Even when I rejected his proposal and tried to break things off, he stood outside my apartment building for a year. Rain or shine, he waited—just to catch a single glimpse of me.
When I finally agreed to marry him and move to Harbor City, he bought a billion-dollar estate so I'd feel secure. When the tabloids branded me a gold digger, John stood before the cameras and declared to the world, "I was the one who begged her to marry me."
After the wedding, he treated me like royalty. I thought he was different. I thought happiness would last forever.
The illusion shattered on our fourth anniversary.
I'd spent days preparing Buddha Jumps Over the Wall—his favorite—and brought it to his office as a surprise. Instead of celebration, I walked in to find him and his secretary naked, entwined, kissing on the couch.
Something inside me snapped. I smashed everything in the office, screaming, demanding to know why.
He didn't flinch. He simply held the secretary behind him, watching me unravel with cold detachment. When I was too exhausted to cry, he slid a ten-million-dollar emerald bracelet onto my wrist.
"Michelle, isn't this what wealthy families are like?" His voice was devoid of warmth. "I thought you understood the terms when you married me."
He looked down at me, eyes hard. "You've cut ties with your parents and abandoned your career. Other than staying by my side, where else can you go?"
"Wake up. Do your job as Mrs. Weiss. I'll compensate you properly."
After that, depression swallowed me whole. The world faded into silent gray.
His mistresses came and went; eventually, I lost count. The "apology gifts" piled up until they filled an entire room. I went from agonizing heartbreak to sleepless nights, until finally—numbness.
Just when I'd gathered the resolve to divorce him, disaster struck my father's company. My father, a proud man with a failing heart, regarded that business as his life. To save him, I accepted my mother-in-law's deal: three more years at John's side.
I'd endured those three years. I should have left the moment the contract expired.
But recently, on our seventh anniversary, I let my guard down. Under the influence of alcohol, I mistook the current John for the man who used to love me. That night resulted in a pregnancy—a child now gone, lost to his cruelty.
"I've thought it through," I said into the phone, voice steady.