This was supposed to be the day. For the ninety-ninth time, I was standing in the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway of the County Clerk’s office, waiting to finally sign the papers that would make Regina Montgomery my wife. Then her phone buzzed. A FaceTime call. It was Toby. Her “best friend.” He was sobbing, his face pressed uncomfortably close to the camera, filming himself on a sidewalk downtown. Apparently, he’d tried to ride a city bike in skinny jeans, and his zipper had gotten caught in the chain. He was trapped, howling about the pain and the embarrassment of people staring. Regina’s hand froze over the marriage license application. Her eyes went wide with a mix of panic and maternal instinct that she never seemed to reserve for me. She started to turn, her bag already sliding onto her shoulder. I grabbed her wrist, my grip tighter than I intended. “Regina, my father is on a ventilator,” I said, my voice thick with a desperation I hated. “This is his last wish. The only thing he’s holding on for.” According to my father’s ironclad trust, only a marriage certificate could trigger the release of the family’s offshore holdings—a private global vault that would secure our future and save my family's legacy. Regina knew this. She knew my father was counting his breaths. But she looked at me like I was the one being unreasonable. With a frantic, manic energy, she grabbed the application, ripped it into a dozen jagged pieces, and threw them into the air. They fluttered like dead butterflies in the drafty hallway. “Toby is a mess, Jack! He’s sensitive, he can’t handle things like this alone!” she shouted. “You’re leaving? Now?” “Just... just put the pieces back together!” she yelled over her shoulder as she ran toward the exit. “Glue them back, and I’ll come back and be your bride later, okay? I promise!” She kicked off her designer heels to run faster, disappearing into the gray curtain of the afternoon rain. Almost instantly, my phone chimed. It was a text from Toby, sent through the same phone he’d just used to cry for help. Face it, loser. You’ll never be her priority. Just accept your place in the nosebleeds. In that moment, the exhaustion I’d been carrying for years finally solidified into a cold, hard stone in my gut. She never intended to marry me. Not really. I looked at the shredded paper on the floor. If the goal was simply to fulfill a dying man’s wish and secure the vault... did it really have to be her? An hour later, Regina returned. She was drenched, her hair matted to her face, carrying Toby piggyback because his pants were torn open at the crotch. She looked exhausted but wore that self-righteous glow of a martyr. She reached out with the same hand she’d just used to help Toby zip his fly, reaching for the scraps of our license on the desk. “Okay,” she panted, looking for a stamp. “Let’s just do the thumbprint thing and get it over with.” I didn’t move. I reached out and flipped the notary’s desk over. The crash echoed through the quiet office like a gunshot. “Take those hands,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm, “and save them for changing Toby’s diapers. Because you’re never touching me again.” 1 Regina froze, then surged forward, trying to wrap her damp arms around my neck. She did that little pout—the one that used to make me melt. “Jack, don’t be such a baby! He’s a klutz! He was literally stuck to a bike, what was I supposed to do? Leave him exposed on 5th Avenue?” She tried to nuzzle my cheek, but I jerked my head away. I felt a wave of nausea. “And besides,” she continued, her voice going high and sweet, “this is our ninety-ninth try. You always forgive me. It’s kind of our thing, right?” Before I could answer, Toby—still standing there in his shredded jeans—shoved his shoulder into mine. Hard. I wasn’t expecting it. I stumbled back, my ribs slamming into the sharp edge of a heavy industrial printer. A white-hot flash of pain flared in my side. Regina, as if trying to prove she cared more about me than him, lunged forward to “catch” me. Instead, her elbow slammed directly into the pit of my stomach. I doubled over, the world turning gray at the edges. “Oh my god, honey! Are you okay?” she shrieked. She started hitting my back—hard, panicked thumps that landed right where the pain was radiating. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like an assault disguised as an apology. Toby rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Seriously, man? Regina ran through a monsoon to get back to you. She’s soaking wet, and you’re acting like a drama queen because of a little bump?” He reached out and playfully slapped Regina’s wet hip. She giggled, swiveling her body to swat him away with a limp hand. “Stop it, Toby! You’re making your brother-in-law jealous,” she cooed. The way they looked at each other—it wasn't a reprimand. It was foreplay. The rage that had been simmering for years finally boiled over. I shoved her away, hard enough that she had to catch her balance on the overturned desk. “The wedding is off,” I said. “I hope you two have a long, miserable life together.” Regina’s face dropped. She tried to soften her voice again. “Jack, come on. Your dad is literally on his deathbed waiting for this. Don’t do this to him.” She knew. She knew my father’s heart was failing, and she’d still walked away for a zipper. My father’s