I’ve been married to Harrison Thorne for ten years. In that decade, I’ve met every single one of his "distractions." Whenever he got bored and wanted to move on, I was his favorite excuse for breaking up with a girl: “If you marry me, you’ll end up just like her. Eventually, we’ll become so familiar that there isn't a single spark of mystery left.” On our tenth anniversary, I was handing tissues to the college senior he just dumped, while he was at the movies with his newest fling. By the time the tissue pack was empty, I realized I was looking at a ghost of my younger self. So, I asked Harrison for a divorce. He looked unusually baffled. “Aren't you going to wait a bit longer? Who knows, I might actually settle down eventually.” I gave him a faint smile, offered no answer, and booked a one-way ticket across the Atlantic. Since I can't wait for you to look back, I’m moving on without you. 1 Marrying a playboy requires a specific kind of spiritual endurance. As the stack of tissues in my hand grew thinner, those words played on a loop in my head. The girl sitting across from me was named Mia. She was a senior in college. She had been crying for two hours straight. Including the "honeymoon phase" of her fling with Harrison, they had barely been together for a month. Honestly, it wasn't worth ruining her mascara over. I opened my mouth to offer some comfort, but she suddenly looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “He said I reminded him of you. Looking at you now… I see it.” I froze. None of Harrison’s previous girls had ever said that to me. Mia sniffed, wiping the corner of her eye. Her tone shifted from grief to sharp irony. “I don't need your pity. You’re much more pathetic than I am.” And wasn't she right? Everyone in the city knew Harrison Thorne had married a "saint." A saint who had been cheated on more times than anyone could count, yet still spent her afternoons consoling his exes. I called every girl he dated after our wedding an "ex." It was easier than calling them what they were. I had long since traded my pride for peace. My phone buzzed on the table. A text from Harrison. [Harrison: You done yet? The movie’s about to start.] I placed the phone face down and looked back at Mia’s reddened eyes. “Tell me what kind of settlement you want. I’ll make sure he gives it to you.” I had said these words so many times I sounded like an HR manager handling a layoff. She let out a harsh breath and stood up abruptly. “I don’t want anything from him.” I sighed. “Take something. Cash, a car, a condo. You need something solid to hold onto.” Her gaze turned icy. She reached for her cup and slowly poured her cold coffee over my head. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “And I’m keeping it.” I stared at her, paralyzed. The words of comfort died in my throat. A bitter smile twitched at the corner of my lips. Harrison, you promised me many things. In the end, you didn't keep a single one. 2 I sat in the passenger seat, dripping wet. Harrison was on the phone. He didn't even try to hide it; I could tell it was the new girl. My hand tightened around the seatbelt, my fingernails digging into my palms until they throbbed. The person on the other end said something that made him chuckle, the fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll come see you tonight.” He hung up, started the engine, and glanced toward me. His hand tightened on the steering wheel, his expression darkening instantly. “She did that?” I was already using a napkin to dry my hair, one slow stroke at a time. When I didn't answer, he reached over and snatched the napkin from me. “Stay still.” I instinctively tried to pull away, but he grabbed me and pulled me toward him with a cold command. He dried my hair with surprising care, though his brow was furrowed and his face was grim. “You just sat there and let her pour coffee on you?” “Lydia, where’s the fire you used to have? Where's the girl who used to snap back at me?” Used to... Since meeting Mia, a sense of weightlessness had been expanding in my chest. I pulled away from his arms, my face expressionless. “I can’t exactly lose my temper at a pregnant woman, can I?” He looked sheepish for a fraction of a second but remained stubborn, continuing to dry my hair. We didn't speak for the rest of the drive. He drove; I stared out the window. I could see him in my peripheral vision, glancing at me every few minutes as if searching for something. But the ripples in my heart had long since stilled. Disappointment had traveled a thousand miles past despair. All that was left was numbness. I couldn't focus on the movie. Harrison spent most of the time looking down at his phone, replying to messages. The "tradition" of our anniversary date collapsed into ruins before the credits even rolled. The irony was that afterward, I still had to sit by his side and watch him perform. The party was for close friends and family; the Thorne family invitations had been sent out weeks ago. Amidst the clinking of crystal and forced laughter, Harrison peeled shrimp for me. He piled them high on my plate, but I sat staring at his wrist as he rolled up his sleeves. Whose hair tie was wrapped around his wrist? A wave of nausea rolled over me, killing any appetite I had left. A man who peels shrimp for you doesn't necessarily love you. A man who never forgets an anniversary after ten years doesn't necessarily love you. A man who never takes off his wedding ring, even in the shower, doesn't necessarily love you. I should thank Harrison. He taught me all of that. 3 Childhood sweethearts. Neighbors. A "perfect match" on paper. But those descriptions were meant for Harrison and my sister, Clara. Even before I understood what love was, I knew our families intended for them to marry. I had seen Clara’s cheeks flush