For the nth time, I tried to seduce my husband, Troy Green, but failed once again to consummate the marriage, so I decided to call my brother.
“Brother,” I said softly, “I’m going to divorce him.”
“Thalia, I warned you, didn’t I? That man… he’s ice. Emotionally constipated. Romantically detached. A walking void in an expensive suit.”
I thought I could fix him, make him love me, but I was wrong. When the call ended, I walked back to my room only to hear suppressed sounds from Troy's private room.
Troy was on his knees, shirtless. His body moved in a slow, rhythmic grind. At first, I thought there was a woman beneath him, only to find him engaged with a doll that looked exactly like his stepsister.
Everything was clear to me now. He didn’t reject me because he didn’t feel desire. He rejected me because his desire had nothing to do with me.
What's worse is that when his stepsister Bianca threw a tantrum and hit my head with a wine bottle that needed hundreds of stitching, he didn't even care and just grounded Bianca for a day.
I was done being disregarded, unloved, and untouched, thus I decided to leave him forever and make him realize the worth of a woman he tossed aside.
--
For the nth time, I tried to seduce my husband, Troy Green, but failed once again to consummate the marriage, so I decided to call my brother.
The divorce papers lay untouched on the desk as I held the phone to my ear with trembling fingers.
“Brother,” I said softly, “I’m going to divorce him.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, Nathan’s voice came through, calm and unsurprised. “Thalia, I warned you, didn’t I? That man… he’s ice. Emotionally constipated. Romantically detached. A walking void in an expensive suit.”
A small, broken laugh escaped my lips. “I thought I could fix him. I really thought if I loved him hard enough, he’d love me back.”
“You’re not a repair shop, Thalia. You don’t fix people like him. Listen, come to New Zealand. The beaches are beautiful, the men actually know how to touch a woman. Let Troy Green rot in his glass mansion, untouched and unloved.”
I leaned my head back against the wall, breathing through the burn in my chest. “I’ll book the flight once the papers are signed.”
“Good,” Nathan said, his voice softer now. “You deserve better. You always have.”
When the call ended, I didn’t move for a long time.
Then I stood. The corridor was quiet, the marble floors cold beneath my bare feet. I passed the guest wing, the lounge, then paused outside the room at the far end of the hallway.
That was Troy’s private sanctuary. A room he always kept locked. A room I was never allowed to enter.
Tonight, it wasn’t locked. And from inside, I heard a sound. A low whimper. Drawn out. Suppressed.
I froze. My fingers brushed the edge of the door, hesitating. A line of warm light spilled through the crack.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I looked. And what I saw broke something in me I didn’t even know was still whole.
Troy was on his knees, shirtless. His sculpted back glistened with sweat. His body moved in a slow, rhythmic grind.
At first, I thought there was someone beneath him. A woman?
But no. It was a doll. A disturbingly realistic, life-sized silicone doll—nude and eerily lifelike. Long brown hair. Glassy hazel eyes. A small beauty mark beneath the left eye. She looked exactly like his stepsister.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, choking on a sound that didn’t quite become a scream. My stomach turned. My knees went weak.
This wasn’t the first time. The first time I caught him touching that thing, I thought I was dreaming. The second time, I stayed silent and tried to erase it from memory.
But the third time…
The third time, I felt nothing.
Just a heavy, suffocating numbness. A silence that roared in my ears.
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
The first time I met Troy was at a yacht party Nathan hosted—an event filled with champagne flutes, backless dresses, and people who loved the sound of their own names.
And there he was. While others indulged in gossip and liquor, he stood at the edge of the deck, sipping sparkling water like it was a statement. He didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt. Just stood there, every inch of him carved like stone.
I couldn’t look away. He was nothing like the men I’d dated before—he was mystery. And I fell. So hard. So fast. So stupid.
I begged Nathan to introduce me. I made sure we crossed paths again and again. Eventually, he agreed to marry me.
No proposal. No ring. Just a quiet, emotionless: “Marriage works for me. If you want it, I don’t mind.”
I should’ve known then. Our wedding night was a disaster. I waited in a red silk slip, candles lit, my body practically humming with nerves.
He never came to the room. He slept in his study. And every night after that was a variation of the same rejection.
I tried everything. Lingerie, weekend getaways, wine, massages, midnight kisses. He wouldn’t touch me.