last wish was to see me settled, to hand over the keys to the empire he’d built so I wouldn’t be left alone in the world. I had wanted Regina because I loved her—or at least, I loved the version of her I’d invented in my head. But looking at Toby’s smug grin and Regina’s fake tears, the fantasy shattered. If she didn’t care, why should I? Once I had that certificate and the vault was open, I could have any life I wanted. And Regina? The Montgomery family was hemorrhaging cash. Her father’s firm was a hollow shell, drowning in debt. Her mother had cornered me at a gala last month, crying, saying only my family’s trust could save them from bankruptcy. Regina knew better than anyone: if this marriage didn't happen, her father would be out on the street by Christmas. Seeing my silence, Regina tried to climb back into my space. “Jack, babe... I’ll be better next time. I promise.” 2 Next time. I almost laughed. On the ninety-eighth attempt, she’d left because Toby’s cat was "depressed" and needed an emergency vet visit. I’d chased after her, tripped, and spent two weeks on crutches with a torn ligament. On the seventy-third attempt, she’d shoved me out of the way to catch a cab for Toby’s birthday party. I’d fallen into a construction barrier, slicing my arm open. She’d just poked her head out the window and yelled, “Clean it up yourself, babe! Toby’s cake is melting!” Every single time, it was the same: “I’ll make it up to you next time.” I was done. I turned to walk away, but I felt a sharp tug at my waist. Regina had reached out and, in a fit of manic playfulness, yanked my belt and trousers down. She let out a sharp, jagged giggle. “There! Since you’re so jealous of Toby’s accident, now you can feel what it’s like. Now we’re even, so stop being grumpy!” Toby barked out a laugh. “Look at you, Jack. Losing your pants just to get some attention? What’s next? When you finally marry Regina, are we going for a threesome?” Regina didn't argue. She just looked at him with a glimmer of something dark and expectant in her eyes. Something inside my brain snapped. Slap. The sound of my hand hitting Regina’s cheek was the loudest thing in the room. “I am your fiancé,” I said, my voice a low, vibrating growl as I pulled my clothes back into place. “You think humiliating me is a game?” Toby lunged. He swung a fist that caught me right in the jaw. My vision swam. “Don’t you touch her!” he screamed. Before I could recover, he drove his knee into my stomach. I collapsed, the air leaving my lungs in a pathetic wheeze. Regina rushed over, but she didn't help me up. She hovered over me, her face a mask of faux-concern that didn't reach her eyes. Toby pointed at me, his voice trembling with manufactured rage. “He hit you, Regina! You can’t marry a monster like this! He’ll ruin you!” I wanted to scream. I had given her ninety-nine chances. They had trampled on my soul, and the one time I pushed back, I was the villain. Fine. I reached out, grabbed a heavy metal paperweight from the floor, and swung it at Toby’s shin with everything I had left. The sound of the bone snapping was sickeningly clear. Toby shrieked, hitting the floor. But within seconds, his expression shifted. He bit his lip, looking up at Regina like a wounded puppy. “Regina... Jack broke my leg,” he whimpered. “It hurts so bad... but please, don’t fight because of me.” It was the same act. The time she ran out on our wedding dress fitting because he called saying he was scared of a thunderstorm. The time she left our families' introductory dinner to bring him soup. Regina fell for it instantly. She turned to me, her face contorted with fury. “Are you insane? Apologize to him! Now!” I stared at her, cold and unresponsive. “Fine,” she hissed, pulling out her phone. “Let’s see how tough you are when the world sees the real Jack Miller.” My phone vibrated violently in my pocket. I pulled it out, and the blood drained from my face. Regina had just posted a thread to her thousands of followers. It was a collection of photos from the dark months three years ago—photos I thought were private. Me in a collar she’d bought, red welts on my neck. Me on the floor, tears of humiliation in my eyes during a "game" she forced me to play. “Look at my puppy when he loses a game,” the caption read. “He’s so cute when he begs for forgiveness. Just had to make him meow a little to remind him who’s in charge.” Every word was a scalpel, flaying my dignity in front of the world. I looked up at her, my heart turning to ash. 3 She was actually doing it. She was using my trauma as a weapon. Three years ago, Regina had been kidnapped by a predatory stalker. When I finally found her, she was a broken shell of a person, terrified of lights and loud noises. I had spent every waking hour nursing her back to health. But her mind had warped. She decided that the only way she could feel safe was if I was the one in a position of total submission. For six months, I had played along with her twisted psychological games. I’d let her lock me in dark rooms, let her humiliate me, all because I thought it was "healing" her. I thought it was love. Now I realized it was just a leash. I turned to leave, but Regina snatched my car keys from the counter, the ring cutting into my palm. “Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded. “You broke Toby’s leg! I’m taking your car to get him to the E.R.” She