Even though we had married and divorced nine times like a game, I was still the ex-wife.

The night grew quiet. The wind outside howled, as if carrying my words far away.

After a long silence, Jake lifted his head, attempting an explanation.

"Divorcing you… It was my fault. But I couldn't let Carla bear the shame of being involved with a married man."

I took a few irritated steps back, unable—and unwilling—to understand.

Carla couldn't bear the blame, so that meant I deserved to be divorced nine times?

"You've considered everything thoroughly, Jake. I have nothing to say."

I lowered my eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.

Jake opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say more, but the ringtone of his phone interrupted him. It was Carla calling.

I looked at the name on his screen and said firmly, "Go. Be with her. We'll talk about us later."

Jake stared at me a few times, then slowly walked away to answer.

I returned to my apartment and slammed the door shut, as if sealing not only what had just happened but everything from the past.

…

Time flew. The work handover finished, and my departure abroad drew closer.

Without the job—and without Jake—I blocked my social circles in Vera City, and life felt unexpectedly light.

Only Hannah, knowing I was leaving the country, occasionally shared gossip from our circle.

After that encounter, she told me, Jake seemed to have a huge fight with Carla, prompting friends to intervene.

Another time, Carla publicly scolded him at a party, leaving him frozen in the corner for a long moment.

I listened quietly to all the news, feeling neither joy nor sorrow.

In the past, updates of Jake and Carla fighting had been the signal for me to beg him to remarry me sooner. This time, I didn't even think of checking in with him.

Even when Hannah casually mentioned that Jake had asked about me, I was surprised—but not enough to act.

What shocked me even more was that Jake started calling me himself.

And I repeatedly hung up—so much so that even Hannah, who was pampering me at a spa, thought it cruel.

"Is it true," she teased, "that the more you distance yourself, the more a man can't let go?"

I kicked her playfully with my leg.

After the spa, we sat in the tea room, sipping quietly.

Hannah couldn't help but sigh. "You know… Jake treated you really well back then."

My gaze went distant, lost in memories.

When I first met Jake, I was still in college. He was only six years older, a friend of my father's. My parents had gone abroad on business and entrusted him with my care.

This man, who could command Vera City with a single word, indulged me endlessly back then.

He had rushed onto the track when I twisted my ankle at a sports meet, carrying me away in front of everyone.

He had scolded me for failing an exam, then picked up my textbooks and tutored me himself.

When I was cheated out of 160 dollars during an internship, he used all his connections to bring that company down.

At some point, I fell in love with this man who treated me like a niece. I leaned on him without restraint.

Jake grew used to spoiling me, never noticing anything unusual—until I confessed.

His expression darkened, ending with a sigh. "I have someone I like."

It was then that I learned of Carla, a woman whose features resembled mine in a few ways.

That failed confession became the start of nine years of entanglement between us. In the middle of it all, Carla returned to the country—they dated, fought, tore each other apart, and broke up.

One drunken night, while consoling a heartbroken Jake, I foolishly confessed again. He kissed me in response, binding himself to me through marriage.

Later, when Carla returned to Vera City, Jake first proposed divorce.

The endless cycle of divorces and remarriages continued and gradually wore me numb.

I had finally stopped hating Carla… and started hating Jake instead.

If I were only ever a substitute, why did he spoil me so thoroughly? Why make vows at the wedding?

If he had loved me even once, why did he divorce me time and again? And if the love was truly gone, then what was the meaning of each reconciliation?

The truth was long overdue: the so-called bonds of marriage were nothing more than his petty games with Carla.

Shaking off the memories, I quieted Hannah's chatter and glanced at my phone.

Tomorrow, I would leave.

A small surge of joy rose in me. Being an ex-wife should end in these last twenty-four hours. After that… I would be a stranger.

To prevent Jake from interfering, I moved out of my apartment early and checked into a hotel.

I never expected the first call I'd receive to come from Carla.

I had heard her voice on Jake's phone before—soft, gentle. But now, it was sharp and vicious.

"Alison. So this is how ruthless you really are."

I inhaled sharply. All those years of compromising and appeasing in their story, and this was the judgment I got.

"Carla, if you can't speak properly, maybe you should donate your mouth," I shot back, adopting the ruthless persona she accused me of.

"I don't know what tricks you used. But this time… you did win a little." She ignored my sarcasm, her tone tinged with disappointment.

"Jake married you nine times—every single time—to spite me," she said.

I felt a small pang, because I knew it was true.

"But what does it matter? Whenever I return, he'll obediently divorce you. I thought that would happen this time too. But…" She hesitated, finally saying the possibility I had tried not to consider.

"But this time, he argued with me on his own, so many times. Men are ridiculous. He says he loves me the most. But he can't fool me. In the end, you, the substitute, walked straight into his heart."

I refused to believe her words, marveling instead at her self-doubt. Still, I couldn't resist a mocking tone.

"So… are you scared?"

Her voice shifted suddenly into brazen laughter.

"Scared? Alison, I proposed marriage to him. Guess whether he agreed?"

I sighed and hung up. I had always known Carla's place in Jake's heart.

That year, when he carried me off the track, I saw a tattoo of her name on his neck.

That year, the textbooks he used to tutor me had pink covers, with her name written on them.

That year, the fund he used to ruin the scam company on my behalf was called the Carla Fund.

He had been woven into every moment of my youth. But Carla remained his lifelong shadow.

That night, even knowing Jake wouldn't call, I sat on the hotel sofa, staring at my phone all night.

The day that should have been our tenth wedding day, but I was leaving instead.

At seven in the morning, I hailed a taxi to the airport.

Jake hadn't messaged. I opened his Instagram profile and deleted it.

At eight, after going through the immigration gates, still no call. I opened his number again and added it to the blacklist.

At nine, I boarded the plane, deleting every photo and message connected to him.

My phone rang—it was Hannah. I answered.

But the voice on the other end wasn't hers. It was Jake—panicked, trembling, almost on the verge of tears.

"Alison… where are you?"