Embraced by My Ex's Uncle

Elizabeth's POV: I braved the snowstorm to wish Bradley a happy birthday, only to hear his friends casually say that he was with another woman.   Clutching the cake I had made with my own hands, I stumbled through the snow, each step growing heavier as my heart sank with every passing second. I was headed straight to him, ready to celebrate the day that should have been just ours.  But when I arrived, the warmth from the light inside seemed so distant, and I could hear Bradley’s voice before I even pushed the door open.   “Elizabeth doesn't mean a thing. She can never compare to you.”   The words pierced through me like a blade. There was a c***k in the door, just enough for me to hear her soft, trembling voice. "Then why did you marry her? Everyone says she's the one you truly love."   Bradley's face, usually so detached and cold, softened with an affectionate smile as he pulled her into his arms. His voice was gentle, but it burned with every word. "Because I mistook her for you, sweetheart. She’s nothing but your substitute. Without you, she means nothing to me." I could hardly breathe. My hands trembled as I held the cake, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. "Look at how much she resembles you," he continued, his voice low and possessive. "The moment you come back, my heart will belong to you. Don’t you see that?" The woman smiled, though there was hesitation in her voice. "But... wouldn’t that be wrong?" Bradley shrugged, unbothered. "She’s just a cheap imitation. It’s easy to handle her. A little sweet talk and she’s as obedient as a puppy." I felt the blood drain from my face as I stood there, frozen in place. A puppy. To him, I was nothing but a pet. The ache in my chest was unbearable. I couldn’t take it anymore. With all the strength I had, I slammed the door open. The sharp noise echoed through the room, and the woman on the bed scrambled to cover herself with the sheets, her movements frantic. Bradley’s cold, sharp gaze shot toward me. For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, but it quickly vanished as his brow furrowed in irritation. His tone was icy as he demanded, "What are you doing here?" The woman on the bed, her voice sugary sweet and dripping with flirtation, pressed herself closer to him. "Bradley, who is she?" Bradley barely spared me a glance, his voice void of any emotion as he wrapped his arms around the woman. "Just a clueless, cheap imitation. A buzzkill." Then, in a move that sent a spike of bitterness through my chest, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I’m sorry you got scared. Are you okay?" Scared? Was she really upset by the sound of the door opening? Was this what he called comforting? The words stung like never before. The tenderness he showed her was something I’d never seen before, something I’d foolishly believed was just for me. All the years of devotion I thought I’d earned were nothing but a joke. And there was no apology. No explanation. Just repeated jabs about how I was nothing more than a fake. I gripped the door handle so tightly my fingers dug into the metal, the pain from the pressure barely registering. The words I wanted to say—accusations, questions, everything—stuck in my throat. Instead, I swallowed my emotions, forcing myself to stay calm, even as every part of me screamed. I took a deep breath and finally spoke, my voice steady but cold. "Bradley, let’s get a divorce." His expression twisted in disbelief, his brow knitting in confusion. "Divorce?" He laughed, but it was a cruel, mocking sound. "Elizabeth, what would you do without me? With just a high school diploma, no skills, no talents—how could you possibly get anyone to take you seriously? Don’t make a scene." I could barely contain my rage. "Bradley, don’t be so full of yourself." I didn’t want to lose control. I refused to appear desperate or crazy. I forced myself to sound calm, detached, even though every word felt like it was cutting me apart. "I’m capable. Why can’t I live my own life?" The woman leaned in, playfully rubbing against him, her voice dripping with charm. "Bradley, do you think Elizabeth will be okay? She won’t get mad, will she?" Bradley’s gaze softened, the ice in his eyes melting instantly as he turned his attention back to her. "Don’t worry about her." He then turned to me, his words as cold and cutting as ever. "Elizabeth, Bethany doesn’t want to get married right now. You should be grateful. Otherwise, you’d never stand a chance at becoming Mrs. Bradley." His smile was thin, cruel, as he added, "Forget what I just said. Come back when you’ve sobered up, and don’t be in such a hurry to show off your useless pride." The words cut through me like a blade. They were the same old dismissive, high-handed words I had grown so used to, each one a sharp jab into the heart I thought I still had. The woman—Bethany—giggled from beside him, her voice sweet and condescending. "Yes, Elizabeth, marriage is such a hassle. I don’t mind you being his wife, really." Bethany. Elizabeth. I stared at the woman, whose name sounded so similar to mine, and felt the sting in my chest intensify. My vision blurred, my eyes filling with tears I couldn’t hold back. Now I understood. Now I understood why Bradley, so cold and distant to everyone else, had always whispered my name with such affection, such tenderness. It was because my name was nothing more than an empty stand-in for hers. The warmth I’d thought was reserved just for me had always been stolen. It had never been real. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to suppress the crushing pain in my chest. But when I opened them again, I looked at Bradley with a forced smile, the words coming out cold and final. "Bradley, I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’m divorcing you."