I let out a cold laugh and stood up. “Damon, don’t forget, this is the house I bought. You didn’t contribute a single cent. Even if you're just staying here temporarily, it’s still my home. You need my permission.”

He raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “And haven’t I just asked for it?”

But when he saw my luggage stacked neatly by the door, clearly signaling I had no intention of surrendering my room, his face twisted in frustration.

“A shabby little apartment and you treat it like it’s some priceless treasure,” he muttered. “If I weren’t testing you, do you think I’d leave my villa just to live in this dump?”

I shot him a cold glare. He had finally dropped the act. The truth had come out in Tiffany’s voice message, deliberately sent to provoke me:

“Elena doesn’t know I’m a rich kid. Pretending to be poor is just a test to see if she’s after my money.”

“I’m not done playing yet. I don’t want to be tied down with a kid. Elena can stay as the backup plan.”

Only then did I realize, Damon had been pretending to be poor all these years. Even his supposed infertility was just a convenient excuse. He was afraid I’d get pregnant and trap him. The weight of it all suddenly hit me like a wave.

“Damon Blackwood!” I said, voice firm and steady. “Let’s get a divorce.”

He froze, visibly stunned. “Elena, what nonsense are you spouting now?”

Then came the mockery. “Is this some kind of early menopause? Is that why you act so crazy every day? I’ve already told you, Tiffany and I are just childhood friends. There’s nothing between us. Can you please stop overthinking everything?”

He smirked. His words dripped with sarcasm. “And don’t forget, you were the one who begged to marry me. And now you want to walk away? Just like that? Can you really let go?”

His tone was cold, his eyes filled with disdain. And yes, it was true. I had once pursued Damon.

I still remembered that day a thief had snatched my bag and he had appeared like a hero, chasing him down. He told me he was poor, but I didn’t care.

I gave up everything to be with him. To preserve his pride, I downplayed my own background.

I gave up my villa, moved into a modest city apartment and told him I bought it with years of savings.

He believed me. I thought it brought us closer. But then, one night at a bar, I overheard him in a private room with his friends.

“Elena used up half her savings just to buy a house and marry me,” he said, laughing. “Didn’t even ask for a dowry. Women like that are rare these days.”

One friend asked, “She seems to really love you. How long are you planning to string her along?”

Another chimed in, “A test is fine, but if you push too far, you might destroy something genuine.”

Damon just shrugged. “I’ll play around for another couple of years, then maybe stop.”

“I told her I have azoospermia and need treatment, so I can’t have kids yet. Truth is, I just don’t want to be tied down.”

Hearing those words made my whole body tremble with rage. This was the man who had vowed at our wedding to love me for life. Who had promised to build a home and have children with me.

Every word and every promise had been a lie. I came down from the study, holding the divorce agreement.

“Sign it,” I said coldly. Damon didn’t even look at it. Instead, he used the papers to support Tiffany, helping her to her feet.

“Tiffany, the floor’s cold. Don’t walk around barefoot.”

Tiffany had just finished whining about her stomachache and Damon had spent the entire day lounging in the living room with her, watching TV, massaging her belly, keeping her warm.

As if I were nothing but an intruder in my own home.

He dared to call it a pure childhood friendship. Only a fool would believe that. Tiffany’s eyes were still red from her crocodile tears as she looked at me with feigned innocence.

“Half-Summer Sister, please don’t get a divorce because of me and Damon. That would make me feel like a homewrecker.” She sniffled and added softly, “If you really don’t want me here, I’ll move out today…”

She made a show of standing up, pretending to go pack her things. But before she could take more than two steps, Damon stopped her without hesitation.

“Tiffany, ignore her. Just stay and be comfortable here.” His voice was gentle, doting.

“You’re not married and there’s no one to look after you. What if you fall sick again like last time with morning sickness?”

The pity in his eyes wasn’t for her. It was for me. As if I were some pitiful, bitter joke.

I turned away, walked to the bathroom. And the moment I pushed open the door, splash!

A bucket of icy cold water drenched me from head to toe.

Laughter erupted outside.

“Haha! I knew Elena would fall for it!” Damon was bent over, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

“Elena, look at yourself—you’re so stupid!”

Only then did I realize someone had balanced a basin full of water on the bathroom door waiting for me. Tiffany, her red eyes still wet from her earlier tears, was now laughing so hard that new ones streamed down her cheeks.

“Half-Summer Sister, don’t be mad,” she giggled. “Damon noticed you’ve been in a bad mood lately, so he thought this would cheer you up. You’re not seriously going to get angry again over something so small, are you?”

I clenched my fists so tightly, my nails dug into my palms. The humiliation was unbearable shattering what little pride I had left.

Damon’s smile faltered when he saw my red-rimmed eyes. Realizing he’d gone too far, he approached me with a nervous expression.

“Elena, don’t cry.” He held out a tissue awkwardly. “You used to be able to take a joke. It’s just a bit of water. Go change your clothes.”

The more he spoke, the harder my tears fell. Panicked, Damon reached out to hug me. I stepped back, curling my lips coldly.

“Damon, don’t touch me. You disgust me.”

