From then on, whatever love he had for me turned to ashes—leaving only hatred behind.
In the eight years that followed, he brought home ninety-nine lovers.
And when Julia appeared, I knew my mission had utterly failed.
Three days ago, the system erased me.
This time I’m living on borrowed time—granted only because I begged for it.
I pleaded for one last chance to say goodbye—one last chance to divorce Owen, and to finally free my soul.
By the time Owen led Julia into the bathroom, I had already filled the tub with warm water for her.
The water was laced with his favorite ebony-scented bath gel. The air itself was thick with it—Owen's signature indulgence.
However, my obedience didn’t earn me a kind word, only the full weight of his fury.
As soon as Julia entered the bathroom, Owen yanked me onto the bed with force, his body pressing me down.
“Sheryl,” he sneered, “do you really enjoy serving my mistresses that much?”
“If you just say you love me, beg me to send her away, I might actually grant your wish.”
“After all, you’re the woman I liked since childhood. No one else’s body ever pleased me as much as yours.”
He stared at me intently, eyes searching—desperate to find the slightest trace of jealousy, heartbreak, or longing.
But what he saw only disappointed him.
My gaze was dead—emptied of hope, feeling, or life.
“Sheryl, don’t go too far! I gave you a chance—all I asked was for you to lower your head. Was that so difficult?”
“You killed my parents. And I still didn’t divorce you. What more do you want from me?!”
So that was all it would take—just one word from me to end it all.
But it was already too late.
I closed my eyes, a hollow ache spreading in my chest as I whispered, “If I ask you to divorce me now, will you say yes?”
The lust in his eyes vanished. He shoved me off him without warning.
I hit the floor hard, my bones rattling from the impact.
“Don’t think I won’t divorce you. I’m just waiting for you to crawl back on your knees like always!”
“If you love watching me with other women so much, then I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat!”
I didn’t respond. Just calmly got up and opened the drawer by the bed.
“Which brand do you want tonight? Okamoto again? Is three enough?”
Hearing my words, he suddenly kicked the drawer shut, sending boxes scattering across the floor.
“No need! We won’t use anything tonight!”
Even as he barked, my expression remained tranquil—unshaken.