Once, I slipped into his bed and curled against him, whispering his name. He stood up and left without a word. Another time, I walked into his shower, hoping maybe proximity would break the spell.
He calmly handed me a towel and left. The worst was when I got drunk and told him I wanted a baby.
He looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m not designed for emotional reproduction.”
What did that even mean?
For two years, I’d been nothing but a ghost in this marriage. A pretty shadow that cooked his meals, smiled at galas, and went to bed cold every single night.
But tonight made everything clear.
He didn’t reject me because he didn’t feel desire. He rejected me because his desire had nothing to do with me.
He called her name.
“Bianca…” he whispered into that doll’s ear. “Only you…”
My soul cracked open. My vision blurred with tears, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I locked myself in my room and crumpled onto the floor.
When I woke up, Troy was already dressed and ready to go out.
“Wait a minute!” I called him.
“I have a board meeting,” he said without looking at me. “Don’t disturb me. I don’t have time for you.”
“No, that’s not it.” I smiled a bit. I want you to give me the keys to the Maybach. You can drive another car, since I’m used to driving the Maybach.”
He looked at me, still cold. “Are you going out today?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“What are you going to do?” He raised his brow as he took out the key directly for his pocket then handed it to me, “Nevermind. Do something that will make you happy.”
I smirked. Yes, that would be to leave him… forever.
Chapter 2
I didn’t say anything else. I just turned around, walked out of the house, and drove straight to the New Zealand consulate. The application for permanent residency wasn’t complicated, especially not with my family’s name, Reid.
Over the past few years, the Reid family’s local empire had shifted their major assets abroad. My parents had moved too, along with Nathan and his wife. I was the only one who stayed behind.
Stayed… for Troy. Now, I was leaving too.
“It’ll take about a week to finalize,” the staff member said with a professional smile, handing me a stamped confirmation.
I nodded, took the receipt, and stepped out into the sunlight.
It was over. Troy Green, my husband of two years. The man I’d chased for six years. The one I thought I could pull down from the untouchable heights he’d built around himself.
He never really belonged to me. I gave up everything for him, adjusted my boldness, learned how to live quietly, even gave up meat and wine just to mirror his so-called ‘clean lifestyle.’ I dimmed myself to fit into his shadow. And even so…
I couldn’t reach him. Not his heart. Not his body. Not even his most repressed desires.
I looked down at the paper in my hand and smiled faintly.
A soft, bitter curve of the lips.
“Forget it, Troy Green. You don’t want me. But there are plenty of men who would.”
That night, I called up some of my old girlfriends and told them I needed a night out. Since I married Troy, I gave up the clubs, the music, the wild laughter. I became someone else entirely, someone quieter.
But tonight, I wore a black dress with thin straps that hugged my body like a secret. The hem danced as I walked, revealing long legs I hadn’t shown in months.
“Thalia! What’s gotten into you tonight?” my best friend, Kayla, asked, dragging me toward the bar. “Since you fell for that emotionally bankrupt mannequin, I haven’t seen you touch a drink, let alone step foot in a place like this!”
I laughed, tipping back a shot of tequila, letting the fire wash over my mouth.
“Forget about him,” I said, brushing the salt off my wrist. “Tonight’s mine.”
Before she could respond, I slipped onto the dance floor, letting the rhythm wrap around me. I let the music lead. My hips moved freely, arms raised, head thrown back in defiance of every night I cried alone in that penthouse.
A guy brushed up behind me—tall, toned, shirt open just enough to flash perfect abs. I turned and ran my hand along his stomach, laughing when he raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“Thalia, you’re insane!” Kayla pulled me aside, eyes wide. “You just groped your fifth man. Are you not afraid your husband will flip the heck out?”
“He’s not here.”
Kayla hesitated.
“No… Thalia—he is.”
I froze.
“What?”
She leaned in. “He’s been sitting in the VIP booth the whole time. In the back. Watching you.”
I slowly turned my head. And there he was. His eyes… were locked on me. Unblinking. Cold.
The music suddenly cut out.
And in the silence, I heard the man beside him chuckle. “Troy, your wife’s practically grinding on half the male population. If that were my woman, I’d have torn the place down by now.”
Troy didn’t even flinch.
He sipped his drink and said calmly, “She knows her limits. She won’t cross the line.”
That one sentence was like a knife through the ribs. Limits? Did he mean that he trusted me? Or that he just didn’t care? Was he so sure I was hopelessly in love with him that I’d never let another man touch me?
