When I caught Christian Helmley cheating on me for the tenth time, he dragged his lover over without any hesitation and let me decide her fate.

When I caught him cheating for the 28th time, he cried and groveled and begged for my forgiveness. The man went so far as to curse his bloodline for that.

By the ninety-eighth time, nothing he did could touch me anymore. I was numb.

All I did was crouch beyond the door of his study while he and his lover were going at it like animals.

Then it was the last time I caught him cheating. He came back and kissed me right after sleeping with another woman.

One day before I left, he barged in with a crying girl in his arms. Christian berated me, accusing me of killing his son. "I can't believe you! You're not the woman I know!"

He pressed the tip of a fountain pen against my belly, and I forced my tears back.

"I don't want any other woman carrying my children. I only want Jasmine! God, can you stop being possessive for one second? You're practically a hag now, Natasha. Pull this again, and I'll send you to an asylum!"

All that elicited from me was a bitter smile. I had no strength left to argue. "Yes, yes, I envy her. She took my husband from me, but I guess I should say goodbye and bless your relationship on the way out now."

Then I jumped into the rolling sea right before his eyes.

Only one thought remained in my mind. 'That's the last of the love I had for you, Christian.'

Dead Love

Christian came straight to bed and tried to kiss me right after coming back from making out with Jasmine Wood. As he unbuttoned my shirt, my stomach began to churn, and my body moved before my mind could. I slapped him.

"Thought the girl was enough. Are you here for seconds?"

Fury burned in Christian's eyes. He grabbed my calf and yanked me off the bed. My knees crashed into the ground, and I yelped. "And you're saying no? You're hitting 30, you old hag. Do you really think I still desire you?"

The full-length mirror reflected a pale face. It was me.

Minute lines crinkled the corners of my eyes, while my hair was dry and lusterless. I was a rose that was abandoned and left to wilt.

Then my mind painted a picture of Jasmine. Her fair, lovely face, and her bright, shining eyes. Morning sickness hit me hard when we first met, and she handed me a silky-smooth towel to help ease me up.

I was going to say thank you, but the sharp stench that hit my nose made me retch violently.

"I'm really sorry! We just finished up, and I didn't get to wash it in time. Christian and I went at it for twelve hours last night. He didn't want to hurt you."

There were small crimson patches dotting the towel along with half-dried stains.

Though Jasmine's eyes shone brightly, her face had arrogance and victory written all over it. "Men love tighter women. Christian's loosened you up, Natasha. I don't blame you, though. You've had years together."

I was about to throw up again. Tears blurred my sight, but I looked at Christian. "You went for youth because you hate my age, don't you?"

My reaction stirred nothing in Chrsitian. He grabbed my chin and pulled my head up, then he dropped a kiss on my icy cold cheek.

"Every successful man has a lovely lady to keep up appearances. You're unreasonable, Nat. Men have a conscience too. At the end of the day, the girls who toughed it out with us are the only ones that mean something."

Another wave of nausea hit me again. I grabbed my pillow and hurled it as hard as I could. "Get out!" I screamed, sounding hysteric. "I don't want to see you again!"

When I raised my head, Christian was nowhere to be seen.

He was a different man now. The old him would've given me a hug and tried to calm me down whenever I had an episode, promising me that he would stop seeing his lover.

Time had quietly reshaped me into someone unrecognizable in Christian's eyes. Even the shallowest reassurances disappeared. To him, simply coming home was already an act worthy of praise—something I should be grateful for.

Across from our building, on the fortieth floor, I could see silhouettes moving behind glass—two bodies entwined, lost in each other.

I, on the other hand, was stepping on a floor covered in shattered glass. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, but the pain never reached me.

Destiny had already shown me the future long ago.

After his first affair, sleep abandoned me. Night after night, I lay awake until exhaustion hollowed me out. The years caught up quickly—etching fine lines at the corners of my eyes, draining the softness from my face.

At social events, people would comment with polite cruelty—how mature I looked compared to others my age. Christian would only smile awkwardly and say he preferred women who seemed older than they were.

"They make good caregivers," he would add.

But eventually, he stopped bringing me to his events. I was replaced with a young and lovely woman.

I started taking medications for my insomnia, and the side effects built up in my body over time. My sense of pain was taken away in the end.

I chuckled at myself, and my hand slid up my chest. The pain in my body was gone… but not this. This ache—deep and constant—remained untouched. Untouchable. And part of me almost wished it would disappear too.

