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.

After saying those words, he disappeared.

I stood silently at the hospital entrance, the sun behind me casting a long shadow. Inside, I could still see Damon fussing around Tiffany’s bedside like a devoted lover.

I lowered my gaze and opened the gift box he had hurriedly thrust into my hands. Inside was a turquoise bracelet. Cheap. The kind of trinket you could buy at a roadside stall for a few dozen yuan.

Even now, he hadn’t changed. Still pretending. Still trying to placate me with meaningless things like I was someone easily dismissed. I shook my head, not in anger, but in quiet disappointment.

I tossed the box into the trash without a second glance and walked away from the hospital. Just as I stepped off the curb to hail a taxi, I heard two short honks behind me.

A sleek car pulled up and the window rolled down to reveal Leo’s effortlessly striking face. He smiled, the kind of smile that warmed the air around him.

“Get in,” he said simply.

Inside the car, he handed me a divorce agreement. Damon’s name was already signed.

Surprised, I asked, “How did you pull this off?”

Leo gave me a mischievous grin. “Take a guess.”

Then, seeing the disbelief in my eyes, he quickly added, “I slipped the divorce papers into a stack of work documents and told him it was a routine contract. He didn’t even read it before signing.”

He said it with caution, almost like he didn’t want to scare me off. Then he looked at me seriously.

“You said you'd marry me after this… does that still stand?”

I smiled. “Of course.”

I looked out the window, feeling a strange sense of peace. “After being so stubborn all these years… it’s time I went home.”

Years ago, I had a terrible falling out with my family over marrying Damon, a poor man with nothing to his name. I was young, reckless and thought love was enough.

But time changes people. My parents had aged. They had messaged me many times, begging me to visit. They even said they no longer cared about my marriage to Damon that I could bring him home if I wanted.

But before I ever got the chance to tell him I was the daughter of the Whitmore family, the wealthiest family in Chicago, he had already gotten Tiffany pregnant. There was no point in explaining anything anymore.

I sold the small apartment I had lived in for the past three years.

Leo helped me list it on a second-hand housing site, shaking his head in admiration.

“I can't believe Miss Whitmore managed to endure in a place this small for three years.”

I rolled my eyes and playfully smacked his arm. “Cut the sarcasm. Just sell it within two days, we’re going to Bali in three.”

Leo lit up with joy. After all, our wedding was going to be held in Bali.

He had already showered me with gifts, antique paintings, designer handbags, luxury items, calling them my “dowry.”

I was just about to have the driver take me back to my villa when suddenly, a black car sped toward me from behind.

I instinctively stepped aside, but Damon rushed over and shoved me out of the way just in time. He frowned deeply, his tone sharp.

“Elena, are you blind? Didn’t you see that car coming? If I’d been a second late, you would’ve been hit!”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t owe him anything anymore.

Then Tiffany came running over, her voice saccharine and full of fake guilt.

“Elena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you from behind. I didn’t mean to almost hit you…” She glanced over at the luxury car behind us and suddenly smirked.

“Elena, I know you’re jealous of me for having luxury goods. But honestly, even if you’re envious, there’s no need to buy fakes, right?”

Her eyes sparkled with malice. “Everyone knows you're broke. You can’t even afford a real designer bag, yet here you are, parading around with all these counterfeits...”

She covered her mouth and giggled and a few passersby cast mocking glances my way. I shot her a cold look.

“Not everyone depends on a man to afford nice things. Unlike you, I already had them.”

Damon scoffed beside her. “Elena, stop pretending. We were married for three years. I know exactly what kind of life you lived. You think I can’t tell a fake from the real thing?”

He reached out and casually picked up one of the antique vases in the car trunk, planning to make a point, but then he froze.

“This… this is real?” His tone shifted, disbelief creeping in.

I calmly pushed him aside and shut the trunk. He stared at me, suspicion growing in his eyes.

As if, for the first time, he was realizing, He had never really known who I was.

"Elena, tell me the truth. Where did you steal all this from?"

I couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh. Steal?

So that’s how low he thought of me. Just a poor, petty thief. I must’ve played the role too well.

“Damon,” I said, voice icy, “I was blind to ever fall for someone like you.”

Without another word, I turned and got into the car. He stood frozen for a second, then bolted after me, shouting with fury.

“Elena! Get back here and explain yourself!”

I didn’t look back. I told the driver to speed up, I had more important things to do. The wedding in Bali was tomorrow and I had no time to waste on a man like him.

The next day, Damon stormed into the neighborhood like a man possessed, pounding on the door with both fists.

“Elena! Come out!”

“What the hell did you do to me? Why does Tiffany break out in hives every time she touches me?!”

His shouts drew the attention of curious neighbors. Doors opened. Heads peeked out.

“Isn’t that Damon Blackwood?” one of them whispered. “Why is he back? Didn’t they already sell this place and move out?”

Damon turned pale.

“What do you mean… sold?”

The neighbor chuckled. “Elena was here yesterday. Said she was moving out. The new owner’s moving in tomorrow.”

Damon was stunned.

“That’s not possible. She told me this house was her base. Her home. Why would she sell it?”

The neighbor gave him a sympathetic, yet mocking glance. “Well, I didn’t expect a grown man like you to be so clueless. You didn’t even know she sold the house? Hmph.”

He turned and went back inside, leaving Damon standing there like a statue.

Back at his place, Damon frantically dialed my number, again and again.

(The number you’re trying to reach is currently busy.)

He sent a message : (Where are you? Elena, reply to me in five minutes. Do you hear me?)

Seconds later, a red exclamation mark appeared beside his message.

Blocked.

He cursed under his breath and hurled his phone to the floor in frustration. Desperate, he called my aunt.

“Auntie, I can’t reach Elena. Is she with you?”

There was a pause, then a sneer on the other end.

“Elena’s getting married.”

He froze.

“…Huh?”

Thinking it was a joke, he laughed nervously. “Come on, Auntie. Don’t mess with me. I’m her husband. She’s my wife. Married women don’t get married again. What are you talking about?”

But she said nothing more.

Click.

The line went dead.

He sat there, stunned, until his assistant walked in, looking hesitant.

“Mr. Damon… didn’t you know? Miss Elena already divorced you.”