Ninety-nine times, Gabriel had proven he didn’t deserve a place beside me, and ninety-nine times I still chose to stay, convincing myself that love could still change him, that maybe I just had to endure a little longer. But the hundredth betrayal didn’t just break my heart—it shattered whatever remained of my loyalty.

He allowed Camille—his drunken secretary and the woman he kept hidden behind excuses—to drive me home that night, and that reckless decision ended in a violent crash that took the life of the four-month-old baby I was carrying.

At first, I thought the suffering had ended when the accident did. I was wrong. The real nightmare began when I woke in the hospital and heard them through the thin divider between beds, their voices slipping through like poison.

“I’m really sorry, Gabriel…” Camille’s voice cracked, drenched in panic. “I’m terrified. Marielle is going to hate me… she’ll kill me. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have driven like that, I shouldn’t have listened to her. I thought I could still get us home safely. I killed your baby.”

“Hey, calm down,” Gabriel murmured back, his tone soft in a way I hadn’t heard in years—gentle, reassuring, almost loving. “She’s not going to hurt you. I won’t allow it. And… you’re okay, that’s what matters.”

“But the baby…” she choked out between sobs. “Aren’t you angry? You wanted an heir… I ruined everything.”

There was a brief silence, then a faint, almost amused sound—cold and dismissive—that made my stomach twist.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said lightly. “Why would I be angry at you? It was an accident.”

“But… your son…”

Gabriel exhaled, like someone finally relieved of an obligation. “To be honest, I never really wanted that child. She was the one pushing for it all the time. She was fixated on it. I just went along because my grandfather wouldn’t stop demanding an heir. I needed him off my back.”

Everything in me went still. Nausea rose fast and sharp. He didn’t want our child? The nursery we carefully painted together, the names we whispered at night, the future I built in my head—was any of it ever real?

“I only want a baby with you, Camille,” he said after a pause, his voice dropping into something intimate and low.

“Then leave her!” Camille suddenly cried, desperation breaking through her fear. “Why are you still with her? Just divorce her. Be with me, Gabriel. Let’s start over. Let’s have our own family.”

“We’ve already talked about this,” he replied patiently, as if calming a child. “I can’t divorce her yet. Not now. After what happened, especially with the baby… it would be a scandal. The press would tear me apart. And my grandfather—your brother—he’d lose it if he found out everything.”

“So we just wait?” she asked weakly.

“We wait until the inheritance is secured,” he said firmly. “Once everything is in my name, I’ll let her go. I promise you.”

“Do you love her?” Camille whispered.

The answer came without hesitation. “No. I only love you.”

Then I heard it—the sickening closeness of kisses, soft and unbothered, as if I wasn’t just a few feet away bleeding and broken.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t burst through the curtain. I didn’t even cry.

Something inside me went quiet instead. Cold. Detached. Final.

That was the moment I died with my unborn child—the version of me who still believed in Gabriel, who still forgave him ninety-nine times, disappeared without a sound.

I stayed still until their voices faded, until I heard footsteps approaching and the door finally opened.

Gabriel walked in first, already shifting his face like an actor stepping onto a stage. The warmth I had just heard vanished instantly, replaced by a grieving husband’s mask.

“Marielle…” he said softly, rushing to my side. He reached for my hand, his palms damp. “Thank God you’re awake. I was so worried about you.”

He squeezed my fingers gently, eyes shining as if he had been crying. “I’m so sorry, love. The doctor told me… about the baby. I… I can’t believe it’s true.”

I stared at him then. Really looked at him. And for the first time, I didn’t see the man I once loved—I saw someone else entirely. Someone I didn’t recognize at all.

I pulled my hand away like his touch burned.

Pain flickered across his face. “Marielle? I know this is unbearable, but I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

That was when I noticed her.

Camille stood at the doorway, one arm in a cast, looking fragile and broken in all the right ways. Tears clung to her lashes like she had practiced them.

“What is she doing here?” I asked quietly.

Gabriel sighed, already defensive. “She insisted on coming. She’s been a mess since the accident.”