Or maybe… maybe both.
“No way,” the guy next to him laughed. “You’re unshakable. Is there anything on this planet that could make you lose your cool?”
And then, mid-sentence, the man stopped. “Wait… Where are you going?”
I followed their line of sight. Troy had stood up suddenly, face still composed—but his eyes had changed.
There was something else there now.
Jealousy. I turned instinctively, following his gaze.
And that’s when I saw her.
Bianca. His stepsister.
She stood on the edge of the dance floor in a white dress, her laughter soft and flirty as she exchanged phone numbers with a stranger.
He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed her wrist, and growled, “Who told you to come here? Who said you could give your number to a man like that?”
Bianca looked startled, then angry. “Why can’t I? You ignore me every day, pretend I don’t exist—why do you even care?”
“You think I don’t care?” His voice dropped, rough and tight. “Who told you that?”
“You did!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “You stopped talking to me. You stopped looking at me. You used to be my best friend, my everything! What changed?”
Troy’s jaw clenched. His throat worked hard around a word he couldn’t seem to say.
I watched, standing completely still, clutching my clutch bag like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
Because I already knew what he wasn’t saying. That he avoided her not because he hated her, but because he wanted her. Because if he didn’t, he’d lose control.
Because this man—my husband—couldn’t bring himself to touch his own wife, but had a simulation doll made to look just like his stepsister.
I felt something twist deep inside me. Something permanent. I turned to leave.
But just as I reached for my bag, I heard Bianca sobbing again.
“Troy… can’t we go back? I want the old you. The brother who only had eyes for me.”
His voice was ragged now. “I’m married. I can’t be around you like I used to.”
Bianca’s eyes lit up with a strange, wild spark. “So if your wife disappears… we can go back to how we were?”
I turned and saw Bianca grab a wine bottle off the table. She came straight for me. Glass shattered. Pain exploded across my scalp. I staggered barely registering the second bottle in Bianca’s hand.
“You ruined everything!” Bianca shrieked. “You stole him from me!”
The second hit landed harder, and then everything went black, just screams in the background and the sound of my heart breaking one final time.
Chapter 3
“You’re finally awake,” the nurse said, visibly relieved as she changed the gauze on my forehead. “You scared us. Two wine bottles to the head—over thirty stitches. Whoever did this really had it out for you.”
I instinctively reached for my head, fingertips grazing the thick layers of bandages.
My voice came out dry. “Who brought me here?”
“Oh, your best friend,” the nurse replied, adjusting my drip. “She stayed with you through the night but had to rush off for an emergency at work. Don’t worry—she even hired a private nurse to look after you.”
My chest tightened.
So… it wasn’t Troy who brought me here.
My hand reached for my phone on the tray beside me.
The screen lit up. A new notification from social media flashed across the screen.
Bianca Green: He still spoils me so easily.
I tapped the video with trembling fingers.
In it, Bianca was pouting, her index finger held out like a wounded bird. “Look,” she said, “I scratched my finger when I broke the bottle.”
Then the camera turned.
Troy was kneeling in front of her, his long fingers gently placing a bandage over her tiny wound. He looked up at her with soft eyes, then leaned down and kissed her fingertip.
“There. All better now.”
I stared at the screen, numb. It felt like someone had cracked my skull open again and poured acid directly into the wound.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just inhaled… and dialed.
“Hello,” I said when the operator picked up, my voice hollow. “I want to report an assault.”
That night, the door to my hospital room opened. Troy walked in, dressed in black, a storm brewing behind his perfectly calm expression.
“You called the police?” he asked coolly. “Filed charges against Bianca for assault?”
“Yes,” I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. “Intentional bodily harm. That’s enough to open a case.”
His jaw clenched, voice low. “She lost control. It was wrong but I’ve already dealt with it. It’s over.”
“Dealt with it?” I laughed, the sound catching in my throat. “How, exactly?”
“I told her she wasn’t allowed to leave the house today,” he said, like it was the most logical thing in the world.
I stared at him in disbelief. “I had over thirty stitches in my head, and your idea of a consequence was grounding her for a day?”
His silence was answer enough.
“You’re not punishing her,” I said. “You’re protecting her. You’re scared I’ll press charges, so you’re pretending like you’re being firm when all you’re doing is shielding her.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I withdrew the report,” I cut him off. “There’s no point. You’ve already blocked the case. There’s no police station in this city that will touch her.”
