The last sentence I said was actually something Ronald told me in my past life.
It happened after everything fell apart—when I was drowning in grief, he looked at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice like ice as he drove the knife in deep: “Isabella, I regret ever meeting you. Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life.”
Back then, those words crushed me. But now, looking back... it just feels like a distant breeze from some far-off mountain.
“What did you just say?” Ronald’s face turned an awful shade—his temples twitching, jaw clenched tight. He yanked my wrist suddenly and pulled me close, sneering, “You won’t even divorce me, and now you’re saying you regret knowing me?”
I tried shaking his hand off but failed. Looking up at that flawless, composed face of his, I actual
