In the third year of our marriage, Scott Crosby still despised me. He made it his mission to oppose me in everything. He snatched a necklace I adored, only to put it on the puppy his little canary was raising. He bulldozed my house to build a private amusement park for her. He set my paintings ablaze, all to coax a smile from her. I endured it all, piece by piece, injustice by injustice. Until the day his canary framed me for pushing her into the water. To avenge her, Scott had his men throw me into the ocean. In the moment I was about to drown, I suddenly realized I didn't want to love him anymore. 1 Scott had once again taken a piece of jewelry I loved. That same evening, the necklace appeared on the collar of Isla's little dog. Isla’s social media post was pointed: “Some women would kill for a life this good. Too bad they’re not even on a dog’s level.” It was a clear jab at me. Furious, I commented back: "Who can compete with you? At least I don't spend my life just clucking for attention." Less than two minutes later, my phone rang. It was Scott. His voice was like ice. "Maggie, apologize to Isla." A firestorm of anger brewed inside me. "No," I refused. On the other end of the line, I heard Isla’s pathetic, whimpering sobs. "I just thought Beans looked so cute with the necklace on, so I posted a picture to remember it. I don't know how I upset Maggie again... Scott, it's okay if she doesn't want to apologize. Please don't be mad at her. It's not the first time she's been mean to me. I'm used to it. I'll get over it." His precious darling was in tears, and Scott's heart was breaking for her. His voice turned sharp, delivering his final ultimatum to me: "If you don't apologize to Isla today, you'll face the consequences." He was always like this. Even when Isla was the one who provoked me, he would side with her without a moment's hesitation. A bitter taste filled my mouth, but I refused to show any weakness. "I won't apologize," I said, my voice stubborn. "She deserved it." Before Scott could retaliate, I hung up the phone. But the suffocating feeling in my chest wouldn't go away. 2 The "consequences" Scott threatened came swiftly. The next day, he sent a bulldozer to flatten my 3,000-square-foot cottage in the countryside. Then, he set fire to all the paintings I had stored there. By the time I rushed to the scene, the flames had just been extinguished. Three hundred canvases were reduced to ash. Staring at the wreckage, I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. I turned to Scott, my eyes wide with disbelief. "What gives you the right to do this?" I had been working on those paintings since high school. Eight years of my soul, my passion, gone up in smoke because of him. A cold smirk played on Scott’s lips. His words cut deeper than any knife. "If I'm not mistaken, all of those paintings were of me. It's sick, Maggie. Not only do you stalk me, you secretly paint me. I didn't want to see that disgusting trash anymore, so I burned it. Is there a problem?" He hated me so much that he couldn't even stand the thought of me painting him in secret. A dull ache throbbed in my heart. I fought back tears, clenching my jaw as I demanded, "Fine. Burn the paintings if you want. But on what grounds did you destroy the house my grandmother left me?" This cottage had been my grandmother's home. My parents were always busy with their business when I was a child, so I grew up with her. After she passed away, whenever I missed her, I would come here to stay for a few days. Scott knew all of this. Yet now, he had so casually destroyed the only tangible memory I had of her, without a shred of remorse. He stood there, one hand in his pocket, a picture of nonchalant cruelty. His tone was breezy. "I'm planning on building a small theme park for Isla to enjoy. This spot, nestled in the hills by the water, is just perfect." He paused, a derisive laugh in his voice. "You made Isla cry first. I just had to find a way to cheer her up. So, really, you brought this on yourself." He was even throwing the insult I'd flung at Isla right back in my face. I trembled with rage, grabbing my purse and swinging it at him. "Scott, you bastard!" In a flash, Isla darted out from the side, positioning herself in front of him. "Don't you dare hit Scott!" The metal charm on my purse scraped against her left cheek. Isla let out a sharp cry, then burst into tears. "Scott, my face hurts so much! Am I going to be scarred forever?" Seeing the blood on her cheek, a flicker of panic went through me. Scott's face changed instantly. He shoved me aside, his voice laced with worry as he examined Isla's cut. The push was so forceful that I stumbled and fell, my arm scraping against the sharp gravel, sending a jolt of pain through me. Scott didn't even notice. He swept Isla into his arms and rushed away. After a few steps, he didn't forget to turn back and throw a warning over his shoulder: "If anything happens to Isla's face, you'll answer to me!" 3 My arm hurt. My heart hurt more. I went to the clinic alone to get my cuts bandaged and pick up some antiseptic. On my way out, I passed a private room and happened to see Isla sitting on the bed, her eyes red-rimmed. Scott was gently wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, his voice soft and comforting. "Don't cry. The doctor said a scratch like this won't leave a scar. I promise I'll teach