In five years of our marriage, my husband, Vincent Blackthorne had taken ninety-nine mistresses home.

At our anniversary party, he allowed the hundredth one to get me drunk.

I’m allergic to alcohol. I ended up in the hospital with anaphylactic shock. And still, he said to me, “Stop playing weak, Andrea. Sable’s craving barbecue ribs. Drag your pathetic weak self home and make them.”

Then came the warehouse fire. He didn’t hesitate for a second—he carried his mistress out, leaving me behind.

The flames swallowed my cries for help. My right leg was permanently damaged in the fire.

When I woke up in the hospital, he was pressing the doctor to graft skin on Sable’s arm, which had only been scraped in the commotion.

Something inside me finally died. “Vincent, I want a divorce.”

“Divorce? How dare you bring that up? You don’t care about your brother’s life anymore?” He scoffed. “Doesn’t your precious little brother still need his medical treatments?”

His mistress burst out laughing. She even started a betting pool in their private chat group.

[Come on, place your bets! How long will Andrea last this time after filing for divorce? One day? Or forever?]

Without missing a beat, Vincent placed his bet—one day—and threw in ten million.

I quietly bet one dollar on forever.

Ignoring their ridicule and sneers flooding the chat, I left the group. Then, I made a call—to Vincent’s greatest rival.

“Damian. I’m getting a divorce. You once said you’d take me away if I asked. Does that offer still stand?”

“Of course it does! Where are you? I’ll come get you right now!”

“No rush. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up. Let’s meet in a month.”

After hanging up, I headed straight for the law office.

“Mr. Welch, I need you to draft two agreements for me: one divorce agreement and one for the transfer of shares.”

Welch hesitated. “Does Mr. Blackthorne know you’re divorcing him?”

I touched the bandage on my arm, still seeping blood. “He will.”

For now, he was probably busy with Sable Frost.

That afternoon, Vincent and I arrived home one after another.

Noticing the cold stove, his face darkened. “Didn’t I tell you Sable wants tiramisu? Why you haven’t made yet?”

I ignored his accusations and calmly took my seat.

His voice turned sharp. “Andrea, are you trying to piss me off? Don’t push your luck, or I’ll—”

“Cut off my brother’s medical expenses?” I finished for him, my eyes cold and steady. “Go ahead.”

I’d heard those threats more times than I could count.

For years, I’d bent over backwards to please him—all for my brother’s sake.

He made me watch him fawn over his lovers and clean up after their affairs.

He forced me to act as a live target while his mistresses practiced shooting—without protective gear.

He had me drive through thunderstorms, for hours, just to deliver hot soup to some woman.

But I’m still human. I’ve had enough of this humiliation.

I pulled out the documents from my bag.

“Two papers. Sign them.”

Vincent’s face dropped. He’d never seen me like this before. He was about to read them when his phone rang. He didn’t even bother to step away. He answered right in front of me.

Sable’s sweet voice came through.

“Vincent, why aren’t you back yet? My arm… It hurts again…”

Vincent softened instantly. “I’m coming, sweetheart,” he said, turning to leave.

I grabbed his wrist. “Sign first.”

Annoyed, he glared at me. “Didn’t you heard her? Sable needs me. Why are you always making things harder?”

With clear impatience, he snatched the pen, flipped to the last page and signed.

As I stared at his rushed, scrawled signature, my chest tightened.

If he’d even glanced at the document, he would’ve realized it was the divorce papers.

But he didn’t.

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The chime hanging by the entryway jingled softly with his departure.

I sat there for a moment, frozen.

The wind chime. It was my half-sister—Isolde Leighton’s favorite. She and Vincent had been childhood sweethearts. But five years ago, she was killed in a car accident.

The Leighton Family couldn’t bear to lose their engagement ties with the Blackthornes, so they forced me into Vincent’s room.

I’d never forget the look in Vincent’s eyes that night—pure disgust and hostility.

“You think pulling a dirty stunt like this will make you Mrs. Blackthorne? Dream on. I’ll never let that happen!”