His expression didn’t shift.
I gripped the edge of the bedsheet so hard my nails pressed into my palms.
I wanted to scream, to claw at his perfect, cold face and ask him why.
But all I could say was one thing.
“Troy… what was I to you these last six years?”
He blinked.
“Since you never cared about me,” I asked, my voice shaking, “why did you marry me?”
His brows furrowed. “Who said I don’t care?”
“You did. Every time you looked through me. Every time you left me alone. Every night you slept in a different room.” My voice cracked. “You cared enough to marry me but not enough to show up when I almost died?”
He didn’t respond right away. Then he took a breath.
“This isn’t the time to argue,” he said instead. “You’re still recovering. I’ll stay at the hospital. Make sure you’re taken care of. Once you’re better… we can talk about compensation. Just stop creating more chaos.”
He said it like he was giving me a favor. Like I should be grateful.
I stared at him, almost in awe.
This man… the one I once begged to love me. The one I swore I’d melt. The one I gave my youth, my pride, my body, and my heart to.
Now thought his presence was a blessing.
And I realized something right then.
He never thought I’d leave. He was so sure I’d always love him… that I’d never have the strength to walk away.
But he was wrong. This time, I wasn’t going to beg. This time, I was done.
Chapter 4
Troy stayed with me at the hospital for the next few days. He came on time, every morning. Brought me warm broth in expensive thermoses, sat by my bed during checkups, even held my hand in the middle of the night when the pain got unbearable.
If this were six months ago—no, even six weeks ago—I would’ve been overjoyed.
But now? Now, there was only emptiness. It’s strange how you can chase someone for six years, and yet it takes only one moment to completely let go.
On the day I was discharged, I made my way to the parking lot slowly, head still sore and heart… oddly calm.
And then I saw Bianca. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Troy’s car, her glossy hair tied up in a lazy ponytail, her fingers scrolling casually through her phone.
When she saw me, her face twisted like I was the one invading her space.
Troy noticed the look and frowned. “Bianca, didn’t we talk about this?”
Bianca immediately put on a show—lowered her head, bit her lip, eyes glistening. “Thalia… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight that night. I didn’t mean to hit you. I just…”
She sniffled and turned her eyes to Troy. “You haven’t paid attention to me in years, not since you married her. I thought if I acted out, maybe you’d finally see me again.”
I stood there silently, gripping the strap of my bag.
Troy turned to me and said, voice steady, as if none of it had happened, “Bianca wants to stay with us for a few days. Let’s keep things civil.”
I nodded once, walked to the back seat, and got in without a word.
On the drive home, Troy and Bianca sat up front, their silhouettes outlined by the city lights flickering past the windshield.
I leaned my head against the glass and watched the buildings blur. But even without looking, I could feel it.
The way Troy kept glancing at her like she was something fragile.
Bianca giggled suddenly and lifted her phone. “Troy, what do you think of this guy? He just messaged me. Pretty cute, huh?”
Troy’s hands visibly tightened on the steering wheel.
“Delete him.”
“What?” she pouted. “Come on. I’m twenty-three. I’m not allowed to have a crush?”
“Delete. Now.”
His voice dropped to a tone that didn’t allow discussion.
Bianca sighed dramatically, but did as she was told, muttering, “You’re worse than a boyfriend…”
Troy didn’t respond. But I saw the tension in his jaw. The way he clenched his teeth. He was jealous.
When we got home, I didn’t bother joining them for dinner. I went straight to the bedroom, shut the door behind me, and let the silence swallow me whole.
From beyond the walls, I could hear the soft clatter of utensils, Bianca’s laughter, and the hum of a movie playing in the living room, sounds that painted a picture of comfort and warmth I had never experienced in my marriage.
In two years, Troy and I had never once shared a meal with music playing in the background, never laughed together, never even touched like that.
Wrapping the covers over my head, I sank into the bitterness that had settled in my chest like something sour left to rot. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but eventually, the house quieted.
Thirst drove me out of bed, and I padded toward the kitchen, only to freeze as I opened the door. Troy was in the living room, crouched beside the couch, staring at Bianca.
She was asleep, her knees tucked up and a blanket half covering her, and he was watching her with an expression I had never seen on him before. It wasn’t brotherly. It was soft, reverent like he was looking at the sun.