pink whenever they went on dates. I had seen the notoriously arrogant Harrison Thorne turn quiet and gentle whenever he was with her. Why else would I have quietly hidden away the vintage records I spent months collecting for him when I was a teenager? In that trio, I was only Clara’s shadow. When their love was at its peak, there was no room for me to stand. Everything changed when Clara turned twenty. My poised, elegant sister ran away on the eve of her engagement party, only to die in a tragic plane crash. When her journals were found, the "perfect" facade of the Sterling family shattered. The shyness had been an act. Clara had been used as a bargaining chip by our parents to save their failing business empire. The only time she ever chose herself, it cost her her life. I carried the weight of my family’s survival on my shoulders. I was rushed into an engagement, then a wedding. To save the Thorne family’s reputation. To save the Sterling family from bankruptcy. In that whirlwind, I didn't have time to process if I was more heartbroken or more relieved. Even as a substitute, I was marrying the man I had loved since I was a girl. But when we exchanged rings, I was the only one whose heart raced. During the "kiss the bride" moment, Harrison’s lips barely brushed mine. He whispered a sentence that would haunt us for a decade. “If you didn't want this, why go through with it?” Back then, we agreed: we would each take what we needed from this arrangement. But ten years of marriage was too long. He did everything for me with perfection, yet he still didn't love me. 4 The dinner ended after midnight. I couldn't tell if I was buzzed or if my head just hurt. I climbed into the car and drifted into a heavy, feverish sleep. I vaguely heard Harrison on speakerphone, flirting with his new girl. The sweet talk was winding and elaborate. He never got tired of saying it; I was just tired of hearing it. During a lull, I felt a hand press against my forehead. The car braked hard. He let out a muffled curse. “Damn it, you’re burning up. Why didn't you say anything?” The call was cut short. He seemed frantic as he draped his jacket over me. I thought I heard him whisper my nickname, CeeCee. I was probably just hallucinating from the fever. I let out a bitter laugh. He always called me by my full name, Lydia. As if omitting a single syllable would let me fantasize that I was the sister he actually wanted to marry. A person is more vulnerable when they are sick—but also more honest. A deep weariness took hold. Weariness of him, and of a love that never gave anything back. The car started moving again. The speed and the swaying made it hard to tell how fast we were going. He seemed to be on the phone constantly. Almost there, Doctor... she'll be fine. Or maybe it was just a dream. Until the car stopped again. I forced my eyes open and saw him unbuckle his seatbelt and leap out of the car. He ran toward a slender figure standing at the hospital entrance. He pulled Mia into a tight embrace. The fragments of words I’d heard earlier finally made sense. “Wait for me. Don't do anything reckless. I’m here. Everything will be okay.” Every word was for her. Even from a distance, I could hear her sobbing. I heard his voice, low and comforting. “I would never let you do anything to hurt yourself.” “It’s okay. We won't break up. We'll figure out what to do about the baby.” The memory I had buried deep in my heart was ripped open by the pain. Six months after our wedding, I had been pregnant too. 5 Back then, I was walking on eggshells at the Thorne estate while trying to manage the Sterling family’s affairs. Before I even realized what was happening, the pregnancy had ended. I’ll never forget the sound of Harrison’s voice outside the hospital room. Cold. Detached. “Maybe it’s for the best. It wasn't supposed to happen anyway.” After that day, we reached a silent understanding. He could continue being a playboy. As long as the Sterling family stayed afloat. He could date whoever he wanted, as long as... as long as he didn't "cause a scene" or a permanent complication. Now, he was the one who broke the deal. The Sterling family was an empty shell now, both my parents having passed away. And him? I didn't want to force him anymore. I leaned my head against the car window, my breath hot against the glass. I watched him finish comforting Mia and walk back to me. He opened the door, draped my arm around his neck, and carried me toward the ER. Over his shoulder, I saw Mia sniffle and stare at me with pure contempt. As he passed her, she tried to grab his sleeve. She missed. He kept walking, his strides long and confident. His face, which no sculptor could ever improve upon, was set in a grim line. He always gave me the illusion that no matter how far he strayed, he would eventually come back. This time, I shook my head and woke up. “Harrison, I want a divorce.” His steps faltered, but he didn't look at me. “What?” “A divorce. Please.” His expression shifted through a complex range—from anger to confusion, finally settling on a mocking laugh. “Why not wait a little longer? Maybe in a few years...” He glanced at me, his smile teasing. “I’ll finally be ready to settle down.” I laughed too, though my eyes felt hot. The fever was definitely getting worse. “What can I say? I’m bored of you. Maybe we should just be friends.” In an instant, Harrison’s face froze. His jaw tightened so hard the muscles jumped. “Not enough mystery for you anymore?” My vision was blurred by tears, but I kept smiling. “We should never have gotten married. We should have stayed exactly what you said we were back then.” “Lydia Sterling? I’d rather be her brother than her husband!”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390788", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel