Chapter 1I Hardly Know Him

A year into my marriage, I was dragged into an alley, stripped of my jacket, and pinned to a wall. A woman live-streamed my humiliation, slapping me while screaming, "You homewrecking whore!"

"I'm married! You have the wrong person!" I yelled, but she shoved a marriage certificate in my face. The photo showed her with my husband, Mark, dated three years prior.

My life imploded. My TV station promotion was revoked, and I was blacklisted from the industry. In total despair, I climbed onto our penthouse balcony, ready to jump.

Just as I prepared to leap, I heard voices inside. Gina, my attacker, laughed. "Mark, you’re wicked. Using a fake certificate to destroy her just to make me laugh after only three months."

Mark’s voice was indulgent. "Anything to make you happy, babe. Play with her however you want."

I stared at the glass door, my heart shattering. The nightmare I had endured for a month was nothing but a cruel game for his amusement.

The wind on the balcony was freezing, yet their laughter carried perfectly to my ears.

I closed my eyes, recalling the living hell of the past month.

After being publicly branded as a mistress, I had posted my actual chat logs to prove I had been deceived. But every attempt at clarification only invited more vicious harassment.

My colleagues shunned me, and strangers on the street spat in my direction.

"Look at how she dresses. You can tell she is a home-wrecker."

"All those designer bags are probably paid for in bed."

I had tried to tune out the noise and bury myself in my work. But during a live broadcast, a guest unexpectedly asked me why I chose to destroy another woman's family.

I finally cracked, sobbing hysterically into the microphone. "I am not a mistress! I had no idea he was married!"

Nobody believed me.

The footage of my breakdown was edited, memed, and shared across the internet, triggering a fresh wave of harassment. I lost my job, and my career was effectively dead.

Fear and nightmares became my nightly companions. I consumed sleeping pills by the handful, and my hair fell out in clumps.

When Mark finally returned from his trip abroad with Gina, I confronted him, only for him to shrug with complete indifference.

"You only asked if I had a girlfriend when I was studying in Europe, Alice. You never asked if I had a wife. How is that a lie?"

The final thread of my sanity snapped.

Death felt like the only escape.

But standing on the balcony, learning the truth, I froze.

If all of it was a lie, what was the point of the agony I had endured?

Rage, hot and violent, surged to my head. I threw the balcony door open.

Mark’s smirk froze. My words cut through the room like a blade.

"Why would you do this to me?"

He frowned, gesturing for Gina to wait outside. Then, he sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette.

I was highly allergic to tobacco, coughing instantly as the smoke hit my lungs. Normally, he would never smoke near me, but today, he was entirely unmoved by my distress.

Mark spoke calmly, taking a slow drag. "Since you heard us, I will be direct. Alice, I know you love me, but I am bored."

"I am bored of your unchanging hairstyle, bored of always having to soothe your insecurities, and especially bored of your predictable routine in bed. I need excitement, and Gina gives me what you can't."

I took a ragged breath, fighting the nausea rising in my throat. "Mark, how can you do this? Does my mother’s memory mean nothing to you?"

At the mention of my mother, his expression stiffened slightly. "It has been years, and you still use her death to guilt-trip me. I know she saved my life, but was marrying you not enough of a repayment?"

We had been neighbors growing up. When a fire broke out at the Fairfax estate, his parents were away, and even their nanny had fled, leaving Mark trapped inside.

My mother was the only one who ran into the flames to pull him out. She died shortly after from severe smoke inhalation.

Her sacrifice had always been a sacred boundary between us.

Hearing him dismiss it so casually, combined with weeks of humiliation, pushed me over the edge. I lunged forward and slapped him across the face.

"I regret that she ever saved an ungrateful beast like you!"

The slap left both of us stunned.

Then, Mark let out a low chuckle. "That is the first time I've ever seen you look this angry."

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "This look actually suits you. It is quite stimulating."

"Since Gina is outside, why don't we try the bathroom?"

A wave of intense revulsion washed over me. I stared at him, unable to recognize the boy I had loved since childhood.

I grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the table and hurled it at his feet, screaming at him to get out.

After he left, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, and I dragged myself toward the bedroom, needing to sleep.

But when I pushed the door open, my breath hitched.

Our wedding portrait had been ripped from the wall and thrown onto the floor. My face had been defaced with black marker, with the word "WHORE" scribbled across my forehead. Next to the frame lay two dusty handprints, and as I stepped backward, my bare foot brushed against something slick.

A discarded condom wrapper.

I gagged, but my stomach was entirely empty.

Pain consumed me, but my eyes remained completely dry. The tears refused to come.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Mark had posted a new update on his social media: "Returning to my family. Looking forward to spending the rest of my life with my beautiful wife."

The attached photo showed him and Gina, their silhouettes framed by a golden sunset.

In that instant, my world shattered, and the tears finally spilled over.

But beneath the grief, a cold, sharp resolve began to take root.