Camille stepped forward quickly, voice trembling. “Marielle… I don’t even know how to say this. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t want you driving because you’re my boss and I just thought—”

“Stay away from me,” I cut in, my voice low and sharp.

She flinched but still tried. “I’m suffering too… I feel so guilty.”

“Good,” I said coldly. “You should. You were drunk. You insisted on driving. You killed my son. You should’ve been the one in that crash.”

“That’s enough!” Gabriel barked.

In an instant, the careful mask he wore for me disappeared completely.

“She’s injured too, Marielle!” he snapped, pointing at Camille as if defending something precious. “Do you think she wanted this? It was an accident. Stop treating her like a criminal.”

“She might as well be one,” I said, my gaze locked on him. “And you put me in that car with her.”

His frustration exploded. “This is ridiculous. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re grieving, fine—but don’t turn this into an attack on her. Camille is practically family. She didn’t mean to—she’s been driving like that before, I didn’t expect—”

“Family?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Is that what she is now?”

He glared at me. “What are you even trying to say? I’m done with this. You’re emotional. You need rest. We’ll talk when you’re calmer.”

Without another word, he turned away and offered Camille a gentler tone, as if switching realities. “Come on. Let’s get you some coffee. She just needs time.”

He placed a hand on her back—protective, familiar.

The same hand that once held mine.

Something in me finally snapped clean.

“Gabriel.”

He paused at the door, irritated already. “What?”

I pushed myself up despite the pain tearing through me, and when I looked at both of them, I felt nothing but absolute clarity.

“Let's get a divorce.”

"Let's have a divorce."

Gabriel went rigid.

His hand, which had just been hovering protectively behind Camille, fell away like it had been burned. For a moment, everything inside the room went completely still. Even Camille forgot to keep up her act—her fake crying paused mid-sob as she stared at me, eyes darting between us like she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

“You’re joking… right?” Gabriel let out a shaky laugh, but it sounded forced, thin. “Marielle, come on. Don’t say things like that.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I asked flatly.

The color in his face shifted. Not fear of me—no. I could see it clearly now. It was fear of consequences. Of exposure. Of contracts. Of his grandfather.

“You can’t just say that,” he lowered his voice, stepping closer until he loomed over the edge of my bed. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? We’re not just a couple—we’re the face of everything. The merger depends on us staying intact. My grandfather…” He dragged a hand down his face. “He won’t survive this kind of news. He’ll never accept it.”

“I don’t care about your grandfather,” I said, even though my fingers were shaking under the blanket. “And I don’t care about your precious merger. My son is dead, Gabriel. And that happened because of you.”

For a moment, he inhaled deeply like he was forcing himself back into control. Then the expression on his face shifted again—carefully arranged, practiced.

He fixed his tie. Adjusted his sleeves. Put the mask back on like it had never slipped.

Then he reached out and gently tucked my hair behind my ear.

I hated how familiar that gesture used to feel.

“Baby, listen to me,” he said softly, almost soothing. “You’re not thinking straight right now. You’re overwhelmed. The hormones, the grief… it’s messing with your judgment. You don’t really mean what you’re saying.”

A bitter laugh almost escaped me.

“What exactly do we have, Gabriel?” I asked quietly. “A life together… or a graveyard?”

His jaw tightened.

“I know I haven’t been perfect,” he said quickly. “I’ve been under pressure. Things have been complicated. But I can fix it. I can do better. We can go out once you recover. Just the two of us. I’ll take you somewhere nice—your favorite restaurant. We can start over. And… we can try again. Have another baby.”

Something inside me cracked at the ease of it. As if the child I lost could just be replaced like something forgotten on a shelf.

“You think that’s how it works?” I whispered. “Like I can just… replace him?”

He smiled faintly, like he already knew he had me.

“You love me, Marielle,” he said with quiet certainty. “You always have. You’re not going to throw everything away over this.”

“And me?” My voice broke just slightly. “Do you love me, Gabriel?”

“Of course,” he answered immediately.

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that once used to make everything in me melt without effort.

