I met her provocative gaze and let a mocking smile spread across my face.

"You really are something special." I tilted my head. "A woman with your talent for climbing into men's beds—hard to find, even in Havenport."

Sophie's expression shifted instantly, her eyes reddening on cue. "Andrew, look at her..." Her voice trembled. "I was kind enough to offer Elena a ride, and she doesn't just refuse—she humiliates me like this."

Andrew James, who'd been leaning against the car smoking and eyeing me up and down, went cold. "Elena Fox, let me make this clear one more time." He flicked ash off his cigarette. "Sophie isn't a mistress. You and I were already over. She just happened to walk into my life." He paused for effect. "She's my true love."

The same rehearsed script. I ducked my head and laughed softly. "Say whatever you want. It doesn't matter anymore."

I waved the divorce certificate in my hand. "Andrew, you're the one who said I trapped you. Well, here's your freedom. So why are you still here? Get lost."

Sophie slipped back into her wounded-dove act, eyes glistening like she might cry. "Elena, I've always looked up to you like an older sister. I've respected you so much. Even if you and Andrew are divorced, you could still be friends. Why make things so ugly?"

I snorted.

How Andrew and I ended up here—this homewrecker knew better than anyone. And she still had the nerve to stand in front of me, playing the victim, batting those innocent eyes.

I wasn't buying it.

"Sophie Quinn." My voice dropped. "If you show your face in front of me again, I'll make it much uglier."

Rage flared in Andrew's eyes. He slammed the car door so hard the bang echoed down the street. "Sophie, forget her. She doesn't know kindness when she sees it—treats our goodwill like garbage. We don't need to play the nice guys anymore."

He wrapped his arm around Sophie, climbed into the car, and drove off.

I stood there, motionless, watching until their taillights disappeared.

Then—

"Elena, why are your eyes red?"

I turned.

Luke Baxter. My childhood friend who'd chased me for ten years. The boy next door I'd trusted since I was small. For the entire five years of my marriage, he'd kept his distance, afraid rumors might hurt me.

Only now did he appear again.

"Did that bastard Andrew bully you again?" His jaw tightened. "Did he hit you?"

He wore a black trench coat, his frame lean but solid—the kind of presence that made you feel safe just standing near him.

"Luke."

My eyes stung harder, but I forced a smile and held up the divorce certificate. "Look. I'm free."

I exhaled slowly. "I should've listened to you years ago. Andrew James was never the right choice." My voice cracked. "If I'd listened sooner, I wouldn't have wasted five years."

Something flickered across Luke's face—pain, maybe—and he pulled me into his arms.

"Elena, do you have any idea how I survived these five years?" His voice was low, rough. "I kept hoping you'd lose. And hoping you'd win."

My gaze dropped. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into his warmth.

Five years. I'd lost. Completely.

This time, I was truly done.

Andrew had no idea that five years ago, marrying him had nearly destroyed everything between Luke and me.

Luke had tried everything to stop the wedding. He swore Andrew would never be a good match. And I'd fought him like a woman possessed—desperate to break free of his hold on me.

We'd pushed each other to the breaking point. And finally, exhausted, Luke made me a bet.

"You say he's your true love? Fine." His eyes had been hollow. "I'll give you the chance to prove it."

"Elena, how about we make a bet?"

Luke proposed that after I married Andrew, I couldn't deliberately do my makeup or dress up whenever I saw him.

He even wanted me to make myself look ugly with foundation.

If I could keep that up for five years, he would give up and let us be together.

But we didn't make it.

The first year, I darkened my skin, pretending I'd gotten a tan.

The second year, pimples broke out across my face.

The third year, little freckles appeared.

…

Along with my tiny, almost imperceptible changes, Andrew's attitude toward me deteriorated.

At first, he stopped calling me "baby" and coaxing me. Holidays came and went with no flowers, no gifts, no red envelopes. Whenever I asked, he'd shrug carelessly.

"We're already an old married couple. Isn't all that stuff exhausting?"

Later came the silence. Especially when he came home from work and saw me looking unkempt—his mood would sour instantly. He started spending most evenings buried in his study.

After that, impatience crept in.

On weekends he'd obviously go out with friends, but tell me he was working overtime. I even heard a recording one of his buddies sent.

His friend joked, "Andrew, weren't you a total wife guy before? When you first got married, you wouldn't even come to our hangouts—couldn't wait to be glued to her every day. You told us Elena was a rare beauty and you'd found true love. It's only been three years. What, now you're hiding from her?"

Andrew's voice was thick with impatience.

