived at the gala, a crowd immediately swarmed Ethan.

I was pushed to the side, my lower back slamming hard against the corner of the bar. The pain was so sharp I could barely stand.

Meanwhile, Tiffany, draped in a white haute couture gown, glided to the center of the stage.

Ethan immediately followed, pulled a massive diamond ring from his pocket, and dropped to one knee.

"Tiffany, you're my anchor."

Under the watchful eyes of every guest, he placed the ring on her finger.

The two of them kissed blissfully under the spotlight.

I lowered my head, a bitter, self-mocking laugh escaping my lips.

When I married Ethan, he'd said the timing wasn't right for a big proposal.

I didn't care about the pomp and circumstance; I just wanted a formal moment to commemorate our love.

But Ethan said he was too busy with work, that we could talk about it when he had time.

That "when he had time" turned into three years.

Until we divorced.

Until I had to watch him propose to another woman with my own eyes.

Until I finally understood.

Ethan's heart hadn't changed; he had never truly loved me in the first place.

What I thought was a grand, earth-shattering love was nothing more than a playboy's passing fancy.

Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Mr. Archer, you and your wife have such a wonderful relationship. Married for years and still like newlyweds."

Ethan, holding Tiffany's hand, frowned.

His gaze cut through the crowd and landed on me.

"You've misunderstood. That woman over there is my wife."

As soon as he said this, the previously lively crowd fell silent.

Everyone's eyes were on me, their expressions a complex mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

"This Mrs. Archer must have the patience of a saint, watching her husband propose to another woman."

"I remember when he was chasing her, it was the talk of the town. It hasn't even been that long. How did things end up like this?"

I gave a self-mocking smile and said nothing.

There were no whys.

It was just out with the old, in with the new.

There was no such thing as a fairytale romance where the playboy changes his ways.

There were only lies and betrayal.

Amid the surrounding chatter, I looked at Ethan with indifference.

"The ring is beautiful. If that's all, I'll be heading back. Don't let me interrupt."

The grand gesture I had always dreamed of was now being performed for someone else.

Ethan froze for a moment, looking as if he might chase after me, but Tiffany stopped him.

"Ethan, you promised me..."

He hesitated, then chose to stay.

But he sent me an uneasy message.

"I'll come home as soon as I've calmed Tiffany down."

"Be good and make dinner. Wait for me. I'm craving that Beef Wellington your mom taught you to make."

Beef Wellington...

My eyes burned.

That was my mother's specialty. Even the ever-picky Ethan couldn't get enough of it.

A damn shame. My mother would never make it for me again.