"Brielle, I heard you had a crush on me back in school." Percy’s voice was casual, almost indifferent, like what he was about to say was just a simple solution to an inconvenience.

"So why don’t we just get married and skip the whole blind date hassle?" he continued, barely looking up from his phone.

Turning my long-standing admiration into reality felt like a dream—something I never thought would happen.

So, naturally, I said yes. I thought it was fate.

But as time passed, I realized the harsh truth—every moment had been nothing but my own wishful thinking.

As I sat there, quietly stewing, my eyes wandered to his neck.

A faint red mark.

For years, he wouldn’t let me touch that part of him.

How ironic.

Completely unaffected by my silence, Percy casually pulled a jar of body lotion out of the drawer and held it up like it was just another routine night.

"You didn’t put on lotion today, did you?" he said, unscrewing the lid. "Want me to help?"

I didn’t say no.

Since I got pregnant, applying lotion every night to prevent stretch marks has become part of my routine. But the moment he lifted my shirt, his whole body stiffened.

His breathing hitched.

And then… disgust flashed across his face.

My stomach was covered in deep, layered stretch marks—lines carved into my skin from carrying his child.

They ran along my waist, curled around my stomach, some darker, some lighter, overlapping each other.

As if he couldn’t hold it in, he slapped a hand over his mouth and gagged. "Ugh!"

The sound cut through me.

Humiliation. Grief. They crashed into me all at once.

Tears welled up and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

'So this was how he saw me?'

The stretch marks I earned through pain, marks left by his child, were so disgusting to him that he couldn’t even look at me?

I forced the words out, my voice trembling with rage. "I don’t need your help."

I ripped the lotion from his hands, shoving him away. "Get out."

Percy looked genuinely flustered, like a kid who had just been caught doing something wrong.

"Brielle, I didn’t mean it that way," he stammered. "Maybe I just drank too much tonight. It made me feel a little dizzy."

'Liar...'

His body language never lied. And I would never believe him again.

I grabbed the pillow from the bed and threw it at his face. "Percy, I don’t want to see you ever again!"

His mouth opened, hesitating like he wanted to say something, but he must’ve realized that no excuse would make a difference.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping back. "I’ll sleep in the guest room. If you’re feeling unwell, just call me."

As if I ever would.

...

The next morning, I woke up to find Percy asleep by my bedside.

His long, narrow eyes had dark circles beneath them, his face slightly pale. I didn’t know if he had stayed up all night watching over me. I didn’t care enough to ask.

When he saw I was awake, he quickly grabbed a coat and draped it over me. "It’s negative twenty degrees today. Don’t catch a cold."

I barely acknowledged him.

"Mm," I hummed, pulling the coat tighter around me, my eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

Without another word, I stood up and walked toward the third floor.

The third floor was the biggest room in the house. It had once been a sanctuary—bathed in sunlight, cozy, and full of hope.

At least, that’s what it was supposed to be.

Percy had promised me this would be our child’s nursery back then.

We’d poured our hearts into it.

A custom-made crib. Soft, cozy play mats. An endless collection of tiny baby clothes—each one hand-picked with care.

Whenever I felt overwhelmed or upset, I’d come up here because this room was supposed to be a dream waiting to happen.

But when I pushed open the door—

Everything was gone.

The crib. The play mats. The clothes.

All of it.

Instead, Gianna’s stuff was everywhere.

For a moment, I couldn’t even breathe. Then, just as I was processing the betrayal, Gianna stepped out of the room.

She took one look at my face and smirked. "Good morning, Brielle."

A wave of anger surged inside me. "Who gave you permission to touch this room?"

This house had plenty of guest rooms, but she’d deliberately chosen this one. She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Gianna gave me a mock-apologetic smile, tucking a strand of perfect hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Percy told me I could stay here."

Then, with a delicate sigh, she added, "I had no idea this was a nursery you’d prepared…"

'Liar.'

She knew exactly what she was doing. She was poking at my wounds, enjoying my pain. I wasn’t about to let it slide.

Without hesitation, I raised my hand and slapped her.

Hard.

The sharp crack echoed through the room.