This argument was not isolated. For four years I had to face countless fights, though all ended the same. Christian stopped trying to cheer me up.

My pain stopped coming, and all I could do was face the affairs numbly.

One thought came to me. If I kept myself stuck in his entanglement, perhaps someday I would end up accepting his affairs as long as he would give me a moment of his time.

That would be no different from the rich wives in the elite circle, but I couldn't understand. How did it end up in misery? We used to be deeply, madly in love.

I met Christian at the lowest point of his life. His father, crushed by debt, had taken his own life. His mother was lost to depression. At nineteen, he carried everything alone.

Eight years I stood by him, until he crawled back out of the abyss. When success began to smile on him, youth said goodbye to me.

The younger Christian once rested his head on my shoulders and gave me the biggest grin I'd ever seen. "Thank you for everything," he said once. "I'll treat you like a queen. I promise."

Back then, my face flushed so easily at his words. I believed him.

One year into our marriage, he had his first affair.

And that marked the beginning of his multiple affairs, all of which were consecutive.

Push Him Away

When I found out about his tenth affair, Christian held me tight and apologized through tears as he chased the woman out of the room. She barely even had time to strap her bra on.

By the twenty-eighth time, he went further. He transferred mansions and luxury cars into my name, swearing over and over that I was the only one he loved.

After the ninety-ninth time, I stopped counting. The details blurred together until they meant nothing at all. His guilt faded, and so did the tears. Even pretending began to feel like a burden to him.

Instead, he called his assistant and laid down a rule—cold, calculated, almost absurd.

A house under my name for every affair. A set of rare jewelry whenever one of his lovers got pregnant.

We'd dated for eight years and married for four. Now I had 99 properties under my name and was the owner of 98 sets of jewelry.

The other elites' wives envied me. Christian made a good show of him being a generous husband. Unbeknownst to them, this marriage was rotten from the inside.

It festered like an untreated wound, and I refused to cut it away. All I could do was watch it decay.

I was clinging on to something that already wasn't there. There were times I'd print out the divorce papers only to tear them apart in my ensuing hysteria.

Our fights came in droves, and we both pointed fingers at each other.

The endless arguments wore us down and planted resentment within us. The young man who once only had eyes for me was something in the past now.

The remnants of love I had for him dried out into desiccated husks after so many betrayals.

My parents were carving out a future in Asternis. Busy as they were, they sent their butler to talk to me.

Tears glistened in my eyes as I said, "I want to go home."

…

The flight was scheduled to take off in ten days. The living room was a lot more spacious than it used to be, with most of the decor wrapped up in cardboard boxes.

Only one thing remained untouched. The veil.

I couldn't throw that out. Christian made it with his own hands back when I was his whole world.

The end product wasn't the best, but it was a symbol of his love. Even after he started giving me piles of luxury items, the veil remained the one thing I loved the most.

Then one day, I saw Jasmine coming out of the auction house looking like she'd won the best thing in life. Reporters huddled around her, and she gushed about her happiness.

Christian had spent 1.5 million bidding on a set of diamond-encrusted, golden-threaded lingerie for her.

The scene made me sick to my stomach.

I tore the veil apart without thinking—but halfway through, my strength gave out. I collapsed to the floor, breath unsteady, surrounded by fragments of what used to mean everything.

We had years of history and a lot of memories tucked away. Throwing all of them away in one go was impossible.

I'd stayed in this painful dream for twelve years, and it was time to wake up, even if what lay ahead was excruciating pain.

…

I woke up after taking my medication. It was already afternoon, and it was the next day. Footsteps echoed outside the door.

"Did you throw our stuff out? The house is emptier than I remember. You should've told me." Christian's voice was raspier than usual.

Jasmine texted him. His phone buzzed. Her cloying voice played through the speaker, "I'm still sore from last night, daddy. You pounded me long and hard."

Christian halted before the entrance. A smile curled his lips, and he texted back even though I was right here.

I looked away. "Just clearing out useless things," I said flatly.

I moved toward the bar, but before I could reach it, he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. He sat down on the couch with me, as if nothing had happened.

Then he took out another set of designer items for me.

Like he'd done so many times, Christian went down on one knee and wrapped an anklet around my ankle. His eyes spoke nothing but devotion, as if I was the only one he loved.

"Alright, enough of this," he said lightly. "Look what I got you." He stood and leaned in, brushing a kiss against my collarbone.

"Everyone knows how well I treat you. People envy you, you know that? So stop sulking and drop the attitude."

A cold smile twisted my lips. His promise came back to me.