But now it felt wrong. Hollow. It tasted like betrayal I hadn’t fully understood until this moment—like perfume that wasn’t mine, like something borrowed from someone else’s skin.

When he pulled away, he was smiling.

“There,” he said lightly. “See? Nothing’s changed between us.”

A sound escaped me then—not quite a laugh, not quite anything human. Something broken and sharp that I couldn’t swallow back.

Of course I love you.

The lie had always been effortless for him.

And suddenly, I was no longer in that hospital bed—I was somewhere else entirely, dragged backward by memory.

Our marriage hadn’t begun with romance. It had begun with signatures and obligations. A deal made between two powerful families over expensive cigars and heavier expectations. I was twenty. Gabriel was twenty-two.

I remembered being afraid… and strangely hopeful at the same time. I had known who he was long before I married him—the heir everyone admired, the man everyone expected me to end up with. Charismatic. Untouchable. Always out of reach.

And always, there was Camille.

Not just his secretary back then. She had been part of his orbit for as long as I could remember. After her father died and left nothing but debt, Gabriel’s family took her in. She lived within their world, always close, always present—especially because her brother Martin was Gabriel’s closest friend.

When we first got married, Gabriel barely looked at me. He was polite, but distant, like I was simply part of the arrangement he hadn’t chosen. Most of his time belonged to them—Camille, Martin. I was there, but never really included.

Then Camille left for Paris.

For two years, she disappeared into fashion school, and something in our house finally changed. The silence she left behind made room for me.

Gabriel began to notice me. Slowly at first, then all at once. We talked more. Laughed more. He came home earlier. I started believing that maybe this wasn’t just a contract anymore.

I still remember the first bouquet he gave me—white lilies wrapped awkwardly in paper. I remember the Maldives, the way he held me under a sky full of stars, whispering that he was glad it was me he married.

I had believed it then. Completely.

I thought I had finally been chosen.

But six months ago, Camille returned.

No triumph. No warning. Just her arrival, a failed degree, and a fragile story that made Gabriel open the door for her again—this time as his executive assistant.

And just like that, everything that had been built in her absence began to rot.

It didn’t collapse loudly. It happened in pieces.

One forgotten birthday because Camille “needed help.”

One anniversary missed because she was “going through something.”

One diamond bracelet that appeared on her wrist after I never received it.

Ninety-nine small cuts I convinced myself were nothing.

I swallowed every one of them. Smiled at events while she held onto his arm like it belonged to her. Ate dinner alone while he stayed late “at work” with her. Told myself I was imagining things. That I was just insecure. That Gabriel still loved me.

But now, hearing his kiss linger on my skin, everything finally cleared.

He never really chose me.

I was convenience. Stability. A cover story. A necessary piece for inheritance, reputation, and appearances.

And behind him, Camille was watching me.

Her eyes weren’t soft. They were sharp, measuring—careful. She wasn’t afraid anymore. She was checking if I was still standing in her way.

If I fought now, weak and trapped in a hospital bed, I would lose everything. Gabriel would twist the story. Make me the unstable grieving wife. Use his name, his influence, his grandfather’s power.

So I let something else take over.

Not surrender.

Strategy.

I lowered my gaze, letting my shoulders sink like I was breaking.

“…Maybe you’re right,” I whispered. “Maybe I’m just overwhelmed.”

The relief on Gabriel’s face was immediate. Visible. Almost relieved enough to disgust me.

“I knew it,” he said softly, squeezing my hand like nothing had changed. “You don’t really mean it.”

“I’m just tired,” I murmured, closing my eyes so he wouldn’t see what was burning behind them. “I want to sleep.”

“Good,” he said quickly, already stepping back like he couldn’t wait to leave. “Rest. I’ll take care of everything here.”

“Okay.”

“And Marielle,” he added at the door, pausing without turning fully back, “don’t say that word again. Divorce. It’s unnecessary. We’ll fix this.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

He nodded, satisfied, then guided Camille out with him like she belonged beside him.

The door closed.

Silence followed.

I reached under my pillow, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn’t touched in a decade.

A number I promised I would never need again.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then a voice answered—calm, elegant, distant.

