In my ninth year of being with Tyler Freeman, he flaunts his relationships with other women while I'm only allowed to come and go from his bedroom.

He doesn't acknowledge me as his girlfriend, yet he allows his friends to address me as such. I have a name but not an identity.

His friends are bored during a private party and want me to perform a strip dance on stage to liven things up.

I expect Tyler to at least turn them down on my behalf, but all he does is sip his wine and say, "Go on. You're the owner of this place, aren't you? Aren't clubs supposed to satisfy their patrons' needs? Don't let my friends down!"

I look at him emotionlessly. I don't cry or throw a fuss. Instead, I splash a glass of liquor in his face. The following day, I trash the club.

Three months later, Tyler finally thinks of calling me. "Where are you? Aren't you gonna get the hell back here? Do you really expect me to beg you to come back? Do you think you're worthy of that?"

I pull my newlywed husband to the camera. "Sorry, Mr. Freeman. I'm getting married. You don't need to come, but do get me a wedding gift."

Unexpectedly, he threatens to show my husband intimate videos of me when he sees me in a wedding gown.

It was my ninth year being together with Tyler Freeman. Today, I planned to confront him in order to clarify our relationship.

I called him, but like always, he rejected my call.

In the next moment, his message popped up—unsurprisingly—at the top of my list of WhatsApp messages.

"Third floor."

His superiority emanated from those two simple words.

The most luxurious private clubhouse in Burgton City was where Tyler and his bunch of friends typically gathered.

As the person who had been by his side the longest, I was already used to his domineering attitude.

Hastily, I changed out of my plain-looking clothes, which I actually preferred. Instead, I slipped on his favorite form-fitting red dress before heading to the private room where he was.

Just as I got to the door, I heard joyful laughter coming from the men and women in the room.

Despite all the noise in the room, I managed to identify Tyler's voice out of everyone else's.

Like always, his voice was nonchalant, chill, with a hint of contempt.

"Jasmine Murray? It's been nine years. I'm so over sleeping with her."

A crisp "click" came from a lighter. Tyler took a deep puff of his cigarette and continued, "If you slept with a woman for nine years, won't you get sick of her?"

The person he was speaking with agreed, "That's quite boring indeed. But, I've gotta say—although Jasmine was just a young lady when she first got together with you, she has grown to look a lot more like a woman now."

"She was a young lady at 21, but Jasmine has matured in her 30s."

"One would grow attached to a dog after that long, let alone a human being. "

Laughter came from those in the room.

Tyler remarked in a casual voice, "Regardless of whether she's a dog or a person, isn't she staying by my side willingly? It's not like I put a collar around her neck."

After he said that, another bout of laughter and mockery came from the people in the room.

I placed my hand on the door handle and took a deep breath. Then, I pushed the door open and entered without knocking.

The moment I entered the private room, I noticed Tyler sitting at the head of the table.

He was wearing a neatly-made suit and a black shirt with only a few buttons done up. The ring I gave to him five years ago glistened on the middle finger of his right hand as he leaned back on the couch lazily.

The ring no longer had the dazzle it used to have in the beginning. Rather, it appeared dull in contrast to the bright room.

When Tyler saw that I had entered the room without knocking, he frowned and shot me a glare.

The woman in his lap gave me a provocative look too.

"Well, well. That was really quick, Jas. You managed to reach before even three minutes passed since Ty messaged you."

"You're afraid that you'd pissed Ty off, aren't you?"

Once those people saw me, they mocked me as they leaned sideways on the couch.

There was not a single glint of respect in their eyes.

In the next moment, one of the sleazeballs said, "You've got such a great figure, Jasmine. I can see your curves even when you've got your coat on.

"Why don't you take your coat off and perform a dance for us to liven things up?"

My face darkened at that instant. Looking a little uneasy, I replied coldly, "I'm sorry, I'm not a stripper. I can't dance."

I looked toward Tyler, who simply held his wine glass in his hand and said indifferently, "Go on. Aren't you the owner of this clubhouse? Isn't it the clubhouse's motto to please all your customers?

"Don't be such a wet blanket."

I did not budge. It felt as if a lump were stuck in my throat. All I could do was grit my teeth and not make a sound.

The sleazeball scoffed. "Being pretentious, are you? You're not as naive when you're in Ty's bed, though."

All of a sudden, a thick silence filled the room.

That was a shocking revelation. My ears started ringing as I stared at Tyler in disbelief.

I couldn't believe that he actually joked and talked about our private life with others.

The embarrassed gazes from the others in the room felt like a slap in my face. My heart throbbed in pain.

Suddenly, Tyler lowered his hand that was holding a cigarette. An air of frigidity descended upon him as he glared icily at that sleazeball.

The woman on Tyler's lap probably sensed danger from his posture. She scurried out of his lap immediately.

The drunk sleazeball continued babbling, "I saw the video of you in Ty's phone—"

The next moment, a bottle of wine hit him in the head. Fresh blood trickled from his forehead to the carpet on the floor.

Tyler had smashed a bottle of Macanollan worth 27 thousand dollars onto the man's head just like that.

The sound of the wine bottle shattering and punches being thrown echoed in the room.