He thought I left him for money. So when he came back rich… he forced me to marry him.

Everyone said he still loved me. They were wrong.

Every night, he brought a different woman home. Just to watch me break.

But I never cried. Never fought. Never stopped him.

That's when he lost his mind. "Why don't you care?"

Because he didn't know— I was already dying.

And by the time he finds out… it'll be too late.

--

In the third year of my marriage to Wesley Thorne, he started keeping a young, beautiful college student.

Her name was Sienna Dalton. She had that fresh, sweet kind of beauty, exactly the type Wesley liked.

She had stayed by his side for over half a year—longer than anyone else beside me.

My friends warned me to be careful, saying Wesley seemed to have truly fallen for Sienna.

The first time I saw Sienna was on my birthday.

I'd had a nosebleed since morning, so I went to the hospital. The doctor said I likely wouldn't live past next spring.

I gave a faint nod and said softly, "It's okay."

I wasn't afraid of dying, but I was a little afraid of pain.

I'd heard there was an extremely expensive medication that could make my remaining days less painful.

There wasn't enough money left in my bank account, so I went to Wesley's office to find him.

As it happened, Sienna was there, too. She had just graduated and was working as Wesley's secretary.

Wesley was in a meeting, so I sat outside and waited.

Sienna kept staring at me, then whispered to her co-workers, "So that's Mr. Thorne's wife? She's so ugly, just skin and bones. Looks like she's about to die.

"You all keep saying I look like her, but how? I'm way prettier than she is."

My reflection shone back at me in the bright glass: no makeup, an oversized puffer jacket swallowing my frame.

I didn't look good, and I really was dying.

Someone tugged at Sienna's arm and whispered, "That's only because she isn't dressed up. If she put on makeup, you wouldn't even stand a chance against her.

"And don't go picking a fight with her just because Mr. Thorne dotes on you.

"You have no idea how much he loves her. If you make her unhappy, you'll pay dearly."

When she heard people say Wesley loved me deeply, Sienna curled her lip in disbelief and shot me an eye roll.

She brought me a cup of coffee and asked in a soft, sugary voice, "Ellie, how could the boss bear to leave you waiting this long?

"It's so strange. Every time I came to see him before, no matter how busy he was, he would come out first to be with me. He said I was the most important.

"I thought maybe he was just that thoughtful with other women too..."

Her eyes curved into a sweet smile. When she smiled, she looked a lot like I had when I was younger.

I thought about it, and Wesley really was different with Sienna.

He'd had countless women around him. He treated them like tools to use in his grudge against me, bringing a different woman home every night, over and over, testing my reaction.

Wesley never stayed tangled up with any of them for long. Maybe a day or two, maybe ten days, or a couple of weeks. He always got tired of them quickly.

But Sienna was the exception. Wesley kept her in a place of her own, took her out to dinner, went shopping with her, and took her to the movies.

The two of them were like an ordinary couple, plain and devoted. Wesley gave her money, and he gave her love, too.

I looked at Sienna, smiled at her, and asked gently, "If you're so important, how can Wesley bear to let you be his dirty little secret?

"You should really talk to him. Tell him to divorce me soon and marry you instead."

Sienna's face changed instantly. Humiliated and furious, she lowered her voice and snapped, "The person who's not loved is the mistress. You're the one who doesn't belong!

"Aren't you only relying on the fact that you met Mr. Thorne a few years before I did? But now you're old and ugly. What do you even have to compete with me..."

Her coworker was probably afraid I'd get upset, because she hurried over, grabbed Sienna by the arm, and tried to pull her away.

But really, I was fine.

I had already made a promise to myself long ago: I would not get angry because of Wesley, and I would not be sad because of him.

And I definitely would not fight with other women over him.

He wasn't worth it.

Sienna got yanked by the arm, lost her balance, and fell to the floor. The cup shattered in her hand, and a deep gash opened across her palm, blood spilling everywhere.

Through the glass wall of the conference room, Wesley saw that Sienna had been hurt.

With everyone watching, he threw down the papers in his hand, shoved open the door, and strode over, scooping Sienna into his arms.

His voice was ice-cold as he barked, "Who the hell hurt her?"

