1 At 2:00 AM, the rustling beside me woke me. I saw Marcus’s brow tightly furrowed. I couldn't help but ask, "Why are you back? Did you have a fight with her?" He remained silent for a moment, then gave a slow nod. I sat up and offered a quiet word of comfort. "She’s young and spoiled. Just throwing a little tantrum. Buy her that bag or necklace she’s been eyeing tomorrow, and she’ll be fine." He stared at me, a deep, unreadable look in his eyes, but ultimately didn't say a word. I lay back down and fell asleep as peacefully as ever. Four years. It had taken four years to transform me from a hysterical, suicidal, jealous wreck into his most understanding confidante. ... At 7:00 AM, Marcus walked out of the bedroom. He glanced at me. "What’s your schedule for today?" "I have plans for coffee," I replied, sliding the bowl of oatmeal toward him. "Want some?" He didn't sit. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table. "See if you like these." Inside were two VIP tickets to an art exhibition. I tucked them into my bag. "Thanks. What brought this on?" "Tessa likes the artist," he paused, his voice dropping slightly. "These were extras." I nodded. If this had been years ago, that bowl of oatmeal would have been dripping from his face by now. But now, I had learned not to waste food. I took a quiet sip. He lingered, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he turned and left. It wasn't long before my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I used to ignore calls like this to avoid hearing her voice, but I had outgrown that habit. I picked up and put it on speaker. "Hey, Vivienne. It's Tessa. Marcus left some important documents at my place. Do you mind swinging by to pick them up?" I scooped up another bite of oatmeal. "He has keys. He can get them himself." "Actually, I wanted to talk to you. There are things I've been keeping inside..." My expression didn't change. "I'm busy this afternoon. Maybe another time." I hung up. I was never actually a generous woman. Tessa had been provoking me for exactly four years and eight days. I kept count. At first, I was a tinderbox, blowing up at the slightest spark and making a fool of myself. Later, friends advised me to focus on myself and ignore her. So Tessa shifted her strategy. She stopped hiding and started pushing herself into my life. One day she’d post the designer bag Marcus bought her; the next, she’d send screenshots of their late-night texts. In the end, I couldn't take it and went to confront her. But Marcus always believed her over me. The more I fought, the uglier it got, trapping me in a vicious, suffocating cycle. But now, no matter what cards she played, they had lost their power over me. At 3:00 PM, I had barely been at the café for half an hour when Marcus suddenly showed up. He rarely crashed my plans. This was a surprise. "I was in the neighborhood," he said, pulling out a chair and casually flipping through the menu. My friend, taking the hint, politely excused herself. I looked at him. "Is something wrong?" "Did Tessa call you this morning?" "Yes." "What did she say?" I looked up at him. What could she say? Nothing but her usual boasts about how he was a beast in her bed but a corpse in mine. I still remembered the first time she called me. It was our second anniversary. I had hosted a small dinner party, inviting our closest friends to celebrate our marriage. We waited for him until the party was nearly over. Then, an unknown number called, filling the line with heavy, breathless gasps. Just as I was about to apologize for a wrong number, a familiar male voice came through the speaker, breathless and feral: "Tessa, don't bite." Our friends froze, glasses suspended in mid-air. Before leaving, every single one of them offered the same well-meaning advice: "Vivienne, Marcus is a powerful man now. The temptations are endless. Talk to him when he gets back, but don't do anything rash." And I listened. That night, we sat in the living room until 3:00 AM. I didn't scream. And he confessed. He claimed it was a momentary lapse, that he’d had too much to drink and mistook Tessa for me. Then he dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness, swearing he would never do it again, swearing I was his only love. I believed him. I thought that by exposing Tessa's cheap trick, Marcus would see her for what she was and keep his distance. After all, what self-respecting man wouldn't learn his lesson after being manipulated like that? But he didn't. Instead of backing away, he decided Tessa was "brave enough to risk everything for him," and his heart bled for her. Behind my back, he bought her a luxury apartment downtown, nurturing her with his wealth and affection. That was when I finally understood. There was no mistaken identity. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tessa wasn't an accident. She was his choice. And I was the one left behind, biting my tongue and pretending to be the bigger person. 