His face darkened. “What did you say?” Anger flickered in his eyes.

“Say that again? I’ve already told you, Tiffany and I are innocent!”

“She doesn’t even believe in marriage,” he added desperately, “She’s a non-marriage advocate!”

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Innocent?” I spat. “If she’s so against marriage, why did she borrow your sperm to have a baby instead of anyone else’s? Can you explain that, Damon?”

I’d had enough of his lies. “If you’re really innocent, then go tell her to abort the baby. Do that and I’ll believe you.”

His face turned ghostly pale. Rage and shame twisted his features. “Elena, stop being unreasonable!”

“I told you this child is Tiffany’s. It has nothing to do with me. I have no right to interfere in her decision!”

Suddenly, Tiffany dropped to her knees in front of me, her face a portrait of panic.

“Elena, I went through so much just to conceive this child. She’s my life. Please don’t be so cruel…”

Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed, looking utterly pitiful. To anyone watching, it would seem like I was the heartless villain.

“Enough!”

Damon lost patience and scooped her up in his arms.

“You just don’t want to give up the room, do you? Fine, we’ll leave. I’ll take Tiffany somewhere else.”

He shot me one last, icy glare before the door slammed shut behind him.

The sound of their retreating footsteps echoed through the silence. I stared at the disheveled room.

Then, as if all the strength drained from my body, I collapsed onto the floor.

When I finally pulled myself together, the first thing I did was take down our wedding photo from the wall. Without hesitation, I shredded it to pieces with a pair of scissors.

This relationship had been built on nothing but lies, betrayal and humiliation. It was time to let it burn.

At midnight, Tiffany sent me a string of photos each more provocative than the last.

Every shot was carefully curated: the seaside villa, the candlelit dinner, her coy smile and Damon’s familiar figure beside her under warm golden lights.

They looked so close, so intimate, that anyone would assume they'd already slept together. I didn’t bother looking through them all. Instead, I forwarded the whole batch to Damon.

Two minutes later, he exploded in my inbox.

“I told you we’re just friends. Can’t friends have dinner together?”

“Elena, being married to you is suffocating!”

“Suffocating? Is it me who’s suffocating you, or are you just angry you got caught crossing the line?”

Right then, Leo messaged me: [Wait for me. I’ll complete the task within three days.]

I replied with a simple OK, my head spinning, heavy with fever and emotion. Sleep took me before I knew it.

The next morning, my phone buzzed nonstop. It was another message from Damon left sometime during the night:

[I was too harsh. Don’t take it to heart.]

[Tiffany is just a friend. You’re my wife. How could you even compare yourself to her?]

[Be good. Come back home.]

I didn’t bother replying. I deleted the messages and blocked his number without hesitation. I forced myself to eat some breakfast, but every bite tasted like ash.

When I took my temperature, the thermometer read 39°C, a high fever. I dragged myself to the hospital to get medicine.

As I was standing at the payment counter, a sudden commotion erupted nearby.

“Doctor, please! Save my girlfriend first, she’s pregnant!”

The voice struck me like a bolt of electricity. Familiar. Urgent.

I turned slowly and there he was. Damon, disheveled and wild-eyed, rushing into the ER with Tiffany in his arms. His shirt was half-open, hair a tangled mess like a bird’s nest.

He looked like a man in total panic.

The receptionist told me the payment system was down and asked me to wait. So I sat on a bench in the corridor and overheard the nurses gossiping nearby.

“Did you see that girl just now?”

“I heard she and her boyfriend stuck a lightbulb inside her… can you believe that?”

“These young people are insane, nothing is off-limits anymore!”

I felt nauseated literally. I clutched my stomach and almost vomited. When the staff finally told me I could check out, I paid as fast as I could. All I wanted was to get away.

But just as I turned to leave, our eyes met. Damon froze in place, his face draining of color.

“Elena? You… why are you here?”

I said nothing. I turned and kept walking. But he rushed after me and grabbed my wrist, his tone sharp and accusing.

“Did you follow me here just to humiliate me?”

“Have you been spying on me this whole time?” He even pulled out his phone to check it, muttering darkly.

“I knew it. You must’ve installed some kind of eavesdropping app…”

I yanked my hand free. “Stop flattering yourself.”

His movement knocked the medicine from my grasp. The bottle clattered to the ground and he glanced down—his expression shifting.

“Fever meds?”

“Elena… you have a fever? Why didn’t you tell me?” He reached out, trying to feel my forehead, but I pushed him away coldly.

“Aren’t you busy playing house with Tiffany? My health is none of your concern.”

Damon exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples.

“You’ve misunderstood. I told you, Tiffany and I are just...”

Before he could finish, a nurse called from the ER, “Who’s the family member of Tiffany?” Without thinking, Damon replied, “I am!”

That one sentence cut deeper than anything else. I smiled bitterly, a twisted sort of resignation curling at my lips.

Still trying to play both sides. As if to make things better, he shoved a small gift box into my hands.

“This is for you. I got it to apologize. Please take it… I’ll come find you once I’m done here.”

I stared down at the box, then at the man who used to be my husband. He was already turning away.

And I realized whatever was left of “us” had already crumbled.