Maggie a lesson for this. I'll make it up to you." I stood frozen outside the door, watching the tenderness he showed her. Suddenly, I remembered being sixteen. A group of thugs had cornered me, and Scott had been there. He had wiped away my tears just like that, whispering gently, "Don't cry. I'll take care of them." Then he beat them until they were on their knees, begging for mercy. Now, all he had for me was contempt. Isla sniffled, then asked tentatively, "But Maggie is your wife, the one you married in front of everyone. Are you really willing to be that harsh with her?" A sardonic laugh escaped Scott's lips. His tone was dripping with disdain. "That marriage? She schemed her way into it. I never wanted to marry her. I don't love her. So what is there to lose?" Isla's tears turned to a triumphant smile. She hugged him, cooing, "I knew you were the best to me." Her eyes met mine through the crack in the door. She raised an eyebrow in victory and mouthed the words silently: You lose again. Normally, I would have thrown the door open and slapped her. But in that moment, I felt every ounce of fight drain out of me. She was right. Scott didn't love me. What was the point of fighting with Isla? Even if I won the argument, won the fight, I had still lost the war. I lowered my gaze and dragged my heavy legs away. 4 It wasn't always like this. Scott and I used to be close. I started following him around in middle school like a lost puppy. When I finally confessed my feelings, he turned me down, but he didn't push me away. He'd told me, "Maggie, you'll always be my little sister. I'll always protect you." That all changed when I was twenty-one. We were at a bar, we were both drugged, and we ended up in bed together. At the time, Scott had just broken up with his ex-girlfriend three days prior. The tabloids had a field day, spinning a story that I was the other woman, that I had broken them up. I was branded a homewrecker. The scandal was huge. Every time I left the house, people would point and whisper. I ended up hiding at home, burying my head in the sand. I had no idea that my parents had gone behind my back to the Crosby family, accusing Scott of ruining my reputation and demanding he take responsibility. I only found out after our families had already arranged the marriage. I knew Scott didn't love me, and I didn't want to force him. I told him, "You don't have to listen to my parents. What happened that night was an accident. It wasn't your fault. I know you don't want to marry me. Once this all blows over, I'll convince my parents to call it off." But his response shocked me. "I was with you. Of course, I have to take responsibility. I'm marrying you because I want to. Nobody is forcing me, so you don't need to feel guilty." I was so overjoyed I could have jumped for joy. But that happiness was short-lived. On our wedding night, Scott's demeanor flipped. He looked at me with pure disgust. "Maggie, there is nothing I hate more in this world than being lied to. To marry me, you drugged me, you called the paparazzi, and after the story blew up, you had your parents come and make a scene, forcing my hand. You are truly disgusting. I will never touch you. You can spend the rest of your life as Mrs. Crosby in name only." I stood there, stunned, completely baffled as to how I had become the villain in this story. I tried to explain, over and over again, that I wasn't the one who drugged him, but he never believed me. I tried to be good to him, to mend our broken relationship, but he never gave me a chance. The meals I cooked, he threw in the trash. The scarf I knitted, he used as a cleaning rag. The messages I sent, he never answered. And then, Isla appeared. Slowly, I began to accept reality. I stopped dreaming of a future with him. I stopped being a doormat. If Isla came after me, I fought back. If Scott wouldn't let me be happy, then nobody was going to be happy. And so we fought, day after day, until today. And today, I was suddenly so tired. Too tired to keep fighting with him anymore. 5 About two weeks passed. My mother called me in a panic, telling me my father was in the hospital. The reason? Scott had gone on a rampage, poaching several major contracts from my family's company. The stress had caused my father to collapse. My mother’s voice was pleading. "Maggie, did you make Scott angry again? How many times have I told you? Don't antagonize him. You need to be sweeter to him. Why don't you ever listen? Our family's business hasn't been doing well, we rely on the Crosbys. Your father's blood pressure is dangerously high. If you don't want to be the death of him, you need to go and apologize to Scott right now and beg him to back off!" I never imagined that Scott would go this far just to appease Isla. He must truly be madly in love with her. A tightness gripped my chest, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to give in, but seeing the image of my father, pale and unconscious in a hospital bed, I couldn't bring myself to refuse. I had no choice but to compromise. Scott hadn't been home in weeks, and he wasn't answering my calls. I found out he was hosting a party for Isla on a yacht and drove down to the marina. The yacht was buzzing with activity, filled mostly with Isla's friends. I managed to get out an apology, but they weren't satisfied. "An apology is just words. If you really mean it, you