2 Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked up at him and shook my head. "Nothing." But I knew him well enough to know this question wasn't innocent. I must have done something to hurt Tessa again. I set my cup down. "Did she tell you something?" "Did she say I hired someone to ruin her? Or that I put up banners at her apartment complex to trash her reputation?" "You can just say it, Marcus. No need to test me. I can explain." I used to do countless stupid things when she pushed my buttons. And by some cruel stroke of luck, Marcus would always catch me in the act. The villain was cast, and I was banished to the cold. But I had learned my lesson. No more desperate explanations. No more frantic counterattacks. I lifted my cup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and waited for him to show his hand. He blinked, his face darkening slightly. "She didn't say anything." I nodded. "How rare." His lips parted, and he turned his cup in a slow circle. "I came back last night because we had a fight. But that wasn't the only reason." "Mainly because of the fight, then. What else?" I waved the waiter over to refill my hot water. "Can you stop doing this?" He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. "If you're angry, just say it." "I'm perfectly fine, Marcus. You're overthinking things." 3 He didn't speak, just kept staring at me. I didn't know how to make him believe me. Because honestly, even I found it hard to believe. I had lost everything in this marriage. How could I possibly be fine? But I couldn't explain it to him. Suddenly, his favorite phrase felt incredibly useful: "If that's what you want to think, I can't stop you." He let those words sink in, paused, then got up and walked out. I watched his retreating back, then picked up my book again. Over the past four years, countless nights of him not coming home had eroded my boundaries to dust. I had screamed, I had threatened to end it all, only to end up more broken than before. Now that I truly didn't care, he suddenly wanted me to express my feelings. I was never meant to be a bitter wife. Before Marcus, I was always poised, logical, and entirely in control. Back when I was making waves on Wall Street, I never imagined I would lose myself to a relationship. I had become the very kind of woman I used to despise. Love makes you selfish, demanding exclusivity. And when you can't have it, you unravel. But once the love is gone, you find your way back to who you were. ... At 8:00 PM, as I was getting ready to head home, Tessa sent a voice note. I tapped it. "Hey, Viv. Marcus had too much to drink, and he’s insisting I pick him up. But I'm not his wife, am I? Maybe you should come instead?" A location pin followed. It was a bar downtown. I didn't go. Instead, I called Albert. "Marcus is drunk. I'll text you the address. Go pick him up." At 11:00 PM, Albert lugged Marcus back, reeking of alcohol. When I opened the door, Marcus nearly collapsed on top of me. "Where's Tessa?" I asked Albert. "The bartender said... Miss Tessa expected you to show up. She wanted Mr. Marcus to choose between the two of you tonight. She didn't expect me." "She tried to drag him away in a huff, but he wanted to keep drinking. I couldn't watch any longer, so I just put him in the car." I helped him onto the bed and loosened his tie. He suddenly grabbed my hand. "Do you... do you not love me anymore?" "You're drunk." "I'm not drunk." His eyes were bloodshot. "You used to cry. You used to scream and throw things. Now, even when Tessa baits you, you don't care. What is going on in your head?" I pulled my hand free. "Go to sleep." He rolled over, muttering under his breath, "You didn't come to get me..." I found it almost laughable. Get him? Every time I tried to rescue him in the past, I was met with a locked door. Even on his father's memorial day, I went to his office to pick him up. But Tessa called complaining of a headache, and he rushed to her side. "Viv, it's a matter of life and death. I have to get her to the clinic first." The rest of us became invisible props in his life. That day, I stood there holding the memorial offerings for half an hour before heading to the cemetery alone. In their game of "choose one," I was never the choice. They might not be tired of playing, but I was done. The next morning, before he even woke up, I went to the bank. The teller asked, "Mrs. Marcus, are you sure you want to transfer this fixed deposit to a checking account? Is there an emergency?" "I'm planning to go abroad soon. Just preparing in advance." As I walked out, I ran into Tessa. She was standing near the entrance, a smirk playing on her lips. "What a coincidence, Viv." After four years of dealing with her, I knew every trick in her book. I used to take the bait, shaking with rage while she watched the show. Now, I couldn't be bothered. "Indeed." I didn't break my stride. She called out behind me, "Don't you want to know what happened at the bar last night?" I didn't turn around. She raised her voice. "You don't love him anymore, do you?" I paused. This was one question I couldn't ignore. "A wife naturally loves her husband. Why does an outsider care so much?" "You..." She was left speechless, her face flushed with irritation. When I got home, Marcus was awake, sitting in the living room and smoking. For all his flaws, he rarely smoked