didn’t wait for an answer. The engine roared to life, and the car sped away, leaving me standing in the rain. I closed my eyes, forcing the violent impulses down. Talking to her was a waste of breath. I walked to the curb and hailed a cab. The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix of disgust and mockery. Halfway to my destination, he slammed on the brakes in the middle of a desolate stretch of road near the woods. He held up his phone. It was Regina’s post. “I don’t drive freaks like you,” he spat. “Get out.” He shoved me out and sped off. As I landed in the tall grass by the ditch, I felt a sharp, searing pain in the back of my hand. I looked down. A copperhead snake, startled by my fall, had latched onto my skin. I flung it off, my heart hammering. My hand began to go numb. Trembling, I hit the emergency contact on my phone. Regina. Habit is a cruel thing. She picked up on the second ring. “What? Calling to crawl back?” “Regina... I’ve been bitten. By a snake. I’m out on Old Creek Road...” “Oh, for God's sake, Jack! Stop faking for attention! Toby is in actual pain. Unless you’re ready to apologize to him, don’t call me again!” The line went dead. She didn't care if I lived or died. I sat there for a moment, the venom beginning to cloud my thoughts. Then, I opened my contacts and scrolled past Regina’s name. I clicked on a contact labeled “The Enemy.” [Jack]: Getting married. You in? The reply was instant. [Claire Sinclair]: The kind with the vault? [Jack]: Yes. [Claire]: Send me your location. I’m coming to get you. 4 The E.R. smelled of bleach and misery. The doctor was finishing the antivenom drip for the bite on my hand. Claire Sinclair sat in the corner, calmly handling the paperwork for my admission. As I walked toward the exit, I saw them. Regina was knelt on the floor in front of Toby, carefully using a damp cloth to wipe his feet. “There you go, Jay,” she whispered. “Lift your arms for me.” Toby complied, leaning back and shooting me a smirk of pure triumph as I passed. I stopped. My heart felt like it had been encased in ice. I remembered when I had a double kidney infection and was shaking with fever; Regina had been on a Discord call with Toby, laughing at a game. She’d told me, “Order a DoorDash or something, babe, Toby’s about to hit a legendary streak!” I’d spent years thinking she was just flighty. I realized now she was perfectly capable of care—just not for me. Regina looked up, her expression turning into a scowl. “Jack, I really don’t have time for your drama right now. Toby’s injury is serious. Go home. I’ll explain everything later.” The ice in my chest shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. “You don’t have to explain anything,” I said. I turned and walked away. “Fine! Go!” she yelled after me. “See if I care!” Claire met me at the door. We didn't go home. We went straight to a 24-hour courthouse in the next county over. Photos taken. Forms filled. Stamps pressed. It was clinical. Efficient. Claire looked at the marriage certificate, her face unreadable. “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Miller.” “Likewise, Mrs. Miller,” I replied. We drove straight to the hospital where my father lay. Claire stepped up to the bed, taking the old man’s hand. “Dad,” I whispered. “We’re married. Everything is taken care of.” My father looked at me, then at Claire—the daughter of his oldest rival, a woman as sharp as a razor. He closed his eyes, a look of profound peace washing over him, and pressed a heavy, antique key into my palm. The next day, I arranged a meeting with Claire’s parents at a high-end spa resort. As I walked past the outdoor thermal pools, I saw a familiar sight. Toby was lounging in the water, his leg in a waterproof cast. Regina was sitting on the edge, hand-feeding him grapes. “Regina, you’re too good to him,” one of their hangers-on laughed. “Doesn’t your husband-to-be get jealous?” Regina let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Ugh, don’t even mention him! He’s so exhausting. Yesterday he tried to follow me around like a kicked puppy, begging me to come back. His dad is probably dead by now, which means Jack needs me more than ever. He’ll be worshiping the ground I walk on by dinner time.” The delusion was staggering. I kept walking, wanting to avoid the stench of them, but I only got two steps before a sharp, blinding pain exploded in the back of my head. A heavy, spiked durian fruit—likely from the decorative buffet nearby—thudded to the ground at my feet, stained with my blood. Toby was splashing in the pool, howling with laughter. “Whoops! Look at that! It’s Jackie-boy! Were you eavesdropping, man?” Regina frowned, looking at the blood dripping down my neck. “Jack! Why were you sneaking around? You scared Toby so bad his hand slipped!” She stood up, gesturing for me to come closer. “Just come apologize to him for scaring him, and we can put this whole mess behind us.” The wound throbbed. My heart felt like it had been run over by a truck. “Apologize? To him?” I bent down and picked up the blood-stained fruit. “I think breaking one leg wasn't enough,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “You still have way too much energy to use that mouth of yours.” I wound back my arm and threw the fruit with every ounce of rage I had stored for ten years.
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