“Hello?”

“…Mother,” I said, my throat raw. My voice barely held together, but something harder was forming underneath it. “You once told me… if I ever changed my mind, you’d help me. You said you still wanted to make things right between us.”

A pause.

Then softer: “I did say that. And I meant it. What do you need?”

I closed my eyes.

“Help me leave,” I whispered. “Get me out of here. Papers. Visa. Anything. I’m done, Mother. I want out. I want to disappear.”

“It’s a tragedy,” Arthur said, his voice rough like gravel dragged across stone. He set his wine glass down with a sharp clink that cut through the dining room. “A damn tragedy. My great-grandson… gone before he even had the chance to draw a breath.”

His eyes shifted toward me, and for a brief moment the severity in them softened. “I am sorry, Marielle. Truly. I know how much that child meant to you.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” I replied softly, keeping my gaze lowered to my plate. I moved a single pea around with my fork, pretending appetite existed. I had barely touched my food.

Then Arthur’s attention snapped toward Gabriel, and whatever softness had been there disappeared instantly. It was replaced by something sharper—cold, commanding anger.

“But what I fail to understand,” Arthur said in a low, dangerous tone, “is how this even happened. I was told you were at a company gathering. I was told chauffeurs were available. So why, in God’s name, was your secretary the one driving my granddaughter-in-law home while she was intoxicated?”

Across from me, Camille visibly shrank into herself. She wore a simple black dress tonight, modest and carefully chosen, like she was auditioning for forgiveness. “family,” they had called her. The word alone made my stomach twist.

“It was an accident, sir,” Camille said quietly, voice shaking. “I… I thought I was okay to drive. I just wanted to make sure Marielle got home safely.”

“Safely?” Arthur’s fist struck the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “You sent her to the hospital! You ended the life of my heir! And you call that safety?”

“Grandpa, please,” Gabriel cut in quickly, leaning forward as if trying to smooth the situation over. “Let’s not escalate this. Pointing fingers won’t change anything. Camille is already distraught. She’s been blaming herself nonstop. It was an accident. The roads were slippery.”

“The roads were fine!” Arthur shot back. “It was the driver who failed. Tell me, Gabriel—why didn’t you drive her yourself? Or hire someone competent?”

“I stayed behind with the investors,” Gabriel replied smoothly, too smoothly. “You know the merger couldn’t wait. I had no choice.”

“So instead,” Arthur said with open disgust, “you let your pregnant wife leave with a drunk woman?”

“I told them I would drive,” I said suddenly.

Silence fell like a dropped blade.

No one looked at me at first. I kept my eyes on my plate, my voice steady. “I asked for the keys. I said I was fine to drive. But Camille insisted. She said no one else touches her car.”

Arthur’s gaze sharpened. “Is that accurate?” he demanded.

Camille’s composure cracked immediately. “I… I don’t remember saying that,” she cried, shaking her head frantically. “I was just trying to help! I didn’t mean anything bad! I’m sorry—I’m really sorry!”

She broke into tears on cue, burying her face in her hands, shoulders trembling in a performance so polished it almost looked rehearsed.

Gabriel reacted instantly. He reached for her and patted her shoulder, protective. “See, Grandpa? She’s already falling apart. Marielle, please… don’t make this worse. She didn’t intend any harm.”

“She didn’t intend it,” Arthur repeated slowly, skepticism heavy in his voice. His eyes moved between them like he was weighing every lie. “Just make sure it never happens again. I want a grandson—with Marielle. No one else.”

The dinner ended shortly after, suffocating and unfinished. I stood up the moment it was socially acceptable and left the table, walking fast toward the foyer.

But I barely made it halfway when hurried footsteps followed behind me.

“Marielle! Wait up!” Camille’s voice rang out.

I stopped reluctantly.

“Please,” she said breathlessly when she reached me. “You have to forgive me. I can’t handle you hating me like this. We used to be close.”

“We were never close, Camille,” I replied evenly. “You were my husband’s best friend’s sister. That’s all.”

For a second, her expression tightened—something sharp and real flashing beneath the mask—then it disappeared again as quickly as it came. She reached out suddenly.