The well-meaning coworker stumbled back two steps, her face drained white with fear.

I let out a cold laugh and said, "I did. And she had it coming."

Sienna glared at me through tears and cried out loudly, "Yes, I had it coming! Who told me to fall in love with someone I never should have loved, to be called a homewrecker, a mistress?

"But Mr. Thorne, as long as you love me too, I'm going to stay by your side for the rest of my life. No one will ever separate us."

She cried so prettily that even words as absurd as those somehow made her seem brave and resolute.

Wesley laughed, amused by her. He lifted a hand, wiped away her tears, and coaxed her softly. "There now. You've got your makeup all smudged."

He really was different with her.

Having had enough, I lowered my eyes and said to Wesley, "For my birthday this year, I want 80,000 dollars."

It was almost funny. We were husband and wife, and yet we didn't even have each other's contact information.

Other than asking him for money, I never took the initiative to look for him.

Before we got married, we had made a deal. He wanted me. I wanted his money.

Wesley had always hated that I was a gold digger.

But in the past, as long as I asked, no matter how much it was, he would give it to me—always more, never less.

Except this time. He looked at me with a smile, but it was a cold one, and said in an unhurried voice, "You want money? Fine.

"But Elena Rowe, first lower that proud head of yours and apologize to Sisi."

Wesley was trying to use 300,000 dollars to buy away my dignity and purchase an apology for Sienna.

It was the first time he had ever used money to humiliate me in front of another woman.

Slowly, I clenched my fists and gave a faint smile.

Fighting down the sudden wave of pain rushing through my body, I turned and walked away.

I didn't want the money anymore.

And all of a sudden, I found myself wondering.

Wesley... If one day you learn that this money could have helped me live a little longer, if you learn how much I suffered before I died, what kind of expression will be on your face?

I went home alone and curled up under the covers in pain, breaking out in a cold sweat.

I took some sleeping pills and lied to myself.

If I fell asleep, it wouldn't hurt.

Half-conscious, I drifted into a dream. I dreamed of the year I was 20, when Wesley was poor, but he loved me so, so much.

It was my birthday that year. We passed a coffee shop and saw a young couple sitting by the window.

The girl was holding a little snow-white cake in her hands. It looked delicate, delicious, and expensive.

I still remember that day. Snow was falling hard, and I gathered up a small pile of it in my hands, smiled at Wesley, and asked, "Wes, look at this snow. Doesn't it look like cake?"

Wesley clenched his jaw and pulled me into his arms. He didn't let me see the way his eyes had quietly turned red.

Three days later, he showed up outside my dorm carrying a whole cake in his arms.

A full cake costs 40 dollars.

And after standing out on a wind-lashed, snow-covered street, handing out 3,000 flyers, he could only earn 15 dollars.

I looked at the frostbite cracking the skin on his fingers and burst into tears like an idiot.

Tilting my face up at him, I cried, "Wesley, your hands are meant for studying, for writing—not for ruining them just to make me happy."

I told him I wasn't worth a cake that expensive...

Wesley frowned and immediately cut me off.

He said, "Elena, you're the best girl in the world. You deserve every good thing this world has to offer."

That day, I cried and ate the whole cake. So much time has passed that I can no longer remember exactly how it tasted.

I only know that after that day, it seemed I never again ate a cake that tasted better.

I slept for a long time. Through the haze, I heard my phone ringing.

When I answered, I heard Wesley calling my name on the other end. "Elena."

I smiled faintly and called him in the sweet voice I used long ago. "Wes, it's snowing. I want cake."

Before he could say anything, I turned over and sank back into a deep sleep.

I slept until the middle of the night, then woke up hungry.

When I went into the living room to look for something to eat, I realized Wesley had actually come home.

He had bought Sienna a big house.

They lived there together. She cooked for him, cheered him up, and waited for him to come home.

Wesley was doing just fine. He hadn't been back here in a very long time.

He was leaning lazily against the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his lips, staring straight at me.

I kept my eyes lowered and walked past him, but he caught me by the arm.

Frowning, he asked softly, "How did you lose this much weight?"

His voice was gentle, as if he still loved me very much.