Gianna gasped, clutching her cheek, eyes wide in shock. "What—!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I seethed, my voice cold as ice.

Her lips quivered. Then, like clockwork, her entire demeanor shifted. The smug, taunting Gianna vanished. In her place was a tear-streaked, pitiful damsel in distress.

"I… I didn’t mean to…" she whimpered, her eyes glassy with crocodile tears.

The act was pathetic. Just seconds ago, she’d been smirking.

Now, she was playing the helpless victim?

And, of course, right on cue, Percy walked in.

Just like that.

The first thing Percy saw was me angry, completely out of control, the perfect villain in this carefully staged scene.

So, it was all a setup.

Before he could open his mouth, I cut in, my voice sharp, cutting through the tension. "Percy, where are all the things from the nursery?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward, positioning himself between me and Gianna, like I was the threat.

And just like that, I became the irrational, hysterical wife.

"Calm down, okay?" he said almost condescendingly. "Let’s talk this through."

'Calm down?'

I had poured my heart and soul into that nursery. I had imagined bringing our baby home to that room, rocking them to sleep, watching them take their first steps.

And now? Gone.

"Percy, I’m asking you one more time—where is everything?" I demanded, my patience fraying.

He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. "I told the housekeeper to move everything into storage."

Storage.

It was as if my baby’s entire existence was just clutter to be packed away and forgotten.

I dropped my gaze to my belly, my fingers curling instinctively over the swell. It hit me then. It wasn’t just the nursery that was disposable. It was me.

The baby was innocent, but so were the years I had given him, the sacrifices, and how I had changed myself to fit into his world.

And for what? So he could erase me like this?

I didn’t argue. Didn’t scream. I just turned around, walked to my room, and locked the door behind me.

Somewhere in the distance, the bells for New Year’s Eve rang.

At the same time, someone knocked softly on my door.

"Brielle, come out and eat something." Percy’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

But I wasn’t fooled. I hadn’t eaten all day. And just then, the familiar, rich aroma of lotus root and pork rib soup drifted under the door—the kind my mother used to make.

My stomach clenched. I didn’t want to face him.

But somehow, my feet moved on their own.

Percy acted as if nothing had happened when I walked to the dining room. He piled food onto my plate and ladled soup into my bowl, playing the part of the caring husband so flawlessly, I almost could’ve believed it.

Almost.

Gianna sat across from me, her smug little smile barely hidden as she quietly ate. I had no idea what Percy was up to, but I wasn’t about to fall for his little act.

After dinner, he led me toward the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room.

"Brielle, look," he murmured. "It’s snowing."

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, covering the world in an endless blanket of white.

For a brief moment, I was distracted, caught in the quiet beauty of the snowfall. And as I got distracted, he shoved me out. The cold hit me like a brick wall.

The next thing I heard was the soft click of the lock.

I spun around, my hands slamming against the glass. "You bastard! Percy! Open the damn door!"

I pounded against the window, screaming his name. But the glass was soundproof. No matter how loud I yelled, I couldn’t hear a single sound from inside.

My breath came out in harsh, visible puffs.

I was barefoot. Wearing only a short-sleeved shirt.

Negative twenty degrees.

And he locked me out.

Through the window, I could see Percy and Gianna standing together, warm and comfortable. She curled against his side, whispering something in his ear. Even though I couldn’t hear them, I could read their lips.

Gianna smirked. "Oh god, Percy, Brielle really does look like Santa Claus like this!"

He laughed. "Told you, didn’t I? With a belly that big, of course, she looks the part. Like it? This is my New Year’s gift to you."

Gianna nodded eagerly.

Then Percy turned his gaze back to me and sneered. "Well, at least all my effort playing along with her wasn’t wasted."

Then he reached out, brushing Gianna’s cheek. "Your face still hurts from when she slapped you?"

Gianna pouted, shaking her head.

And that was it.

They turned, arms linked, heading upstairs to the master bedroom.

A moment later, the automatic curtains closed.

I was nothing to him.

Not a wife. Not the mother of his child.

I'm just a nuisance to be discarded.

The cold was biting, relentless. Every breath felt like inhaling shattered glass.

I waited.