I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

As I turned to leave, she suddenly staggered backward with a sharp gasp and dropped to the floor, landing hard on her side.

“Ow!” she cried out dramatically.

“What is going on here?”

Gabriel came rushing from the dining room, his voice already tense. His eyes landed on Camille curled on the floor, then on me standing nearby.

“She pushed me!” Camille sobbed immediately, clutching her leg. “I was just apologizing and she shoved me!”

I stared at her, stunned. It was so blatant, so childish—and yet, somehow, perfectly effective.

Gabriel’s gaze snapped to me, anger already forming. “Are you serious right now, Marielle? You’re laying hands on her in my grandfather’s house?”

“I didn’t touch her,” I said calmly. “She threw herself down.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Why would she do that? Look at her—she’s hurt.” He bent down and helped her up, his hand lingering at her waist a little too long before he straightened. “You’re not yourself. You’re letting grief turn you into someone cruel.”

I exhaled slowly. “I’m done with this, Gabriel.”

I stepped closer. “Choose. Right now. Me or her.”

He froze completely.

His eyes flicked between me and Camille, who was still clinging to his arm like she belonged there. His mouth opened, then closed again. For the first time, he looked cornered.

“Marielle… that’s ridiculous,” he finally said, voice uneven. “I can’t choose. You’re my wife, and she’s… she’s important too.”

“That’s an answer,” I said quietly.

I turned and walked out into the night air.

Outside, the cold hit my skin like a wake-up slap. I stopped on the porch and inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, forcing back tears that refused to fall.

I wouldn’t cry for him. Not anymore.

“Marielle?”

A voice called from the darkness near the driveway—deep, familiar.

I looked up.

A black sedan sat parked nearby, and leaning against it was Martin—Camille’s older brother, Gabriel’s closest friend.

He looked different. Tired in a way I didn’t remember. His tie was loosened, a cigarette between his fingers, like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Martin,” I whispered.

He immediately dropped the cigarette and stepped forward. “I heard about the baby,” he said quietly, voice rough. “I don’t even know what to say… I’m really sorry.”

Just seeing him—someone who had once treated me like I mattered before everything turned rotten—broke something in me. A tear slipped out before I could stop it.

“It’s been… difficult,” I managed.

Martin didn’t hesitate. He pulled me into an embrace.

It wasn’t like Gabriel’s hugs—performative and empty. This one was firm, grounding. Real. I caught the faint scent of tobacco and cologne and let myself lean into it for a second longer than I should have.

“I’m sorry about Camille,” he murmured. “If I had been here, I never would’ve let her drive. She’s… unstable sometimes. I should’ve known better.”

We stood there quietly, two people carrying different kinds of grief.

Later that night, back inside the house, I sat in front of my vanity, slowly removing my earrings. The woman in the mirror looked drained—older, hollowed out, unfamiliar.

The bedroom door suddenly slammed open.

“What the hell was that?” Gabriel’s voice exploded into the room as he stepped in. “Out there—with Martin—outside my grandfather’s house?”

I turned slightly. “We were talking. He was comforting me. Something you clearly couldn’t bother to do.”

“Comforting you?” He let out a sharp laugh. “Is that what you call it? You were hugging him. I saw it. Don’t lie.”

He stormed over and grabbed the back of my chair. “What is this? Are you trying to get revenge on me? Is that it? Running to my best friend now?”

“Revenge?” I stood up abruptly, pushing his hand away. “He hugged me because I was crying, Gabriel. Because my husband was too busy protecting the woman who caused all of this.”

“Don’t twist this!” he shouted. “You’ve always had feelings for him, haven’t you? Is that why you’re suddenly so eager for divorce? So you can run straight to Martin?”

The irony was almost laughable. Almost.

I looked at him slowly, my voice dropping into something dangerously calm.

“So hugging someone while I’m grieving is cheating now?” I said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

I stepped closer, close enough that he had to meet my eyes.

“Then tell me, Gabriel… by your logic, are you admitting you’ve been cheating on me with Camille all along?”