For the first time, I saw him without walls. Bianca stirred in her sleep, murmured his name, and reached for him, whispering, “Troy… don’t let me go. I love you. Only you.”
She pulled him closer unconsciously, and their lips brushed accidentally at first. But he didn’t pull away. His pupils dilated, his breath caught, and then he kissed her with no hesitation.
Chapter 5
I stood behind the door, hands trembling, breath held. Through the narrow crack of the half-open door, I saw my husband leaning down and pressing his lips against Bianca’s.
His hand was on her body, fingers curling like he was trying to carve her into his skin. Her breathing was uneven, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, as though she’d waited years for that moment.
“Troy…” She whispered his name over and over, and the way he responded—low, rough, tender—was something I had never heard before.
It was the kind of softness he never gave me. I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen, until he slowly pulled back, brushing a finger across the corner of her lips, wiping away the moisture so gently I almost forgot how to breathe.
Then he reached into his pocket. I watched him pull out the necklace Bianca had given him years ago. The one he claimed to have lost.
He wore it again. Just like that. And in that second, he was no longer my husband. He was hers.
I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palm, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
I turned away, careful not to make a sound, and shut the bedroom door behind me.
I dove under the covers, burying my face into the pillow, trying to block out the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway. I closed my eyes. But my mind betrayed me, dragging me back to every single moment I tried to make him look at me.
The time I accidentally walked into his office late at night wearing the silk robe he once complimented, pretending to search for a file, he didn’t even glance up from his papers. The time I offered to help him dry off after his workout, only for him to take the towel, shut the door, and leave me standing there. The time I came home drunk from a gala, throwing myself into his arms and he caught me, only to set me upright with the same cold hand he used to adjust his tie.
He was always composed. Always distant. But now, with just one whisper from her lips, he broke every rule he made me follow.
Tears rolled down my face. I wiped them away quickly. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t want me. He wanted her.
The next morning, they were already in the dining area when I came down. Bianca touched her lips, pouting. “Troy, do you have mosquitoes here? My lips feel so swollen today…”
Troy paused, not even blinking. “I’ll ask the staff to bring you ointment,” he replied, his voice calm.
I walked over and saw a box waiting for me on the table. I opened it.
A necklace. Rare. Expensive. Worth more than most people's yearly salary.
I scoffed. “You’re feeling generous lately.”
Bianca leaned over to peek. Her voice dripped with sugar and jealousy. “Wow, Troy… You treat your wife like this every day? I always thought you were too serious to bother with romance. Guess I was wrong.”
I looked up to meet his eyes. But he just leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, saying nothing. He didn’t even try to explain that the gift was meant to compensate for Bianca injuring me last week. He didn’t care.
He stood, buttoning his coat. “I’m heading to the office.” Then, turning to Bianca. “Don’t wander around too much. You can go anywhere in the house. Just don’t go into my study.”
Bianca frowned. “Why not?”
He gave her some bland excuse, but I knew better. That room held everything he never wanted me to see.
After breakfast, I locked myself in my room. I didn’t want to hear her voice, didn’t want to see her smile, didn’t want to feel that bitter acid crawling up my throat every time she looked at me like I was the extra in their love story.
But when I woke up from my nap…
I noticed it.
My hair. My long, dark hair. Chopped. Uneven. Mangled like some child had used safety scissors to destroy it.
I stumbled out into the living room, heart pounding in disbelief only to find Bianca sitting on the couch, humming, fingers braiding strands of my hair into a twisted little piece of art.
My hair.
She looked up and smiled like it was nothing. “Oh, you’re awake. I needed material for a craft project. The school asked us to make something personal. Thought I’d make a wig.”
She lifted the braid like a trophy. “Your hair’s really nice, you know? Dark, smooth, super soft. Jealous.”
My body moved on instinct.
I raised my hand and slapped her.
Chapter 6
The crisp sound of my palm meeting her cheek echoed through the room like a thunderclap.
Bianca froze, her hand instinctively flying to her face. “You dare hit me?” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “Troy has loved me since we were children. He wouldn’t even raise his voice at me. Who do you think you are?”
Before I could step back, she screamed, “Hold her down!”
My body stiffened. I turned to see the bodyguards standing at the entrance, Troy’s men.
Bianca tilted her chin and sneered, “You work for Troy Green. Ask yourself—who do you think he values more?”
