Raymon Rumford and I used to be the kind of couple everyone whispered about — perfect, enviable, untouchable.

After more than a decade of growing up side by side, we finally became husband and wife.

But love didn't survive the war that erupted between our families.

His father shot mine. My father pulled the plug on his.

By the time the dust settled, there was blood on both sides and nothing left to save.

We went from soulmates to sworn enemies.

Neither of us mentioned "divorce", but every day became a battleground where hurting each other was the only thing that kept us alive.

When Raymon threw a glamorous birthday party for his mistress, I hosted a mock funeral next door — a curse wrapped in black lace.

He flaunted his affair; I arrived at galas with male escorts, my revenge loud and glittering.

Our friends called it what it really was — a toxic love story, a slow-motion car crash neither of us knew how to escape.

Then came our seventh anniversary.

He sent me a photo — him and Daphne Paschall, smiling, celebrating their seven years together — before calling just to sneer,

"Too busy with that guy on top of you to come ruin my party?"

I stared at the blood blooming across my hospital sheets and laughed.

"Yeah. He's a lot more energetic than you. I'm finally satisfied."

Then I caught my breath and added, almost gently,

"Oh, when you're done basking in fake love, stop by and sign the divorce papers. I'm marrying him."

--

There was a brief silence on the other end. Soon, Raymon's sneering laugh came through. "Divorce? Fine. You cheated, so you get nothing."

After nearly twenty years together, he knew me too well.

He knew I valued money above all else. Losing everything was worse than death to me.

I gripped the quilt tightly, remembering the doctor's diagnosis: I had only a week left to live. A sharp pain surged in my heart.

"Fine," I replied softly.

Raymon went completely silent.

After a long pause, he asked through gritted teeth, "You're actually in love with someone else?"

I laughed, "Why else? Don't tell me you can't bear to leave me. You still love me?"

My heart leaped into my throat as I waited for those sweet nothings I heard daily before marriage, but never once in the past seven years.

Then a girlish voice came through, "Raymon, the 999 roses you ordered for me are here! They're gorgeous. Come take pictures!"

The call disconnected.

I stared blankly at my phone.

My chest felt tight.

Raymon had always been generous. Before we fell out, he'd given me gifts worth thousands without batting an eye.

After we got married, however, he'd never even bought me a cheap bouquet from the street.

Yet he'd gifted 999 roses to his mistress.

Soon, Daphne updated her Instagram.

The photo showed Daphne in a presidential suite, draped in luxury pajamas.

The hickeys on her neck were impossible to miss, even more prominent than the bouquet towering beside her.

My vision blurred, and my nose felt stinging.

Her caption read: "This is our seventh year together. Thanks, honey. BTW, he's such a good photographer!"

Clutching my phone, I gave a bitter laugh.

When we'd just started dating, we'd had countless fights over his terrible photography skills.

He made thousand-dollar meals look like street food, designer gowns like Goodwill stuff.

After I cried over his photos repeatedly, he hired a professional photographer to teach him.

His skills improved dramatically, and his photos went viral on Instagram.

When followers asked about my photographer, I'd proudly reply, "My boyfriend took these."

I couldn't even remember the last time Raymon had taken a photo of me.

My screen went dark, revealing my lockscreen—me in my wedding dress, radiantly happy. Bitter nostalgia washed over me.

Turned out it was our wedding seven years ago.

So, it had already been that long.

I used to change my lockscreen with every new photo, but I hadn't changed this one in seven years.

My Instagram had lain dormant for seven years—the same seven years that saw the rise of an influencer called "Daphne."

The man who vowed he'd only ever photograph me had found a new muse.

I was the only one still trapped in our memories.

Just then, my phone vibrated. It was Raymon calling.

His voice was hoarse but firm. "You're right. I don't love you either.

"Divorce is for the best. After all, I want to build a family with Daphne."

In the past, I'd have flown over immediately to make a scene.

Now I could barely get out of bed. I simply had no energy left for that.

So I just calmly replied, "Okay. Tomorrow then. After you celebrate Daphne's birthday, come back and we'll finalize the divorce."

Just then, Rodrigo Otteley entered my ward with soup. "Drink it while it's hot. I just made it."

