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Chapter 1 chapter title

"Honey, are you still willing to give me a chance? I swear I’ll push past my psychological blocks for you!"

His eyes blazed with feigned resolve, but I let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Save it—I don’t have the magic to fix you. Why not call your precious Chloe? She seems to have all the answers."

"Evelyn, what are you implying?" He scrambled to yank up his half-slacked pants, his face twisted in incredulity. The man who’d just vowed to conquer his demons for me was now dressing faster than he could lie. This entire charade—his "determination," his protests—was just a desperate bid to cover up his affair with Chloe.

I couldn’t hold back a bitter chuckle. "Am I wrong? You claim to have psychological barriers with your own wife, yet you’re perfectly capable of ‘rescuing’ someone in the middle of the night? How generous of you—detoxing mistresses while your wife waits alone."

Liam’s patience snapped. "Why are you being so petty? Chloe would’ve died if I hadn’t helped! She was having a crisis—"

"A crisis that just happened to occur at 2 a.m.? When you were supposed to be home with me?" I cut him off, my voice sharp as a blade.

Memories flashed unbidden: the way his friends had left the wedding venue one by one, leaving me standing alone at the altar, humiliated. How he’d stumbled in hours later, reeking of perfume, with Chloe trailing behind—her arm in a flimsy bandage, eyes wide with fake innocence. "I’m so sorry, Evelyn," she’d simpered, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I thought I was going to die, and I just had to see Liam one last time. I never meant to ruin your wedding."

I’d bitten my tongue then, swallowing the bile rising in my throat for Liam’s sake. But I knew—then and now—that no matter how hurt I was, he’d always find an excuse for her. My dignity had been chipped away, piece by piece, by his relentless favoritism. A dull, gnawing pain tightened around my heart as I thought of it. The absurdity of it all: his "psychological barriers" only existed when it came to loving me.

Liam must’ve sensed the cold resolve in my silence. Suddenly, his tone softened—so abruptly it made my skin crawl. He reached for me, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his lips hovering near my forehead. "Darling, don’t be angry. The doctor said my condition takes time. Can’t we just… give us a little longer?"

He was a chameleon, switching masks faster than I could blink. I pushed him away, my voice steady but final. "No. Let’s get a divorce. Go spend your time with Chloe—she clearly knows how to ‘heal’ you better than I ever could."

"Evelyn, stop being irrational! I told you it was just a rescue!" He grabbed my arm, his grip tight with panic.

Before I could yank free, the bedside phone rang—sharp, insistent, piercing the tension. I didn’t need to check the caller ID. No one else would dare disturb us at this hour.

Liam’s reaction was instinctive: he snatched the phone up, his fingers trembling with urgency, as if fearing he’d miss a matter of life or death. "Liam… I feel so terrible," Chloe’s voice drifted from the receiver—soft, breathy, calculated to sound fragile. "Can you come help me?"

I let out a sardonic laugh. I didn’t need to see Liam’s face to know it was etched with frantic worry, his eyes glowing with the same concern he’d never bothered to show me. He was already mentally packing his bags, ready to rush to her side.

I watched him, my heart numb.

"Liam… I think I’m dying," Chloe whimpered, her voice cracking like glass.

The words hung in the air—and in that moment, I knew there was no turning back. Whatever shred of hope I’d clung to for us was gone, snuffed out by her manipulative cries and his blind devotion.