They didn’t even speak. The silence was more deafening than a verdict. One by one, they moved toward me, and I laughed. I actually laughed, even as my eyes burned with tears.
So this was it. Everyone knew how much Bianca meant to him. It took me two years of a cold, silent marriage to finally understand what the world around me already knew.
Bianca’s hand moved faster than I could react. The first slap landed square on my cheek, searing like fire. Then came second. The third. I tasted blood.
I tried to fight her off, but the bodyguards pinned my arms.
“You think you matter?” Bianca whispered in my ear, her breath thick with hatred. “Troy only married you to shut his family up. But in his heart… I’ve always been the one.”
Her words sliced deeper than the blows.
She continued hitting me, again and again. My face stung. My ears rang. My body twisted beneath their grip, but there was no escape.
Tears blurred my vision, but through the haze, I saw her smile, twisted, satisfied, victorious.
“How many?” she asked casually, glancing at one of the guards.
“Ninety-nine,” one of them answered coldly.
She giggled. “Let’s make it even.”
The final slap knocked something loose inside me. I coughed, and blood spilled from my mouth.
And then darkness.
I heard the door slam open, followed by a voice I used to long for.
“What is going on here?!” Troy asked.
But I was already slipping.
When I woke again, the bedroom ceiling looked unfamiliar in its stillness. My entire body throbbed. My face burned. I turned my head slowly and saw him sitting beside me, expression unreadable.
“I know everything that happened,” Troy said flatly.
I swallowed, throat like sandpaper. “And?”
“Bianca… she’s been spoiled since childhood,” he replied, as if it were an excuse, not a confession. “I’ve already punished her. Don’t take it to heart.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Punished her how?”
He was quiet for a moment, then reached into his pocket and held out… a lock of dark brown hair.
“She cut yours,” he said. “So she cut off some of hers. As an apology.”
I almost laughed.
“You think that’s enough? She slapped me a hundred times, Troy. Should I just slap her once and call it even?”
He didn’t flinch. “Her hands are swollen. That’s punishment enough.”
I stared at him. Something inside me cracked. I let out a hollow laugh, one that turned into sobs before I could stop it.
“Why did I ever fall in love with you?” I whispered.
Troy opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him speak.
With every last ounce of strength I had left, I grabbed the glass vase beside the bed and hurled it to the floor. It shattered into a hundred glinting pieces.
“Get out!” I screamed, voice raw and shaking.
He stood slowly, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket.
“You’re angry. I get it,” he said in that same indifferent tone. “But the doctor said you need to rest. Don’t make yourself worse.”
And just like that, he walked out.
The door clicked shut, and I finally broke.
Chapter 7
Troy stayed home more than usual after that night. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain or offer a reason. He just lingered in the silence like it made up for everything, like his presence could heal wounds he refused to acknowledge.
For days, I barely spoke. He didn’t press. Maybe he thought I’d calm down, fall back in line. But I was too tired to pretend anymore.
Then Bianca appeared in the lounge. She gave me a small sigh and said in a voice meant to sound remorseful, “Thalia, I… I lost control that night. I’m sorry for raising my voice.”
I stared at her. Not with rage, not with pain—just with nothing. Because that’s what she deserved. Nothing. No reaction. No acknowledgement. I turned my back, walked to the bedroom, and slammed the door.
I heard her jump, heard the porcelain clink against the saucer. And I knew, somehow, she’d run to him.
“She won’t hit me, right?” Her voice trembled, the same way it always did when she wanted him to hold her.
And of course, he did. I could almost hear it from the other side of the wall, his arms around her, his voice low and soothing, “No one will hurt you as long as I’m here.”
That was the moment something inside me snapped.
I grabbed the largest box I could find and began ripping through drawers, cabinets, closets. Everything I had ever saved over the years, his old sweater, our movie tickets, love letters I wrote but never sent, the music box he gave me on our first anniversary, a necklace I pretended to like because he bought it with a rare flicker of thoughtfulness.
One by one, I dumped them all into the box.
The door creaked slightly, and I could see his silhouette behind the frosted glass, hesitating. I swung the door open so fast it nearly hit him. I didn’t even glance at him. I walked straight into the living room, dropped the box beside the trash can, and turned it over with one swift motion.
Everything tumbled out in a heap of broken memories.
His expression shifted. “What is this supposed to mean?”
I clapped the dust from my hands, looked him in the eyes, and said calmly, “Nothing. I just don’t want them anymore.”