I froze for a second, then violently shook off his hand and snapped, "Wesley, what the hell is wrong with you?"

He looked at his now-empty palm, and his expression gradually turned cold.

It wasn't until I reached the dining table and saw a cake covered in lit candles that I realized the phone call hadn't been part of a dream after all.

I said I wanted cake, and Wesley had gone out and bought one.

What was this supposed to be? A peace offering?

But I was already dying. I no longer needed a piece of cake, and I no longer needed Wesley either.

I picked up the cake and threw it straight into the trash. Wesley ground his back teeth, then slammed me against the wall with one hand.

He cursed viciously, "Elena, are you screwing with me?"

I smiled and admitted it. "Wesley, I am screwing with you. So what?

"I said I wanted cake, so you went and bought cake. Why are you still this pathetic, just like before?"

I stabbed him right where it hurt on purpose, and sure enough, Wesley's face went completely cold.

He crushed out his cigarette, dragged me into the bedroom, and threw me onto the bed.

Wesley was probably out of his mind with anger. He was like a wild animal out of control, roughly tearing open my nightgown.

I was scared now. I clenched my fists and hit him. "Wesley, you bastard! Don't touch me! You make me sick!"

He pinned my legs so I couldn't struggle, lowered his head, and bit down on my neck hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Against my ear, he cursed in a low voice, "Elena, would it kill you to give in to me for once?

"Do you know how many years I waited for you to come soothe me?

"Do you know how happy I was when you told me you wanted cake?

"And then you treated me like some damn fool?"

He lifted his head and stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

I held back my tears and glared right back at him.

In the dim room, neither of us spoke. Neither of us was willing to give in first.

Wesley bent down, closer and closer. He was just about to kiss my lips when his phone suddenly rang.

It was Sienna.

Wesley paused, then answered anyway.

I heard Sienna crying on the other end. "Mr. Thorne, are you really dumping me for Ellie? You obviously like me.

"I'm at a bar right now. I've had a lot to drink, and there's a man harassing me...

"I'm scared. Please come pick me up and take me home, okay?"

Wesley said nothing. He only stared at me, smiling coldly, and gave a soft command. "Elena, beg me.

"Beg me to stay. If you beg me, I won't go."

He seemed to have forgotten.

A long time ago, I had once thrown away my pride and begged him to. "Wesley, can we sit down and talk calmly, just once?

"Can we stop fighting?

"Can we just...be together properly?

"Can you treat me a little better?

That day, Wesley had looked at me with cold eyes and said with a smile, "Elena, you don't deserve it."

Those three words had stayed lodged in my heart ever since.

Until today, when I could finally return them to him exactly as he had given them to me.

I grabbed his collar and said, one word at a time, "Wesley, you don't deserve it."

Wesley was silent for a moment. Then he suddenly gave a mocking, self-deprecating laugh.

He lifted the phone back to his ear and said to Sienna, "Wait for me. I'm coming to take you home."

Without looking at me again, he stood up and left, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, photos of Wesley getting into a full-on fight with another man for Sienna spread through our social circle.

It was the first time his involvement with another woman had become such public knowledge.

Several reporters were waiting outside the house, and the moment I stepped out, they swarmed me with questions.

Wesley's company had expanded rapidly over the past few years, and he now carried a great deal of influence in New York.

He was young, rich, and handsome, the kind of man who was constantly trending online and landing in the headlines.

One young woman asked me, "Mrs. Thorne, what do you have to say about Mr. Thorne and Sienna?"

I kept walking without so much as turning my head and shot back, "One is a married man cheating on his wife, and the other is a woman who knowingly got involved with him. What exactly do you expect me to say?"

The girl hurried after me and kept pressing. "But I heard that when Mr. Thorne was at his poorest, you dumped him for money.

"And after he made it big, you manipulated him emotionally and used every trick you had to marry him...

"Now Mr. Thorne has found his true love. He and Sisi are a perfect match, and yet you insist on clinging to the title of Mrs. Thorne and calling someone else the mistress.

"Don't you think you're the one bullying people here?"

I stopped in my tracks, turned with a cold laugh, and grabbed the press badge hanging from her chest.

She was an intern reporter. Tucked into the back of the plastic holder was a Columbia University student ID.