"Elena? Sure, I loved her like crazy at first—because she was still beautiful. Who knew that after just three years, her best days would already be over? Every day I see that face, and she still clings to me wanting gifts and kisses—I'm about to throw up."

"Forget sleeping with her. I haven't touched her in six months. I feel nothing."

When I heard those words, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

After all, Andrew had whispered to me countless times, his voice so gentle: "Elena, what I love is who you are inside. It has nothing to do with your face."

"Even if you become ugly someday, become old—my love for you won't change."

But the truth was, I only became ugly.

And he revealed his true face.

Women are always softhearted. Even after hearing something so vile, I still gave him a chance. I told myself he was just in a bad mood, just irritated for the moment.

Until the company annual party, when Andrew and his secretary Sophie disappeared at the same time.

When I burst into that hotel room to catch them, I found them with their clothes in disarray.

I went crazy, hurling a wine glass at them.

Andrew's first instinct was to shield Sophie, pulling her behind him. Then he turned to me, his face twisted with disgust.

"Elena, are you done making a scene?"

"Staring at that face of yours every day, I feel like throwing up even when I haven't eaten."

"Look at yourself right now—like a shrew. What man would want that?"

His words cut like knives, stabbing straight into my heart.

The love I thought would last a lifetime didn't even survive five short years.

"It's okay. No matter how bad things were before, it's all in the past."

Luke squeezed my hand, pulling me out of my memories.

"Elena, forget all of that. Look forward."

He pinched my cheek, smiling as he led me into the county clerk's office.

When we came out again, his face was split with a doting grin, his whole body practically vibrating with joy—like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Elena, I really feel like I'm dreaming."

"This scene that's appeared in my dreams countless times has finally become reality."

"Elena, I'm not like Andrew. I'll love you properly. I'll protect you."

I smiled, then picked out a few carefully selected photos.

"Yeah, to welcome a new life, I should post a few on social media to announce it. I want everyone to know my husband has changed."

When Andrew scrolled to my announcement post, he was at a bridal shop, accompanying Sophie as she tried on wedding dresses.

He looked at the photos—my face bright and gorgeous, like a fully blooming red rose. And I was standing arm-in-arm beside another man, smiling sweetly.

Something clenched tight in his chest. Restless. Irritated.

When did Elena become this good-looking?

For five years, he'd grown sick of my ugly face. Dark, sallow skin—like I'd come from the countryside. Just because a friend had once said in private, "What kind of taste does Andrew have, actually finding such an unrefined country bumpkin?"

From then on, he never brought me to any gatherings again.

But now—the bright, gorgeous woman in those photos—how was that still the Elena he remembered?

"Hey, Andrew, I'm talking to you. Did you hear me?"

A hand slapped heavily onto his shoulder. Sophie's whiny voice cut through.

"What exactly do you mean? Do you really want to marry me? I heard your family's housekeeper Sarah Lambert say it—when Elena married you, her wedding dress was custom couture. Fine, no couture for me, but you actually picked something this plain? How am I supposed to wear this? It's hideous!"

"Do you even have me in your heart at all?"

Andrew's brows knit tight. He only felt irritated. He perfunctorily handed over a bank card.

"Buy whatever you want yourself."

Sophie's dissatisfaction instantly melted into a grin. She took the card, but as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes met mine—and her smile froze.

"Elena... why are you at a bridal shop?"

She glanced at me, then looked at Andrew with a weird, sarcastic expression.

"Don't tell me you regretted the divorce and came to stalk him?"

Luke and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Coming to a bridal shop? Of course—we're also here to try on wedding dresses."

Hearing my voice, Andrew suddenly raised his head. He stood abruptly and walked over.

"Elena?"

A disdainful snort-laugh. "I didn't expect you to have some tricks. Just a few days after the divorce, you already hooked another man."

"But your acting is too clumsy. You want to use this man as cover to stalk me—do you think I can't tell?"

I stayed silent.

After all, this kind of thing had happened before. In the period when Andrew had just started cheating, I was like I'd been possessed—crazily stalking him, crazily wanting to catch evidence, like self-abuse.

But every time, what I got in return was him hurting me even more recklessly.

He went from hiding it at the beginning, cheating in secret, to being brazen and self-righteous—even right in front of me, taking Sophie to a sex hotel to get a room. Or coming to the house, deliberately editing sex videos and sending them to me.

Calling it, in a nice-sounding way, "letting me appreciate them."

But from the moment of the divorce, I had already ended the self-abuse—and drawn a clear line with him.