My 33 Humiliations

After secretly registering our marriage, my lawyer husband, Benedict White, proposed holding a public wedding ceremony every time he gained favor with his lover, Anna Lester.

Over three years, Benedict asked me thirty-three times and broke thirty-three promises.

The first time, Anna’s dog died.

He said we had to mourn for three months to honor it.

I stood in a wedding dress and apologized endlessly to the friends and relatives seated below the stage.

The second time, Anna had menstrual pain.

He turned around on the way and went to care for her.

After that, every ceremony he promised came with a new problem from Anna.

I cried. I protested.

Yet Benedict always said, “She's just a friend with benefits. You’re my wife. Don’t be so petty about it.”

After the thirty-third time, I finally grew tired.

I slid a divorce agreement across the table in front of him.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Benedict White missed our wedding ceremony for the thirty-second time after the celebration banquet for his nine hundred and ninety-ninth successful case.

Anna Lester had carefully organized the banquet for him.

At the party, everyone assumed Anna was his girlfriend.

“Mr. White and Miss Lester grew up together, and so make such a perfect match!

“In this day and age, wouldn’t it be inappropriate to celebrate the couple?”

“Yes! We want to see them toast each other!”

The shouts reached my ears.

As the woman who had been legally married to Benedict for three years yet never publicly acknowledged, I could only shrink into a corner and watch him gaze at Anna with deep affection as they crossed their wine glasses and drank deeply.

After the banquet ended, afraid our relationship might be exposed, I waited for Benedict at the intersection beside the hotel.

A black car slowly pulled up, the window sliding down to reveal Anna’s sleeping face in the passenger seat.

Benedict looked at me, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever.

“Get a ride home. I need to send Anna back to her place.”

I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Benedict had a severe obsession with cleanliness and never allowed any lingering scents in his car.

Once, because of his stubborn temperament, he had offended a client.

I nearly drank myself to death just to apologize on his behalf.

Yet afterward, he frowned at me with open disgust and said, “You reek. Figure out your own way back.”

That day, he abandoned me alone in the snow-covered outskirts of the city.

I walked for four hours before I finally reached home.

Now, the drunken Anna slept peacefully in his passenger seat.

It turned out his rules existed only for me.

I smiled bitterly and tried to keep my voice steady.

“Are we still having our ceremony tomorrow?”

Benedict hesitated.

“I definitely have to take care of Anna tonight. I won’t make it tomorrow, so let’s just reschedule.”

A chill spread through my chest, but I still nodded lightly and said, “Alright.”

After a pause, I took a document out of my bag and handed it to Benedict.

“Please sign this.”

Perhaps out of guilt, Benedict did not even look at it.

He took the pen and signed.

Then he gazed at me.

“When I come home tomorrow, I’ll buy you your favorite dessert from the west side of the city,” he promised.

With that, he drove away.

…

By the time Benedict returned home, it was already noon the next day.

He stood in front of the mirror and removed the shirt stained with Anna’s lipstick.

Suddenly, he stopped, tilted his head slightly, and looked at me through the reflection as I sat on the edge of the bed.