Ari's secretary took a fancy to my wedding ring, and I casually handed it to her. I even offered her all the jewelry I'd brought into the marriage. Ari complimented me for finally showing some sense and promised to take me to Switzerland to see the Alps. But on the day we were supposed to leave, the secretary had a breakdown and tried to harm herself in her apartment. Without a moment's hesitation, Ari left me stranded in the suburbs, and I nearly ran into trouble because I got lost. He brushed off my concerns with, "As a boss, I need to care for my employees' wellbeing. Kiara's going through a rough patch, so I'm taking her on a trip to relax. You're so understanding; I know you won't mind." He promised to make it up to me with the most breathtaking views of the Alps when he got back. Little did he know, I didn't care anymore.

On the first day Ari whisked his secretary off to Switzerland, I had already erased all traces of myself from our home. Even the house staff knew I was barely a Herrera in name.

"I told you before, Ari never truly cared for her. It's surprising she finally saw the light and chose to leave."

"Yeah, I'd heard he married her because of his family's pressure. If she had realized it sooner, she wouldn't have wasted seven years of her youth."

"But walking away from the Herrera family will have the social elite gossiping."

"Let's just focus on our tasks; what happens with the elites is none of our concern..."

I had grown immune to their chatter. In the end, I packed a single suitcase. It was a shock to realize that after seven years, I had so little that truly belonged to me. The gifts Ari gave me were leftovers Kiara didn’t want. Even my unique ring was snatched away by her. The staff were attuned to the dynamics; Ari had been cold to me since the wedding. Over the years, they treated me like I was invisible, often causing discomfort. But when Kiara was around, they’d rush to serve her, hoping she might mention them to Ari for a raise.

After some thought, I gathered all the staff and cleared my throat. "Let me clarify something: I wasn't dumped—I'm the one leaving your dear Mr. Herrera. Also, my life after divorce is none of your concern. I have suitors lined up all the way to France. Maybe you should worry about whether you'll keep this cushy job once I'm gone."

I needed to reclaim the bold, confident person I once was. For the first time, I spoke to them so directly, and they were momentarily thrown off. Indeed, their employment by the Herrera family was largely due to my marriage into it. Carmelo Herrera had expanded the staff for my sake. After my words, I ignored their stunned faces and turned to leave.

Suddenly, Ari called. "Honey, I'll be back in three days. Make a honey spice cake, okay? She wants one."

The "she" was, of course, Kiara. It was laughable. He didn’t know I had already booked a flight for three days later. I remembered when he, someone who never cared for cake, suddenly claimed he wanted a honey spice cake. I secretly took a crash course in pastry making just for him. Only later did I find out the cake lover was Kiara. The honey spice cake I spent three months perfecting was for a secretary!

When I decided I didn't want to make it anymore, he turned frosty. "I provide you a good life as Mrs. Herrera. All I'm asking is for you to bake a cake. Why make such a fuss?"

"Do you realize how crucial Secretary Fernandez is to me? A good secretary eases so much work strain. What's wrong with baking her a cake?"

Whenever I refused, he'd make me pay emotionally. Eventually, I couldn't take it and gave in again. I molded myself into the celebrated Mrs. Herrera he envisioned, never expecting love—just mutual respect. But this time, to appease his little secretary, he made me lose our only child. Even when I emerged from confinement, weak and frail, he refused to meet my eyes, all so I’d hand over a ring tinged with affection. Finally, after countless disappointments, I lost hope.

Calmly, I replied, "In three days, I won't be around, so I can't make it."

His voice immediately turned cold. "You’re a housewife. Where could you possibly go?"

"Ari, I married you, not sold myself to you!"

My demeanor and tone caught him off guard for a moment. Yes, I was once the captivating Marceline Medina, living freely under the sun's warm embrace. But ever since being with Ari, I gradually lost myself.

A gentle female voice chimed in from beside him, "Mr. Herrera, it's alright. She's probably still upset, but I don't mind. The doctor did say that a little dessert would help me recover."

His attitude quickly turned stern. "Why are you going out? Just stay home and bake the spiced honey cake, or you can forget about that trip to the Alps and the ring you've been dreaming of."

"Besides, you laze around the house all day; making a spiced honey cake should be your contribution."

I scoffed. His belittling was as relentless as ever. Yet, I no longer felt the initial hurt or disappointment. Instead, all I had left was a calm desire to escape from them.

Seeing my silence, his tone softened slightly. "Marceline, I'm just trying to give you something to focus on, or else you'll just drift away."

"You're not like Kiara. She's competent at work, and if she recovers well, it's as if you're helping me too."

I didn't bother to argue nor did I want to quarrel anymore. To him, it was obvious that no matter what he asked, I would comply.

"Alright, I'm off to therapy with Kiara. When we return, have the cake ready."

After he hung up, Kiara posted her latest update on WhatsApp. It turned out the "therapy" was a trip to the spa. She lounged in a bikini, looking blissfully content against his chest, while his hand rested somewhere it shouldn't be.

The ring on her finger, supposedly something a man can only buy once in a lifetime, was a perfect fit. I recalled that when he proposed to me, the ring fit loosely on my finger, as if it had never been meant for me but crafted for her instead.

Signs of not loving someone were always there, plain to see.

I chuckled to myself, too tired to question why anymore. Asking would only seem rude now.

Even if I threw a fit and demanded answers, he'd always have some excuse to brush me off, turning it around to make it my fault for distrusting him.

“Marceline, I’m your husband; I’m supposed to be the one you trust most.”

I laughed bitterly. Ever since we got married, he's been manipulating me to believe in him.