A set of jewelry every time he made his mistress pregnant. This came faster than I remembered. Perhaps that mistress was Jasmine.

My smile sharpened. And this time—I pushed him away.

She's Pregnant

Christian and I had been together for years. My body was never the kind that conceived easily, so when I first became pregnant, I didn't even notice.

When I saw the news showing him and Jasmine coming out of a hotel like a couple that'd just had a steamy session, I charged right into his company and raised hell.

The employees thought it was a joke. Christian, with his inflated need of ego-stroking, thought I was an embarrassment. For one week he didn't return home, and rumors caught up to me.

"Is Mr. Helmley getting a divorce?"

"He's rich and successful, but his wife hasn't stepped up in forever."

"And she's grown a lot older this year. Wrinkles all over her face, and her skin's sagging. Of course her husband's leaving."

I forced myself to look the other way and kept the thoughts at bay at first, but then Christian started swapping out women like they were disposable utensils.

Perhaps I shouldn't think about that kind of past. While Christian wasn't home, I sold all the properties and supercars at low, low prices.

The agent found it surprising, but I told him to just make the sale ASAP, regardless of the price. I was thankful that Christian gave me piles of assets and jewelry back when he loved only me.

I also had a sizable amount of shares in his company. Every time we went at it back then, he would hug me like he was squeezing a teddy bear and tell me how much he loved me, again and again.

He promised he would give me the best the world had to offer and secure my future. "If I ever fall for someone else one day," he once said with a laugh, "this version of me will make sure he pays for it."

Neither of us imagined that someday would come just one year into our marriage.

…

I wanted to sell all my assets and maintain my lifestyle even after the divorce.

Six days before my flight to Asternis, I went back to the countryside.

There was a lemon garden there—rows of trees stretching under the open sky. He had given it to me for my twenty-sixth birthday.

That moment under the tree brought us our first child.

Sweet memories here, despite the fruits it held, but all I wanted to do was bid it one last goodbye.

I pushed the steel gates open. The moment I pushed open the gates, a heavy floral scent hit me—thick, overwhelming.

Jasmine.

My throat tightened. My skin reacted instantly, irritation spreading across my face.

Christian knew I was allergic to pollen. Why would he fill this place with jasmine?

The butler in the garden scurried away after she gave me a panicked look. When I tried the door, it denied me access. "Authorized personnel only."

That was bemusing.

Then the door opened. A soft, syrupy voice floated out.

"You can't keep yourself away from me, can you, honey? And I let you suck on me the whole night."

Jasmine Wood, probably. His latest and most beloved mistress.

On screen, she looked radiant. Up close, without makeup, there were traces of someone familiar—echoes of who I used to be.

That realization lingered longer than it should have.

"Ms. Wood, wrecking someone's marriage is illegal. Christian's company is going public very soon, and a scandal is the last thing he needs. If this goes out, I'm sure he'll pull back all his protection."

I tried to move past her.

Jasmine grabbed my wrist, and her eyes twinkled with smugness. "Christian gave this house to me after he took my first time."

I saw disdain in her eyes. Disdain for me. "And if the rumors are true, dancers are very… promiscuous. Most of you aren't virgins anymore."

The younger me would be incandescent after that remark, but the older me didn't argue with her.

Instead, I called Christian right away.

It went through, and Christian's tired voice said, "I just got out of a meeting. Can you please let me catch my breath? Jasmine had a hard past, so just let her have that house. It's just a countryside property, not a big deal.

"I've given you more houses than I could count. What more do you want? If you really want it, I…"

The rest of that didn't reach me. Jasmine pounced on me like a panther, and the phone fell with a clatter.

"I heard you stayed with him for eight years while he had nothing," she said. "He married you out of gratitude. Don't you think he's repaid that by now?"

Then she turned toward a camera nearby. Tears welled in her eyes as she dropped to her knees. "Please… let him go. For the sake of my child."

Christian probably noticed something, and his voice took on an element of agitation. "What'd you do to her, Natasha? I gave you everything I could, so don't push it! Damn it, can you stop being possessive for three seconds?"

A cold laugh slipped from me. "You know exactly how I feel about betrayal," I said quietly. "If she stays, I leave."

I turned toward the door. For the first time, panic entered his voice. "Wait—if you hate her that much, I'll make her go!"

My footsteps halted, and I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes and took a steady breath, pressing a hand against my chest.

Then I spoke calmly. "You're going to be a father, Christian."

Silence fell on the other end of the line.