inside the house. I frowned and opened the windows to let the smoke out. "Have you been neglecting your girl lately? She’s been following me around." I approached him, pulling a box I had prepared long ago from the cabinet under the coffee table. I slid it toward him. "This is a limited-edition bracelet. Use it to patch things up with her." His fingers, holding the cigarette, stiffened. "By the way," I continued, ignoring his reaction, "the peace-offering fund you kept with me has been draining fast these past two months." "Budget wisely. Try not to upset her so often." This was the arrangement we agreed on during our truce. Every penny he spent on Tessa had to go through my accounts. I wanted to see every transaction. I couldn't stop him from spending money on his mistress. But instead of driving myself mad with speculation, I preferred to see the cold, hard numbers. His face darkened, and he muttered a brief response before stubbing out his cigarette. "The bank called. They said you made a major transfer." His voice quieted. "Are you leaving the country?" 4 I hadn't expected a man who normally ignored me to suddenly care about my finances. Our marriage had crumbled because of secrecy. And the cracks had only widened when the truth came out. So, I had no intention of lying. "Yes. I'm planning to study abroad for a while." He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. "Are you getting ready for a divorce?" Divorce? This marriage gave me wealth and status. As long as I didn't crave his affection, it was a comfortable arrangement. I had no plans to divorce him. "I just want to get away for a bit," I answered honestly. "And what about me?" I looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "Marcus, these past four years have taught me one thing: a person must prioritize their own peace of mind. The same goes for you. Stop worrying about whether I'll be angry, and just do what you want to do." He stood up, his voice raspy. "I've told you a thousand times, Tessa is just... never mind. What if I told you I'm ready to cut things off with her?" "That's your business. You don't need to consult me." If he cut off Tessa, there would only be another Tessa. A man who strays once will stray again. I understood that much. Before he could say more, the doorbell rang. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose and went to open it. It was Tessa. It seemed she had followed me all the way home. Honestly, she didn't need to try so hard. If anyone else had been in my position, Tessa wouldn't have lasted four years. And the person keeping her from becoming the official wife was never me. She marched in, her stilettos clicking sharply on the floor. "Is Vivienne home? I need to speak with her." I watched her peer into the hallway. Suddenly, I recalled the first time I met her four years ago. She had just graduated, fresh and full of life. Her youth, her vitality, and Marcus's shameless favoritism had driven me mad back then. I had tried to compete with her in every way. Because she was young, I frequented skin clinics, getting botox, lifts, and every treatment available. Because she was active, I took up dance, yoga, and skydiving. But I could never win against his bias. During that phase, the tabloids were filled with my humiliation: "Mrs. Marcus assaults mistress on the street..." "Wealthy heir's wife causes drunken scene late at night..." Every photo showed me looking unhinged. I turned myself into a laughingstock, and still, the man I loved never looked back at me. Those four years of fighting had drained me of everything. They made me forget that marriage and love are merely seasonings in life, not the main course. Marcus blocked her path. "Go home." "No!" For the first time, she screamed at me right in front of him. "Vivienne, stop putting on an act!" "You don't love him anymore! Why won't you just divorce him? What is the point of holding onto this empty title?" 5 I stood up from the sofa. Walking over to the door, I greeted her calmly. "Hello, Tessa." Then I looked at Marcus. "My friends just asked me to play bridge. I'll head out." I stepped aside to leave, as if making room for the two of them. But he grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. "You just got home. Don't go out again." Then he looked at Tessa, his voice flat. "Whether we get a divorce is between Vivienne and me. Stop making a scene." I stood quietly to the side, staying out of it. Marcus used to tell me that Tessa was sweet and sensible, that she never cared about a marriage license, and that I should be more accommodating. I didn't believe him then. I spent all my energy trying to prove she would eventually show her true colors. I still didn't believe him, but the difference was, I no longer cared to prove anything. She could fight with Marcus all she wanted, demand a ring, demand whatever. As long as she left me out of it. Seeing my silence, Tessa pressed on. "Vivienne, what kind of game are you playing?!" I looked at her, my voice mild. "You've been with him for four years, and you still haven't convinced him to marry you. What's the point of asking me?" It was the simple truth. If Marcus truly wanted