"Hah. Well played, Johanna," Raymon scoffed on the phone.

The call ended again.

Rodrigo frowned and took my phone. "The doctor said you need rest. No overexertion."

I smiled as I took the chicken soup, but I couldn't bring myself to have a sip. "I only have a week left. It doesn't matter how I spend it.

"Thanks for playing along these seven years. I've transferred your final payment."

"It's enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. Thank you, and goodbye."

But Rodrigo ignored me, blowing on the soup. "Goodbye?

"You're kicking me out?

"Who'll take care of you if I leave?"

His three questions left me speechless.

After our wedding seven years ago, Raymon's parents and mine had clashed, resulting in both their deaths.

I'd been clinging to the fantasy of staying a little girl forever, but I grew mature overnight. Everyone who loved me was gone.

When I learned about Raymon's mistress, I approached Rodrigo after his class.

My offer was ten thousand a month, strictly for companionship and amusement.

No physical contact was involved.

Rodrigo agreed.

Even after his sick parents passed, he stayed. "It's still a job. Think of me as your employee."

For seven years, outsiders saw him as my kept man, but we'd become genuine friends.

Seeing me dazed, Rodrigo sighed. "Fine, I'll see this through to the end.

"Stop trying to ditch me. You want Raymon knowing you're sick?"

"No."

I agreed to let him stay.

I also asked him to come with me to the courthouse tomorrow.

I couldn't let Raymon suspect a thing.

That night, I was tormented by illness and couldn't sleep a wink.

The next day, with dark circles under my eyes, I sat in a wheelchair, pushed by Rodrigo, to the courthouse.

Raymon was waiting with Daphne.

He ignored her chatter, just kept his head down, smoking.

Cigarette butts littered the ground around him.

Then he looked up, and our eyes met.

I saw unconcealed shock and concern in his gaze.

"You look so..." he muttered.

Daphne cut off Raymon, snuggling against him, "Wow, Johanna, you're really going wild with your man!

"Look at those dark circles. Did you party all night to celebrate the divorce?

"Why are you in a wheelchair? Too weak in the legs to walk? You two are so lovey-dovey, just like Raymon and me."

Raymon's instinctively outstretched hand froze mid-air and withdrew.

His concern was replaced by coldness. "Hah."

Rodrigo started to explain, but I grabbed his hand to stop him.

I intertwined my fingers with his, then looked up at Raymon's grim face with a smile. "Yeah, you guessed right.

"Let's get this divorce."

Raymon tossed his freshly lit cigarette and strode inside.

His back looked hurried, as if he couldn't wait to end our marriage.

I swallowed my bitterness and followed.

Leaving the courthouse, I felt an unprecedented sense of relief.

Seven years of suppressed pain and sorrow seemed to vanish into thin air.

Rodrigo squeezed my cheek. "What do you want for dinner? I..."

"Move out of my house by tonight," Raymon's cold voice cut him off.

I turned around and saw him with his arm around Daphne's waist, his voice low and muffled. "Johanna, I'm not making you leave with nothing, but you can't keep the house.

"Move out by tonight. I'm moving it with Daphne."

Where no one could see, I clenched my fists tightly.

Nails digging into palms kept me clear-headed, holding back my tears that were almost spilling from my eyes.

"Fine."

Once we were in the car, Rodrigo took my hand.

He pried my fingers apart one by one, gently rubbing the marks I'd left from clenching my fist.

He asked casually, "Still upset?"

I shook my head, then nodded, forcing a weak smile. "It's been seven years. I'm actually used to it by now.

"This house... We've lived here since we started dating.

"I'm just a little reluctant to leave it, that's all."

Honestly, I'd miss the house more than I'd miss Raymon.

After all, this place held traces of the person I'd once loved.

Every corner held memories of our love, even though he hadn't set foot here in seven years.

But maybe that was better. Memories of Raymon from seven years ago would be forever in my heart.

This house was like my utopia.

When packing, I thought about it and only took my own belongings.

Everyone had to leave their comfort zone eventually.

With my limited time left, I couldn't survive on fading memories anymore.

Rodrigo helped me pack and arranged for movers.

As he wheeled me toward the door, our wedding portrait came crashing down.

Glass shattered everywhere, scratching across our smiling faces in the photo.