I asked evenly, "You're Sienna's friend, aren't you?

"When Wesley was trying to marry me back then, he would stop at nothing. Do you think I was dying to marry him?

"People in our social circle all know that. You didn't know? Or did you come here on purpose to smear me so your friend could take the wife's place?"

Her expression changed at once. Flustered, she snatched back her badge and said with righteous indignation, "She and I are friends, yes, but I'm also a reporter. Everything I say is objective and fair.

"If you really didn't want to marry Mr. Thorne, then why won't you divorce him now that he's in love with someone else?"

I smiled, just about to answer, when my nose suddenly started bleeding again, leaving me looking disheveled and miserable.

Someone laughed and mocked me, "Mrs. Thorne keeps saying she doesn't care, says marrying Mr. Thorne was forced on her, and now look at you—so worked up you've got a nosebleed."

I lifted my fingers and wiped the blood from my upper lip.

Then I said calmly, "I'm not worked up. I'm sick. I'm dying. I've been getting nosebleeds a lot lately."

The crowd went silent all at once. No one laughed anymore.

Only that girl kept talking. "Oh, please. You get a nosebleed, and suddenly you're pretending to be sick so people will feel sorry for you.

"I seriously can't stand women like you. Fighting over a man, acting like you're at death's door all day long, using every shameless trick you can think of. You make women look bad."

After saying that, she spun on her heel and stalked off, her ponytail swinging behind her.

The sight of her back was every bit as irritating as Sienna's.

The video of me being surrounded by reporters spread fast and climbed straight to the top of the trending lists.

Wesley responded publicly. He said, "I will never get divorced. Stop harassing my wife."

That same afternoon, Sienna's reporter friend got fired.

A lot of people online started tearing into me. "This woman is disgusting. If she didn't want to marry him, then she shouldn't have married him. Stop acting like someone held a knife to her throat."

"She calls herself Mr. Thorne's unforgettable love? Please. She's just one of those fake innocent types."

"Mr. Thorne defends her so hard I'm jealous..."

"And didn't she dump him for money back then, then marry him for money now?"

"She says she didn't want to, but she's just pretending to be above it all. She wants the benefits and the sympathy, too."

Then one commenter suddenly cut in. "Watch your damn mouths. If you don't know the truth, then shut the hell up."

Everyone immediately started asking what the truth was.

The truth, really, was painfully ordinary.

That year, my mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctors said the hereditary risk of that disease was extremely high.

It wasn't just that I might become gravely ill at any time. If I got married and had children, there was a good chance my child would also face the same risk.

The day my mother fell ill, she bled so heavily from the nose that it filled a washbasin.

She lost too much blood and lay unconscious for three days. When she woke up, she told me to break up with Wesley.

I stared at her blankly and said in a small voice, "Mom, he won't mind."

It sounded like I was saying it to her, but maybe I was saying it to myself.

Mom took my hand gently and nodded. "I know. He's a good boy."

She paused, then smiled. "You two started dating back in high school. Every morning, he rode his bike to wait for you at the mouth of the alleyway. Did you think I didn't know?

"One time, I saw him buy you a sandwich for breakfast.

"He had only 12 dollars. The sandwich cost 8 dollars, and with the rest, he bought two cups of oat milk, one for you and one for himself.

"You were greedy and a little airheaded back then. He told you he'd already eaten, and you believed him. You held that sandwich in both hands and ate it like you were perfectly happy.

"Wes was such a pitiful kid then. His parents got divorced, and neither of them wanted him. They gave him barely enough to live on every month. He lived like an orphan.

"Twelve dollars might have been all he had for the whole day, and he spent every bit of it on you without even thinking.

"That was when I decided you were so lucky, being with such a good boy.

"He was brilliant, he was kind—he was perfect in every possible way.

"And that's exactly why I felt sorry for him."

That same year, Wesley's grandmother was in the hospital, too. He had grown up with her, and they were deeply attached.

He was already so busy every day trying to handle her treatment that he was nearly at the breaking point.

My mother said Wesley's wings were too thin.

If he had to carry his grandmother and my burden too, he would never be able to fly.