But when the so-called "scandal" was exposed, my father broke down in tears and demanded Vincent take responsibility—or face public disgrace.

Old Mr. Blackthorne couldn’t risk the family’s reputation. So, they made us marry.

I knew Vincent didn’t love me. But I married him anyway—because I loved him. I told myself if I tried hard enough, maybe one day I’d warm his frozen heart.

But on our wedding night, he brought home a woman who bore a striking resemblance to my sister.

That was only the beginning.

I made a deal with myself—when he brought home the hundredth woman, I would leave.

Sable was the hundredth. And she looked more like Isolde than anyone before her.

“Hey, look! Isn’t that Mr. Blackthorne and Miss Frost?” one of the maids suddenly gasped.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I glanced at my phone. A blogger was doing random street interviews under a ‘time capsule’ theme—and just by chance, they’d interviewed Vincent and Sable.

Vincent wore his usual blank expression, clearly uninterested. But Sable was excited, practically glowing with enthusiasm. Vincent humored her, playing the doting boyfriend.

The blogger read their random question aloud:

“If you could go back five years, what would you do?”

Sable frowned, pretending to struggle for an answer.

Vincent pulled her closer, his voice dangerously soft, but his words sharp as knives.

“I would have killed anyone who tried to approach me with ulterior motives... and made sure I met Sable, much sooner.”

The tenderness was for Sable. She leaned into him, glowing with happiness.

While the cruelty was for me.

My grip on the phone tightened, my heart sinking. He still hated me this much. But I didn’t care anymore.

I printed Sable’s picture, slid it into the album of his mistresses and wrote: 100. Goodbye. I locked it away in the study drawer, along with the signed divorce papers.

A parting gift for Vincent. He’d like it.

After that, I quietly began packing my things.

When Vincent and Sable returned, I had just tossed a woven blanket into the trash bin.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asked.

My body stiffened slightly. “Sort thing out where it belong to garbage,” I said flatly.

He walked over and saw the bin full of handmade crafts I’d once made for him, along with several expensive dresses he’d given me.

“You never even wore these dresses. How are they garbage?” he frowned.

Without stopping my hands, I replied calmly, “Some things just aren’t meant to fit. No point forcing it.”

Like people. After five years, I had finally seen things clearly.

Vincent seemed to sense the underlying meaning behind my words, his frown deepening.

Before he could say anything, Sable clung to his arm and pouted. “Vincent, I’m tired. Can I sleep in that room tonight?” She pointed at the master bedroom.

Vincent pressed his lips together. “Sable just had skin graft surgery. She’s uncomfortable at night. It’ll be easier for me to take care of her if she sleeps in the master bedroom.”

I raised my eyes and met Sable’s deliberately provocative gaze.

She was challenging me.

After all, the master bedroom was my last stronghold.

In the past, I would throw a fit every time he tried to let one of his women stay there. But now… I didn’t care anymore.

I simply nodded. “Alright. I’ll go pack up my things.”

The master bedroom was filled with memories I had poured my heart into. It took me an entire afternoon to clear it out.

When Vincent saw the empty room, his expression grew strange.

“Sable’s only staying temporarily. Once she’s better, she’ll move out. Why pack everything so thoroughly?”

“I’d rather replace things when the time comes than cling to the old,” I answered smoothly.

Vincent stared at me suspiciously. “Andrea, you’re not acting like yourself. What are you plotting?”

I said nothing.

Just then, Sable let out a little gasp. “Wow, this bracelet is gorgeous!”

I looked up sharply and saw her holding a pale pink agate bracelet from my vanity.

My chest tightened. I quickly strode over. “Give it back.”

Sable turned to Vincent with wide, innocent eyes. “Vincent, I really like this one.”

Before Vincent could respond, I cut in firmly, “That’s mine.”

My tone was sharp and Vincent’s face darkened.

“It’s just a stupid bracelet. She’s giving you some face by even liking it. Stop making a scene,” he snapped.

I was fuming. “That bracelet was my mother’s!”