"Oh, my goodness!" Daphne's shocked voice came from the doorway.

Raymon rushed in, freezing when he saw the destroyed portrait.

Daphne seized the moment. "Johanna, this was part of your beautiful history together.

"Why would you break it? Raymon just said he wanted to keep it! You've really hurt him."

Raymon gave me a deeply disappointed look. "I've changed my mind.

"Throw it out.

"Some things can't be fixed once they're broken."

The cleaner immediately picked up the photo and tore it to shreds, then tossed it in the trash can.

I looked away, feeling strangely calm.

While packing, I'd already let go of this seven-year obsession.

Now it was time to leave.

"Wait."

Raymon stopped me, handing over an invitation. "My wedding with Daphne is next Monday."

"You have to come. After all these years, you can at least give us a wedding gift."

Rodrigo's eyes reddened. "Next Monday? Johanna won't even..."

"Alright," I cut him off softly, taking the invitation with a smile.

But Raymon sensed something was wrong. "What?

"What about next Monday?"

I took Rodrigo's hand, smiling. "I might be busy next Monday. If I can't make it, my boyfriend will go in my place.

"Don't worry. After all these years, I'll definitely send a gift.

"But you should replace that wedding ring. Reusing it seems tacky, right?"

Raymon's face darkened instantly at "boyfriend".

He sneered, tearing off the ring and throwing it.

It rolled across the floor before falling through the elevator gap.

The sound echoed hollowly.

I glanced at the permanent mark on his ring finger and smiled faintly.

I never saw Raymon again after that day.

But I kept seeing him all over social media, like "The rich heir buys private island for fiancée", "Luxury brand cleared out by mysterious buyer", and "Three New York penthouses sold overnight".

These headlines left me completely unfazed.

I only felt a little sad.

I knew he was doing all this to get a reaction from me.

He's always been competitive. Probably his pride was hurt because I was the one who asked for a divorce.

The island was a place we often visited when we were dating. I loved it very much.

He'd promised to buy it for me after we married.

That luxury brand was my favorite.

He probably didn't know I was the one selling those penthouses.

I'd been busy liquidating all my assets.

After setting aside money for Rodrigo, I donated the rest.

News outlets picked up the story of my donations.

When Rodrigo told me about it, I was already bedridden.

Even multiple painkiller shots did nothing. I curled up in a ball, trembling with pain.

My phone vibrated. Rodrigo answered for me.

"Johanna, since when does a money-obsessed woman like you become a philanthropist?

"What? Are you dying?"

I could tell Raymon mistakenly thought I was deliberately overshadowing his news and called specifically to mock me.

But his words hit me right where it hurt. Through the pain, I whispered, "Yeah.

"I'm dying."

The hospital room fell silent.

After a moment, Raymon laughed, "Good."

"Then die already.

"Just like your father killed mine, you'd better die a painful death. It'll make up for what your family did to ours."

I laughed too, "Okay.

"As you wish..."

The call ended.

Raymon texted, "Stop the act. You're just jealous I'm marrying Daphne instead of playing your games.

"You think I'd fall for your tricks?

"Show up tomorrow and beg, and I'll call off the wedding."

Rodrigo silently blocked Raymon without asking for my permission. I didn't stop him.

My vision was fading. Clutching Rodrigo, I whispered, "Forget about scattering my ashes at sea.

"I heard Raymon and Daphne are having a cruise wedding. I don't want to listen to their wedding march even after I die.

"Just bury me next to my parents."

"Okay," Rodrigo finally agreed.

His voice choked up.

A weight lifted from my chest as I closed my eyes.

Time passed. The pain finally stopped.

Darkness gave way to blinding light.

Suddenly, intense white light flooded my vision.

I opened my eyes to see Raymon.

Pacing on a cruise ship, he muttered into his phone, "The wedding starts in half an hour. Johanna, you really have nerve."

He turned to his man. "Where's she?! I told you to find Johanna! Where's she?!"

He threw a bottle at him, exuding a hostility I'd never seen before.

"Rodrigo's here. He..."

Before he finished speaking, Raymon dashed out of the banquet hall, only to halt abruptly upon seeing that Rodrigo was alone. "Where's Johanna?"