My father: [Celine, look. This is Hugo Young.]
Hugo was the man I was supposed to marry—the dashing heir of the Young family.
My father: [Celine, I’m getting old. Our family needs a new leader to move us forward. I’m glad you agreed to the marriage.]
‘Really, Dad?’ I thought bitterly. ‘You know I left because I didn’t want to be a pawn for the family.’
Seven years. I had given up my role as an heiress, abandoned my family’s glory, and started from scratch with Anthony.
Though he said it wasn’t the right timing, I endured multiple abortions because I believed our love could overcome anything as long as I loved him and he loved me.
But I couldn’t do it anymore. I was done suffering. I would marry Hugo Young, become a rich wife, and leave this misery behind.
When I finally made it home, Anthony still wasn’t back—probably busy comforting Sonia in bed.
Numbly, I began packing. Moments later, Anthony walked in. “What are you doing?”
Without looking at him, I tossed all the clothes from the wardrobe into a trash bag. “Getting rid of things I don’t like.”
He didn’t seem to grasp my meaning. “You should’ve gotten rid of those ages ago. I’ll buy you new ones when we get married.”
Normally,I’d be over the moon—probably crying happy tears.But now?I didn’t feel like shedding even a single tear for him.
Sensing my indifference, Anthony hesitated, then headed for the bathroom. “Fine. I’m taking a shower.”
The sound of running water filled the apartment as Anthony’s phone buzzed on the table. Irritated, I picked it up to turn it off, only to see a message from Sonia.
It was a photo of the two of them at the party, make love on a bed. Beneath them was my cherished wedding dress—the one I had long dreamed of wearing.
I had once told Anthony how much I loved that dress. His reply? “Getting married doesn’t require buying such an expensive wedding dress; it’s a waste of money.”
Now, that dress was nothing more than a prop in Sonia’s Sex Game with him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Suddenly,steam rolled in as Gerard stormed out of the bathroom,snatching the phone out of my hand.He yanked it so hard that I fell onto the bed.
Before I could respond, he snatched the phone and shoved me to the ground. The sharp edge of the buttons scattered across the floor bit into my palm, leaving it bleeding profusely.
I stared at the blood, feeling numb.
“Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”His face was flushed from the hot shower,but his voice was ice cold,sending a chill down my spine.
The messages between him and Sonia flashed in my mind—I’d already seen it all before—the thousands of flirty messages.I’d read them all one sleepless night,from midnight to sunrise.
Who would’ve guessed?Seven years of being together,and our conversations were always just me—nagging,pleading,trying to spark something.Once in a while,if he was in the mood,he’d toss me an emoji as a reply.
“I’m sorry. I won’t look again,” I said quietly.