should at least get on your knees and bow to Isla." Saying "sorry" was already tearing me apart. Kneeling? In their dreams. My patience was wearing thin. I shot them a cold glare. They immediately seized the opportunity. "Mr. Crosby, you see? Her apology isn't sincere at all! If you don't put her in her place today, what's to stop her from bullying Isla again?" A cruel, amused smile played on Scott's lips. "Kneeling won't be necessary. Just finish these three bottles of wine, and we'll call it even." This punishment was no easier than kneeling. I couldn't drink. A single glass was enough to make me violently ill. Scott knew this, and he was forcing me anyway. Perhaps seeing me end up in the hospital was the only thing that would satisfy him. I pressed my lips together, forcing back the tears. My voice trembled as I asked, "If I drink this, you'll stop targeting my family's company, right?" He raised an eyebrow. "Of course." "Fine." With the resolve of a condemned woman, I grabbed a bottle, closed my eyes, and started chugging. One bottle down, and my stomach was already churning violently. I felt so sick I almost threw up on the spot. As I gagged, Isla wrinkled her nose and said with feigned concern, "Scott, maybe we should just let it go. Seeing Maggie like this… it breaks my heart." Scott stroked her hair dotingly. "You're just too kind. That's why people always take advantage of you." He turned to me, his expression once again glacial. "Since Isla is willing to forgive you, we'll let it go." My stomach was in agony. I didn't have the energy to say another word. I put the bottle down and turned to leave. "Stop," Scott called out. "You haven't thanked Isla yet." I was the one who was hurt, the one whose dignity was trampled, and I was expected to thank her. It was laughable. Forcing down the pain churning in my chest, I said through gritted teeth, "Thank you, Miss Isla, for your generosity." Isla was beaming. "You're welcome. As long as you don't bully me anymore." 6 In the restroom, I heaved until there was nothing left but bitter bile. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with a paper towel and waited for the world to stop spinning before I stumbled out of the cabin. On the deck, Isla blocked my path again. It seemed she wasn't done with me yet. But I had no strength left to fight. "What do you want now?" I asked, my voice weary. "I'm already this miserable. Aren't you satisfied?" Her face was alight with smug victory. "Of course, I want you two to get a divorce. The more you hurt me, the more Scott despises you. I have no intention of being the other woman forever. So, Maggie, why don't you just do me a favor and set him free?" As she finished speaking, she grabbed my hand, yanking it forward to create the illusion that I was pushing her. At the same time, she threw her entire body backward. "Scott, help me!" With a loud splash, she plunged into the dark water, her screams echoing across the deck. "Help! Help me!" We were in a blind spot. There were no witnesses. Without a doubt, I had been framed again. Moments later, Scott came running from the other end of the yacht, drawn by the commotion. By the time he pulled Isla from the sea, she was unconscious. Or, more likely, pretending to be. But Scott believed her. The look he gave me was murderous, as if he wanted to burn holes through me with his eyes. He lunged at me, his hand closing around my throat. "How could you be so venomous? I could kill you right now!" Of course, in a civilized society, he wouldn't actually kill me. But when he finally let go, he threw me away with all his strength. I stumbled backward, my ankle twisted, and I crashed to the deck. I knew it was pointless to argue, but I couldn't let myself be framed for this. I looked up at him, my voice shaking. "I didn't do it. Isla threw herself into the water to frame me." Scott loomed over me, his face a mask of fury. "Isla can't swim! Why would she risk her own life just to play a prank?" he snarled. "Maggie, you do these terrible things and then you don't even have the guts to admit it. You're a coward." See? Nothing I said mattered. A sharp pain lanced through my heart. A broken, bitter laugh escaped my lips as tears streamed down my face. Through my blurred vision, I watched him carry Isla away. I sat there on the deck, a pathetic, helpless mess. After a long while, I pushed myself up and limped toward the gangway. Just as I was about to step off the yacht, a force slammed into my back. The next thing I knew, I was plunging into the cold, dark sea. From the deck above, I could hear Isla's friends laughing. "Scott told us before he left with Isla! Whatever you did to her, we were to do to you!" Unfortunately, I couldn't swim either. I didn't want to die. I thrashed wildly, but my body kept sinking. In the moment before I blacked out from lack of oxygen, a memory flashed through my mind. I was eighteen, and I had accidentally fallen into a swimming pool. Scott had dove in without a second thought, pulling me to safety. He had held me, scolding me between ragged breaths, "If I hadn't been here, you could have died! Stay away from the water from now on!" The person who had once saved my life now wanted me dead. How ironic life was. Suddenly, I was filled with regret. Regret for ever loving Scott Crosby. I wished I had never met him.
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