The lingering warmth of our wedding night was still heavy in the air when Damon leaned closer and dropped the bomb. “I have a mistress—a little canary I keep. Tonight is our 100-day mark. I need to be with her.” My mind went instantly, terrifyingly blank. “You love another woman, and you still married me?” He rose and began to dress. The crescent-shaped marks I’d bitten into his collarbone were still bright red. “I love you most, Sasha. But she’s feral. She gives me something you can’t.” He pulled on his shirt, his movements unhurried, agonizing. “Seven years, baby. Our life is safe. It’s… flat. I need the rush, the pure hit of adrenaline she gives me.” I clutched the tangled sheets, my knuckles white and aching. “So, on our wedding night, you’re going to leave me here alone to celebrate with your mistress?” “The wedding night part is finished,” he said, his voice flat. He leaned over, his thumb brushing my lower lip, a motion that was both possessive and chillingly impersonal. “She’s young, she’s dramatic. I have to placate her. You’re Mrs. Thorne now. You need to be the bigger person.” “And if I’m not the bigger person?” He gave a low, knowing laugh, as if he’d anticipated this exact line. “Then we divorce. But you walk away with nothing. Think clearly, Sasha.” I was sprawled across the rumpled silk of the bed, the residual heat of his body a cruel reminder of the past hour. The wedding portrait on the nightstand was a blinding white lie, searing itself onto my soul like a brand. … Perhaps the utter ruin in my eyes finally reached him. Damon sighed, a curt sound of impatience, and ruffled my hair. “Remember the day you picked your ring?” he asked, a new layer of cruelty entering his voice. “I was right in the next soundproofed suite at Tiffany’s. I was taking her.” He paused, savoring the shock that must have been written all over my face. “She was biting her lip, afraid you’d hear her moan through the walls. That kind of high-stakes thrill—you can’t give me that. You understand?” My blood didn’t just run cold; it froze solid. The tears, however, betrayed me, a hot, uncontrollable flood down my cheeks. That day, I’d been giddy, choosing the most beautiful diamond I could find, only to realize he’d disappeared. When I called, he’d sounded breathless, claiming he was handling a crisis downtown. I’d played the fool, telling him to be careful, don’t get hurt. Damon wiped away a tear with his thumb, his tone falsely gentle. “Truthfully, I didn’t want to miss a second of you planning the wedding. But the kid is new. I got a taste, and I was hooked.” I stared at the ring on my finger, my vision hollow, unable to even blink. He sighed, kissed my hand, and let go. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I know this hurts.” He motioned toward the window. “If you demand the divorce, I’ll give you the Crestwood Hills estate as compensation.” He took a step back. “But if you’re willing to ride this out, everything I’ve built is yours. Every cent. Even my miserable heart.” This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. I was married to the man I’d loved for seven years—a grand wedding, a flawless diamond, and the envy of every woman who knew I’d become the wife of the city’s most formidable magnate. Ten minutes ago, we were a wildfire, consuming each other. Now, I was a punchline, weeping as I asked him: “Why tell me? Why tonight?” He continued to wipe my tears, his gaze unsettlingly tender. “Because I don’t want to lie to you, my girl. I know I’m rotten. But we’re husband and wife; I should be honest.” He paused, a dark, playful curve to his mouth. “And another reason. I wanted to see your face when you found out. Just as I imagined. Pathetic enough to break my heart, which just makes me want to make it up to you even more.” He leaned in close, his voice a low, gravelly promise. “So, please, don’t leave me. I’ll go back to loving you the way I used to, hmm?” I raised my hand and slapped him. The sound was a sharp, cracking retort in the silence. I grabbed the nearest objects—the photo frame, a bottle of perfume—and hurled them at him, screaming with every ounce of air in my lungs. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Damon turned his head, wiped a trickle of blood from his lip, and stood up, smoothing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t look angry, just… disappointed. He walked toward the door. “You should cool off, Sasha.” He opened the door. “I’m going to go celebrate with my girl.” The door clicked shut. I looked at my reflection in the diamond on my finger—a hysterical, disheveled stranger. I scrambled to the corner of the bed, tearing at my hair, hitting my head against the wall until the pain numbed me, until I finally collapsed into darkness. The moment my eyes closed, I was seven years ago. A grimy alley. My father, drunk and violent. Damon, a teenager with nothing but raw nerve, rushing out to shield me. He’d taken several blows to the back, yet he still smiled through gritted teeth. “Don’t be scared, Sasha. I’m here. No one will hurt you.” Later, we hid in a vacant lot, sharing instant ramen. My bed was his worn-out jacket spread on the cement. Eventually, he hustled his way into the gray area—the docks, the supply chain—and earned enough for a cramped, tiny apartment. He held me so tight then. “Sasha, we have a home now.” Those memories were a drug. I’d been addicted to them for too long, forgetting that hearts—and men—change. I woke up to my best friend Gwen’s frantic texts. “Sasha! This photo has to be deepfake! Damon loves you, this is a lie!” Fumbling, I clicked the video link she’d sent. One look, and the ice was back, deeper