I was an illegitimate child, raised secretly in the countryside with my younger brother. My foster mother was poor. That bracelet was a gift she saved up for months to buy me for my coming-of-age.

Vincent knew that.

His brows furrowed; he hesitated as he glanced at Sable.

Sable, ever the manipulator, quickly played innocent. “I’m so sorry, Andrea. I didn’t realize it was that important to you. Here, I’ll give it back.”

She reached out, but as she did, her fingers conveniently slipped.

The bracelet fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

My outstretched hand froze mid-air, as I watched the last thing my mother ever gave me break beyond repair.

The tears came before I could stop them, but I swallowed my sobs and slapped her across the face.

Sable stumbled back in shock, hitting her head on the dresser, a bruise immediately forming on her forehead.

Vincent exploded. He slapped me so hard I fell to the ground, my ears ringing. My hand landed in the broken shards, instantly drawing blood.

Sable burst into tears, wailing, “Vincent, my face! Am I going to be disfigured?”

Her face—so much like my sister’s—only fueled his fury.

Vincent scooped her up protectively. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

He stormed out so fast that he knocked over the decor by the cabinet. A plaster statue crashed down, landing squarely on my head, blood gushing down my face.

But he didn’t even glance back.

I was used to this. Calmly, I pulled out my phone and called for an ambulance.

When I woke up, Vincent was sitting by my hospital bed, face like stone.

Usually, he would be screaming at me by now.

Instead, he glanced at me coldly and said, “Tomorrow, we’re going to Emerald Island. You used to train for mermaid shows, didn’t you? Sable’s willing to forgive you if you perform for her. Consider it your apology.” 

I had learned mermaid performances because Vincent loved watching underwater shows. I wanted to be closer to him.

I had even secretly rented an entire aquarium for his birthday, just to surprise him.

But the moment he saw me in that tank, the revulsion in his eyes was searing.

He ordered the guards to rip off my oxygen mask, leaving me trapped underwater for nearly an hour.

I blacked out from oxygen deprivation before he finally let me out.

Since then, I’ve been terrified of water.

“I’m not going,” I said instinctively.

He didn’t even bother to argue.

The next morning, he had me forcibly dragged onto a helicopter.

As the rotors lifted us into the sky, my stomach twisted into knots.

The sea surrounding Emerald Island sparkled under the sun, stretching endlessly into the horizon. To anyone else, it was paradise.

But as I stared at the waves gently rising and falling, all I felt was a suffocating dread tightening around my chest.

The moment we landed, I broke into a run, sprinting toward the far edge of the island.

Strangely, he didn’t come after me.

A surge of unease crawled up my spine.

Suddenly, the clear blue sky darkened.

The bright sunshine vanished as thick storm clouds rolled in.

The wind howled and I knew a storm was coming fast.

Panicked, I called him.

“Where are you? Where am I supposed to stay tonight?”

He chuckled coldly on the other end.

“After everything you’ve done, you still expect me to give you shelter? You really do live in a fantasy world.”

My anxiety spiked. “What do you mean?”

The wind picked up sharply, but his voice was even colder. “We’re taking the chopper back. The signal here will be cut soon. If you want to survive, figure it out yourself.”

The line went dead, his words slicing through me like knives.

Clutching my jacket tighter around me, I heard the first rumble of thunder in the distance.

And then it started.

Large raindrops pelted down, the horizon disappearing as the sea grew wild and angry.

My eyes widened in terror.

I turned and ran in the opposite direction.

Thunder cracked, wind roared, waves swelled like monsters and crashed down on me.

The churning sea swallowed me whole.

My screams were drowned out by the violent water.

Lightning slashed through the sky, illuminating everything for a brief, terrifying moment.

As my consciousness slipped away, I saw them—

In that flicker of light, my adoptive parents smiled at me gently.

“Sweetheart, your birth father has been looking for you. Do you want to go home with him?”

No. 

If this was the price of being a Leighton, I’d rather stay in that quiet little mountain village forever.

I didn’t want blood ties.

I didn’t want to know Vincent.