I dug my nails into my palm, and after a long time, I finally said in a trembling voice, "Mom... I can't let him go."

The moment I said I couldn't bear to lose him, my tears came down like rain.

That was ten years ago, and even now, thinking about it still aches.

I bought some peaches—my mother's favorite—and planned to go to the cemetery to see her one last time.

I was dying. I had to tell her that after this, I wouldn't be coming anymore.

Before I went, I stopped by Wesley's company to pick up something from him.

When my mother was still alive, she had always liked Wesley.

That was before she got sick, and back when Wesley and I still loved each other deeply.

My mother had gone to church to pray and came back with two little figurines.

Inside the boy figurine, she tucked Wesley's birthday. Inside the girl figurine, she tucked mine.

They were meant for safety, for health, for people who loved each other to stay together forever.

Mom asked me to give Wesley the boy figurine.

But Wesley didn't want it—he insisted on taking mine instead.

He said the figurine with the rosy cheeks looked just like me—ugly in a cute way.

He said when he looked at her, it felt like he was looking at me.

He liked looking at me.

That figurine had stayed on Wesley's desk all the way up to now.

I was afraid that after I died, Wesley would throw it away like trash.

My mother had bought it for me. I had to take it back and place it in front of her headstone, so it could stay with her in my place.

When I got to the office, Wesley was watching the video from that morning—the one where I had a nosebleed and said I was dying.

The moment he saw me, he tossed his phone aside. He didn't say a word, nor did he ask a single question.

I looked at the spot on his desk where the figurine had always been, and saw that it was empty.

Frowning, I asked him, "Where's my figurine?"

Sienna came after me. When she heard I was asking for something back, she smiled sweetly and said, "A couple of days ago, I cut my palm, and Mr. Thorne felt so bad for me. He said he couldn't stand seeing me hurt, so he gave me that figurine.

"He also said the figurine looked like me—kind of silly, but he liked it.

"Ellie, don't you think he was just talking nonsense? I'm this pretty. I don't look anything like some ugly little figurine..."

My fists clenched so hard they shook. I glared at Wesley and demanded, "What gave you the right to give my things to someone else?

"My mother got that for me. What gave you the right to hand it to someone else?"

He smiled, infuriating as ever, and said just to provoke me, "That figurine was yours? Sorry, I forgot. I thought it was just some worthless little trinket..."

Before he could finish, I grabbed the ashtray off the desk and hurled it at him.

Wesley didn't dodge. The crystal ashtray struck his forehead and split the skin open.

Sienna screamed and snapped at me, "Are you insane? You hit someone over a stupid figurine?"

She turned and ran out. A moment later, she came back, my figurine clutched in her hand.

She threw it at me and shouted, "Here. Take your junk back!

"A cheap little thing nobody would care about even if it got thrown away. Did you really think I wanted it?

"Stop acting crazy, take your stuff, and get out!"

The ceramic figurine hit the floor and shattered completely.

I saw my name and my birthday broken into several pieces. It looked like my life—something that was probably beyond repair now.

And suddenly, I thought that maybe I really was going to die.

But I didn't want to die yet. I hadn't seen Mom.

I was afraid that if she didn't see me, she would keep waiting for me forever.

My head rang. I lifted my hand and slapped Sienna across the face, screaming like I'd lost my mind, "That was my mother's! I care! I do care!"

Before I could even finish, tears were already falling.

I reached for Sienna, but Wesley grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

My eyes burned as I stared at him. I was crying so hard that I started laughing through it.

I cursed him, "You know I'm dying, and you still bully me. Wesley, you really are a piece of trash."

He lifted a hand and wiped away my tears, then shot back, "First the cake, now this dying act—Elena, is screwing with me really that much fun for you?

"You don't need to cry for me. I'm not going to feel sorry for you anymore..."

Before he could finish, a drop of blood suddenly fell onto the back of his hand.

My nose was bleeding again, and this time it was worse than ever before.

My legs went weak. Pain coursed through my entire body, and I couldn't even stay standing. I collapsed straight down.

Wesley caught me in his arms and shouted, "Call an ambulance!"

There was nothing else he could do. He could only watch helplessly as more and more blood poured from me, staining his white dress shirt red.