Then I walked past him like he was air.
Behind me, Bianca’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Troy, aren’t you going to… say something? Maybe go talk to her?”
I paused in the hallway, ears straining. Then his voice, cool and confident, “No need. She’ll calm down eventually. She always does.”
I smiled bitterly. This time… he was completely wrong.
That evening, he told me we had a charity gala to attend. I refused, of course, but he pressed on with calm practice.
“Your best friend will be there. You haven’t seen her in weeks. Don’t you want to get out for a while?”
The thought of a friendly face, of someone who might remind me who I used to be before I became this version of myself, was enough to make me cave.
I put on a dress. Bianca rode with us. I didn’t say a word to either of them. My eyes stayed closed the entire way, arms crossed, body angled away.
Until the world exploded.
Headlights—bright, merciless—came straight at us. Screams. Metal shrieking. And then... nothing.
When I came to, the air was thick with rust and something colder. I blinked against the dim light, struggling to breathe, to move.
I was tied to a chair. My wrists ached. Something heavy pressed against my chest.
I looked down. A bomb.
My breath hitched. I turned my head, and there she was, Bianca. Also tied, her eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh my God, help! Please, somebody help us!” she wailed, her voice so shrill it made my temples throb.
I recognized the warehouse now—abandoned, quiet, far too isolated. The last image in my memory flashed—the crash, the other car, the smirk on the man’s face.
Edmond. The second son of the Gray family. Troy’s biggest rival. He must’ve taken us for leverage.
“Shut up,” I snapped, trying to focus. “Crying won’t defuse the bomb.”
“I-I don’t know how to defuse it!” she sobbed. “Why are you yelling at me?! Where’s Troy? He’s supposed to protect us! Troy!”
I ignored her and examined the device on my chest. I had minutes—maybe less.
And then the warehouse doors flew open.
“Troy!” Bianca screamed, like some damsel in distress from a bad movie.
Chapter 8
Troy, you never chose me. Not even once.
Because the moment he looked at us, at me and Bianca, something inside him cracked.
For the first time since I married Troy Green, I saw him in a state that wasn’t polished or composed. He looked ruined. Human.
I found out later that as soon as he discovered we were missing after the crash, he mobilized his entire security team. Apparently, he searched every possible route, hacked traffic cams, paid off sources. He didn’t rest. And somehow… he found us in this godforsaken warehouse just minutes before the bombs went off.
But that didn’t matter because when he stepped inside and saw both Bianca and me strapped to chairs, bombs strapped to our chests, he didn’t hesitate.
He went to her and not me.
He dropped to his knees, started defusing the device attached to her, hands steady, voice calm. “Thalia, hang on. I’ll get her out and come back for you.”
I smiled then. I don’t know why. Maybe because I didn’t love him anymore. Or maybe… because that moment confirmed everything I had feared.
When he finally freed Bianca, there were only twenty seconds left.
She clung to his arm, trembling. “Troy! Let’s go! It’s going to explode, please!”
Troy run with her... and he didn't even look at me. He didn't even hesitate to leave me.
The door slammed behind them. I closed my eyes. My fingers trembled, but I focused on the wires. I’d taken a demolition course in college, back when I thought saving lives could be part of my future. I never imagined I’d be trying to save my own.
Three seconds.
Two.
“Click.”
The last wire came free. The explosion shook the ground. The blast tossed me like a rag doll against the concrete. I was barely conscious when I saw a shadow rushing back toward me through the smoke and fire.
Then, the next thing… I was in the hospital. I whimpered and blinked, trying to make sense of the shapes around me. Troy was sitting beside the bed, face pale, eyes shadowed.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t move too much. You just had a skin graft.”
My head spun. “What…?”
He exhaled slowly. “Bianca’s arm was burned during the explosion. She didn’t want it to scar. Your skin tone matched hers best, so… we used part of your arm for the transplant.”
“What?” My voice was barely audible.
“She begged not to scar,” he said, as if that made it reasonable. “You were unconscious. It was urgent.”
I stared at him, trying to process it. “You didn’t even ask me.”
He reached for my hand. I yanked it away.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said quietly. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go out with me? Once you’re better, we’ll start over. Properly. I’ll—”
“Who. Cares.” I ripped the IV out of my hand. Blood oozed, warm and steady. “You don’t get to decide for me. You don’t take from me like I’m some… spare part!”