this time. Damon and a woman were having sex in his Maybach—a brazen, public display that a tourist had captured and posted. The scandal was viral. I called him, my voice trembling. “The video—is it true?” His tone was lazy, laced with annoyance. “Oh, that? We got a little carried away. Didn’t want you to see it. It’s a mess to take down. If you can’t handle it, maybe you can call my team and deal with it?” Like a ghost, I used the last of my energy to drive to the address he’d given me. I remembered when he first hit it big, and the daughters of two rival syndicates had both tried to trap him into marriage. Everyone advised him to take a side, to consolidate his power. But Damon had stood up, in front of the entire assembly, and said: “My heart belongs only to Sasha. I will marry her, and only death will part us.” From that day on, the world knew Damon Thorne adored me. That’s why his betrayal now felt like such a delicious, high-stakes event to everyone else. I found Damon’s second property, a secluded villa, but ran into his consigliere first. The man’s eyes held a pity that stabbed me in the chest. I pushed open the door. The place was wrecked—bottles and clothes strewn everywhere. Damon had a woman—Tess—pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked up, saw me, and just patted her hip. “Put your clothes on, Tess. My wife is here. Be respectful.” She slowly, provocatively dressed, then purred for him to help her with her bra clasp. She turned to me, a smug smile plastered on her face. “Mrs. Thorne, I honestly didn’t think Damon would actually leave you to celebrate with me. I was so happy, I guess we just… played too hard.” She looped her arm through Damon’s, her voice dripping with triumphant sweetness. “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Thorne, I think we forgot protection earlier. But I’ll take the pill, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, my stomach churning. I bent over, dry-heaving violently. Damon’s face tightened. He moved to grab me. “Sasha? What is it? Are you sick? Let me take you to the clinic.” I shoved him away. Tears and involuntary bile poured from my mouth. Damon’s face hardened. He hissed at the girl: “Get out!” Tess stamped her foot, but Damon leaned in, kissed her on the forehead, and murmured: “Go on, I’ll have my men bring your medication. I’ll find you again tonight, okay?” Satisfied, she tossed her silk stockings onto his pristine white sofa, gave me a triumphant sneer, and sauntered out. Damon casually swept the stockings onto the floor. He turned, his voice full of feigned concern, and patted my back. “Sasha, are you better?” “I know you can’t accept this right now. I get it. So, if you want out, I won’t stop you.” I wiped the mess from my lips and stared at him through my swollen eyes. “Damon, I’m not divorcing you.” I didn’t know what I was holding onto. Hate, rage, but mostly, a refusal to lose. I didn’t want a clean break. I was a gambler who had lost everything, but was desperately clinging to the possibility that some tiny shred of his heart was still mine. I cried. I raged. I even used a shard of glass against my own wrist. Damon finally backed down, promising to cut the girl off. He still cares. He still cares about me. If he still cared, maybe I could fix everything. But the retribution was swift. A week later, on my birthday, intimate photos of Damon and my best friend, Gwen, at a private club went viral. The double-barrel betrayal was a blunt knife, tearing me apart. I threw up a mouthful of blood. I used every connection I had, wrote a damning exposé, and bought every bot available to destroy their reputations. Damon obliterated me with a single sentence. He told the press I was having a mental health crisis and produced a neatly forged psych report. He paid Gwen a fortune to disappear. I became the city’s joke—the “manic, jealous” Mrs. Thorne—while he remained the untouchable magnate. Under the harsh lights of a society event, he took my hand, a tender, protective gesture, and murmured in my ear: “You used your life to threaten me last time. I didn’t appreciate it. Doing this to Gwen was a warning.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I gave in to you. I put my life on hold for a week. But a man in my position? Every single one of us has outside entertainment. You can’t stop me.” “I thought the two of you were close. I’m disappointed you made such a scene.” “Try this again, and you’ll regret it.” The very next day, he moved a new model into the villa. To show his devotion to her, and to terrorize me, he sold our first, sacred little apartment. The one where we split a loaf of bread, dreaming of escaping the city, and he promised he’d never let anyone hurt me. I knelt and begged him. Take everything else, just leave me the apartment. I lost. The apartment became a five-figure designer handbag for the model. Two months later, he traded her for a casino dealer. His lovers cycled in and out like a Vegas slot machine. I was spiraling, depending on pills just to stay functional. Until the day I came home early and found him with a new woman in our master bedroom—the marital bed. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time I saw it. I lost it, attacking him and the woman until his security detail dragged me away. To soothe his new pet, Damon had me committed to a treatment facility. Five days of dehumanizing treatment left me a hollow puppet. The day I returned home, the bedroom door was locked. The sounds of their panting were muffled but unmistakable. “Sasha, wait outside. I’ll be out in a minute.” I didn't cry or scream. I waited, from daytime into the late night. When Damon finally emerged, I had already opened my wrist with a box cutter. I woke up in a clinic. He was sitting bedside, his eyes bloodshot. He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse with genuine fear. “I’m sorry, Sasha. I went too far this time.” “But how could you gamble with your life?” He let go, the fear giving way to a more familiar frustration. “If you really can’t bear this, we can get divorced. I’ll give you whatever you want.” Seven years. It was true, I hadn’t suffered as much as him. He had fought on the docks, passed out in cars, and collapsed right in front of me from exhaustion. Years ago, I’d worried he’d die of burnout because of me. I’d fought him, tried to run away. That was the first time I saw his eyes red with tears. “Sasha, please don’t leave me. If you go, I have nothing.” Now, I lay in this clinic bed, gently tracing his cheek. “Damon, do you still love me?” He squeezed my hand tight. “Of course, you idiot. How could I not?” During my hospital stay, he seemed to regress to his old self, staying by my side every day. We held hands, kissed, and shared the intimacy we had lost, as if the betrayals had never happened. But I knew it was only guilt. Sure enough, it didn't take long for a new face to appear. This time, it was a girl named Piper. She wore a simple white sundress, and when she stood behind Damon, she called me "Sister" with a timid, frightened voice. I looked at her, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. But Damon didn't let me linger. He completely shielded her, and for the first time, his eyes held a pure, unmistakable expression of defensive maintenance. “Piper is innocent. I pursued her.” He looked me dead in the eye, his voice low and firm. “If you have a problem, bring it to me. Don’t touch her.” In that moment, I understood. I was no longer the one he needed to fight for, the one he had to protect at all costs. He protected Piper ruthlessly. He kept her out of the public eye. He ditched high-stakes meetings just to be with her. Damon, who only drank black coffee, ate an entire box of macarons with her, ending up in the clinic with a sugar spike. Since he couldn’t give her his name, he transferred the ownership of two high-end clubs to her. On their hundred-day anniversary, he rented every LED screen in the Financial District and scrolled her name across the city skyline all night. I stood by the window, watching the blazing lights, a pain tearing through my chest. I remembered years ago, when we were in the warehouse, he’d found some discarded string lights. He always strung them up by my makeshift bed first. I treasured them, only turning them on for holidays or the night he came home. The weak light would cast a small, flickering warmth. He would hold me tight, his voice thick with emotion: “I’m sorry, Sasha. All I can give you is this trash light.” “I swear, one day, I’ll make sure you see the brightest, most expensive lights in the whole city.” We got rich. The wedding was over-the-top. But I never saw that light. I thought he forgot. He hadn’t. He had simply taken that promise and used it to illuminate another woman’s world. What finally broke me was the extravagant engagement party he threw for Piper. Every syndicate leader was there. He placed a ring on her finger and declared her the one, the only true love of his life. In that moment, Piper’s figure overlaid the ghost of the girl I used to be. I broke. I stormed the ballroom with a borrowed gun. “Damon! Why don’t you love me anymore? What is the difference between her and the girl I was?” His first instinct was to yank Piper behind him. Then he grabbed my arm and threw me off the balcony. I hit the ground hard. Blood bloomed across my white dress. I woke up in the clinic again. Damon was beside me, his black shirt stained with dark, drying blood. His face was a mask of self-loathing. The doctor told me the baby was gone. I couldn’t remember if this was the third or the fourth. The first few were due to poverty and exhaustion. The doctor had been gentle years ago when she told me it would be difficult to conceive again. Damon had held me, his eyes red. “It’s okay, Sasha. We don’t need children. I have you.” Now, this unexpected child had also left me in the most brutal way. Damon leaned over my bed, his shoulders shaking, weeping as he pleaded. “Sasha, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll protect you. I will never let you be hurt again.” But my soul had already bled out with that unformed life. He hadn't gone back to Piper, but she found her own way to the clinic. She carried a fruit basket and cried pitifully when she heard about the miscarriage. “Sister, I didn’t want to say this now. I was afraid of upsetting you.” Her voice was soft, saccharine. “But… I’m pregnant.” That last, thinnest string in my heart snapped. I grabbed the medicine bottle next to me and hurled it across the room, screaming with all my might: “Get out!” Damon instantly stepped in front of Piper, taking the bottle’s impact on his shoulder. He turned to the nurses rushing in. “Give her a sedative! She can’t keep her own child, so she lashes out at Piper! I told you, if you’re angry, come for me!” The icy medicine went into my vein. The room spun, the edges blurred. But I distinctly felt the final collapse of the one thing that had kept me alive. I stared at the ceiling, tears flowing silently. Damon released Piper. He wore a pained expression and reached out to hug me, just like he always did. But right before his hand touched my shoulder, I spoke. “I agree.” He froze, confused. “What?” “I said, I agree to the divorce.”
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