One Fake Headshot, Our Final Farewell

Chapter 3 No Reason to Hold On

She had taken my place now.

Loretta's face turned red with anger—tears hanging in her eyes like she was the victim of some great injustice.

The door behind me pushed open, and Robert walked in. He pulled Loretta into his arms, then shot me a mocking look, his voice icy.

He said, "Monica, who do you think you are? If you don't want me to demote you—if you want the studio to keep running—then go back to the villa and be a good live-in maid."

It suddenly hit me.

Robert had handled all the registration paperwork for the studio back then.

He had set the trap from the start—just waiting for me to fall into it.

For eight years of marriage, I'd taken care of his every need—his meals, his clothes, his schedule. I'd given him children.

I'd turned myself into nothing but an accessory.

In his eyes, I was nothing more than a live-in maid he could order around.

My throat tightened—I couldn't get a single word out.

The older brother he respected most—Keith Harding—had died because of me. I knew he hated me.

No matter how many times I explained that it was an accident, he never believed me.

Instead, he used that hatred as a shackle to torture me.

During my third miscarriage, he'd mocked me while drunk.

He said, "Isn't this karma? You were destined to marry me—to spend your whole life in the Harding family, paying for your sins."

I stayed silent, but he took it as me begging for mercy.

Satisfied, he added, "You're not leaving until you've paid off your debt to the Harding family. You wouldn't want me to give away your favorite career to someone else, would you?"

I felt so nauseous I almost threw up. I ran to the bathroom and vomited for what felt like hours—like I was trying to purge all the humiliation and pain of the past eight years.

When I came out, I got a call from a friend.

She sounded anxious. "Monica, it's bad. Robert's got his eye on our partnership channels. He's looking for loopholes—he's about to sue us for infringement."

Before stepping into the office, I pulled myself together. I packed my sketches and documents into a cardboard box, piece by piece.

Loretta was leaning against the doorframe, covering her mouth as she laughed.

She said, "I thought you were so impressive. Turns out you just bought a degree abroad. Back home, you're no different from me—relying on a man. All that fake pride."

I tightened my grip on the box. "A bar girl? And you think you're Mrs. Harding? Don't forget—Robert and I aren't divorced yet."

The second I finished, someone shoved me off balance.

Everything in my hands scattered to the floor—then a pair of leather shoes stepped on them, grinding dirt into my work.

Robert's voice came from behind. "You bully Loretta right in front of me—do you think I don't exist?"

He pulled Loretta behind him and shot me a cold, harsh look.

I thought that after enough disappointments, I wouldn't feel the pain anymore. But at that moment, it cut even deeper.

Eight years of marriage—eight years of being blind.

He never took me to parties, never acknowledged my identity to anyone.

Everyone only knew that Robert stayed carefree after marriage. Behind my back, they'd whisper about how gracious Mrs. Harding was.

No one knew what my life was really like.

Since he'd already given my studio away, there was no reason to hold on.

Once the throbbing pain in my chest finally faded, I texted that familiar number again.

Monica: Pick me up earlier. A week is too long.