He looked stunned. Not hurt. Not remorseful. Just stunned that the thought of me saying no never occurred to him.
“She’s your bright moon,” I whispered, voice trembling. “And I’m just the dirt under your shoes, right? You took advantage of me liking you. You used it.”
I didn’t mean to cry. But the tears came anyway. And for once, he looked like he didn’t know what to do.
His phone rang. He answered.
“Yes?” he snapped.
His assistant’s voice came through loud enough for me to hear: “Mr. Green, the Princess Diana necklace Miss Bianca’s been wanting is going up for auction in Paris tonight. Should I prepare the jet?”
Troy hesitated. Just a second.
“Yes. Tell them I’ll be there.”
Then he turned to me, his voice clipped and controlled. “I’ll be overseas for a while. I’ll bring something back for you.”
A beat passed. Then, as if it would make anything better, he added, “And don’t worry. We’ll do that date, too. I won’t break my promise.”
The door closed behind him.
I curled into myself, buried my face in the pillow, and sobbed.
He would never choose me. Not even when I almost died.
Chapter 9
I stayed in the hospital for three days. On the day I was discharged, I received a call from the embassy. My visa for New Zealand had been approved. Funny how the only good news I’d gotten in weeks was about leaving everything behind.
Outside the embassy, the sun hit my face. I raised my hand to block it. The ring I had worn for two years—our wedding band—was already gone. All that remained was a faint, stubborn imprint on my skin. Like a scar that forgot it wasn't welcome anymore.
It was over. Finally.
After collecting the documents, I headed straight to a law office and drafted the divorce agreement myself. My name glided over the paper without pause. And then I dialed Bianca.
“Meet me,” I said.
I chose a café she loved. When she arrived, she was dressed in cream cashmere, with suspicion in her eyes and a threat already in her mouth. “If you’re here to start something, Thalia, I swear, when Troy returns—”
I didn’t speak. I reached into my bag and pulled out the wedding band. I slid it across the table toward her. “Try it on.”
She stared at me like I was insane, then slowly picked up the ring and slipped it on her finger.
It fit. Perfectly.
She froze.
“You’ve always wanted to know why Troy avoids you,” I said calmly, my voice sharper than I meant. “You think it’s because of me. Or maybe because you did something wrong. But it’s not that.”
I leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “He avoids you because he loves you, Bianca. Not as a sister. Not as family. Not in any way that’s innocent.”
Bianca’s hand trembled.
“He had a room in the estate. A hidden one, decorated with portraits of you. A doll, too. Life-sized. You don’t want to know what he did to it.”
Her breath hitched, but I didn’t stop.
“He kissed you on that couch the night you fell asleep, remember? You thought it was a dream.”
“That ring,” I nodded toward her finger, “he had it made in your size. You were always the bride in his mind. I was the mask.”
Bianca looked like the wind had been knocked out of her. Conflicted emotions crashed over her face—shock, disgust, wonder… maybe even joy.
And I felt nothing. Just emptiness.
I stood, pulled out the signed divorce papers, and placed them neatly in front of her. “Give this to him when he returns. Tell him I hope you two live happily ever after.”
“Thalia…” she finally whispered. “Where will you go?”
I didn’t answer her. I just smiled without meaning it and said, “Anywhere that’s mine.”
Then I turned and walked away from them both—Bianca and Troy. Two souls bound by twisted longing. Two people who tore me apart, piece by piece, and didn’t even know they were doing it.
As I wheeled my suitcase through the terminal hours later, a message lit up my phone.
It was from Troy. He sent a photo. A thin silver bracelet, ordinary. No box. No note.
Troy: I just landed. Got you something.
I stared at it for a long moment, then laughed under my breath. So he bought Bianca a necklace once worn by a royal—and me? A souvenir from the airport.
I wasn’t even mad. Not anymore because I don’t love Troy Green anymore. He could no longer destroy me. This is the end.
I tucked my phone away and moved toward the boarding gate. But as I looked up, I froze.
Troy was there. He was walking through the VIP terminal in a black coat, dragging his suitcase behind him.
He didn’t see me. Didn’t look back. And I didn’t call out to him.
I let him pass because I had finally learned that love should not feel like waiting to be chosen.
So I turned away. I blocked his number. Deleted every thread. And for the first time in years, I walked in the opposite direction.
I finally found a good place to read novels!