to marry her, I couldn't have stopped him. He simply valued his own status and reputation more. When he married me, it was a grand, city-wide affair. The vows were too heavy for him to publicly tear down. Tessa’s eyes welled with tears, and she looked at Marcus. Surprisingly, Marcus didn't comfort her this time. He just kept his eyes locked on me. I felt as if he was trying to drill a hole through me with his gaze. But even if he did, what did it matter? If I didn't say anything, it would only be twisted into me disrespecting her again. I had learned the hard way to state my piece clearly and keep the high ground. Tessa covered her face and ran out. Marcus didn't chase after her. He walked to the balcony to smoke a cigarette alone. I went back to the bedroom. I counted the days on my fingers, then pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I didn't hear him come in, but he was suddenly leaning against the doorframe. "Your visa is approved?" I nodded. "Yes. I leave next Wednesday." "When did you decide this?" "Three months ago." He fell silent. Three months ago, our first child had slipped away from my womb. That was the day Tessa poisoned my golden retriever. In a fit of rage, I drove to her place and killed her two pet rabbits. She had called Marcus, sobbing. He rushed over and, in our frantic struggle, pushed me. The pregnancy, which had come as a surprise, ended just as quickly. Any decision made during that dark month felt entirely justified. Yet, even then, I hadn't asked for a divorce. But ever since that day, he made sure to come home every night. He cancelled dinners and business meetings. It was as if he had finally remembered how to be a husband. Unfortunately, I no longer needed him to be. "Get some rest," he muttered before turning and heading to his study. 6 On Wednesday morning, I carried my suitcase downstairs. Marcus was sitting in the living room, looking as though he hadn't slept all night. Two identical sets of documents lay on the coffee table. His signature was already on them. I stared at him, confused. He pushed the divorce papers toward me. "Isn't this what you wanted? Sign it, and you're entirely free." Without so much as glancing at the papers, I took hold of my suitcase and walked past him. "Stop right there." He caught up with me at the door, his face grim. "What do you actually want?" I turned around. "I'm not signing. And I'm not divorcing you." A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes. He assumed I was still the woman who loved him desperately, unable to let him go. "Viv, if you still love me, then we can..." "Love?" I laughed, cutting him off. "That doesn't matter anymore. Didn't you say it yourself? We're adults. We don't talk about feelings; we talk about practicality. This marriage is still useful to me." His expression stiffened. In the past, because of Tessa, I had threatened divorce countless times. And every single time, he would say: "You rely on me for everything. If you leave me, you won't even have a roof over your head. Think carefully before you throw a tantrum." He couldn't bear to let Tessa suffer the slightest slight. No matter what she did, he always blamed me for not being magnanimous enough. Whenever things escalated toward divorce, he held all the cards. Back then, it was because of love, because of resentment. So it was all empty threats. He knew better than anyone how much I adored him. But now, that cheap affection had exited the stage. All that remained was a calculated game of chess. I spelled it out for him: "Three months ago, I was negotiating an overseas venture. Do you know why that project was approved? Because of my status as your wife." His face went pale. "Do you have any idea how many major clients my studio has landed over the past four years? They came to me because of your name, Marcus." I offered a faint smile. "So my decision has nothing to do with love or hate. It's simply..." "Good business." He stood there, looking as though he had been struck. "You can do whatever you want with Tessa. I'm going to England, and I won't be back for six months." I opened the door. "Divorce is too much of a hassle right now. Let's keep things convenient for both of us." Before shutting the door, I added one last thing: "By the way, try not to make any babies. An illegitimate child is never a good look." I dragged my suitcase behind me and walked away without looking back. In the elevator, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There were no tears, no smiles. Just absolute stillness. I had lied to him. If things went well abroad, I had no intention of ever coming back. ... At the boarding gate, I had just pulled out my passport when two uniformed officers approached me. They blocked my path. "Miss Vivienne, you are a suspect in a murder investigation. Please come with us to the station." I didn't move. I simply let out a dry laugh. Another game. Tessa had played this trick to disrupt my life so many times that I was entirely numb to it. I tried to step around them. One of them held up a photograph of a crime scene. I took one look, and my eyes widened.
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