At first, I told myself he was just trying to scare me that he’d open the door soon. That he wouldn’t actually leave me out here to freeze to death.

But as the minutes ticked by, I realized he wasn’t returning.

I had to move. I forced my frozen limbs to start walking. Step by step, toward the road outside the villa.

Each step sent searing pain through my body, like icy daggers stabbing into my skull. I don’t know how long I had been walking when the numbness in my limbs turned into unbearable heat.

Burning. Suffocating.

So this... this was the final stage of hypothermia.

I swayed. My vision blurred. The world tilted. And as I collapsed—

All I could see was white.

"She’s awake! Quick, call the doctor!" A familiar voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I blinked against the harsh hospital lights, my vision slowly adjusting only to see Percy.

He looked exhausted and haggard, and his usual sharp features dulled by fatigue.

His voice was rough and hoarse as he said, "Brielle, you’re finally awake."

But I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to hear his voice.

I turned my head away. My gaze landed on the medical chart hanging beside my bed.

And that’s when I saw it.

[Patient’s arms necrotic. Fetal heartbeat ceased.]

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Then, the reality of it slammed into me.

My arms were gone. My baby was gone.

And it was all because of him.

My vision blurred as rage and grief ripped through me.

"Percy, do I owe you something? What did I do to deserve this?" My voice was shaky, raw.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something like he actually had an excuse for this.

But all that came out was a quiet, pathetic. "I’m sorry, Brielle."

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. 'Sorry? Now? What the hell was the point of being sorry now?'

"Percy, let’s get a divorce," I coldly replied.

Panic flickered in his eyes. For the first time, he actually looked scared. He grabbed my hand—or at least, the lifeless limb that remained.

"This was my fault," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I’m sorry. I swear, I—"

I tried to move my fingers.

Nothing. No feeling. No movement. It's just dead weight.

"Do you think an apology is enough to fix this?" My voice was dangerously quiet. "My baby is dead, Percy!"

At the mention of the baby, a shadow of guilt crossed his face.

He hesitated, his words faltering. "But… but Gianna said half an hour in the cold wouldn’t be a problem."

I felt my entire body go still. 'Gianna. Of course....'

Of course, she had something to do with this.

He kept talking, his words digging deeper into my already shattered heart.

"In Russia, newborns are given ice baths after birth, and they’re fine," he added as if that was some kind of defense.

Then, his expression softened like he was trying to comfort me.

"Besides," he said almost gently, "we’re still young. We can always have another—"

I yelled, "Enough!"

I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear her name. I didn’t want to hear about his justifications, excuses, or empty reassurances. I didn’t want to hear another word out of his damn mouth.

Right then, I forced myself to look at him, meeting his gaze head-on.

"I said I want a divorce," I repeated, each word sharp as a blade. "Do you not understand human language?"

For the first time since I’d known him, Percy looked speechless.

He froze, stunned.

Then, his carefully controlled temper finally cracked.

"Brielle, do you really think anyone else would want you after this?" His voice turned cold, cruel. "If it weren’t for the fact that you had no family and looked so pitiful, I wouldn’t have even spared you a glance!"

A heavy silence fell between us.

Then, something clicked inside me.

I suddenly remembered.

The day Percy confessed to me. The way he had shown up at my door, his voice soft, his hands warm.

'I’ll take care of you. I’ll be your family now.'

I had believed him. I had trusted him. And the whole time, he had only pitied me. I was such a fool.

Without blood ties and obligations, I was never his family. I was nothing to him.

My lips curled into a mirthless smile.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I said, my voice calm—too calm.

His jaw clenched. "You’ll regret this."

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

...

The day of the divorce, I didn’t even see him.

I had my lawyer handle everything. When the final paperwork was signed, I didn’t even take the divorce certificate with me. I had it thrown in the trash.

Just like our marriage. Just like everything I had ever given him.

A clean break, or so I thought.

I wasted no time transferring to hospitals. I wanted him gone from my life.

For good.

But even after the divorce, the messages kept coming:

[I’m sorry. I was too impulsive before.]

[Where are you? Let me come pick you up, okay?]

[I’m really worried about you.]

[Brielle, please, just reply to me.]