I let out a hollow laugh as I heard Benedict's explanation.

"Benedict, spare me the nonsense. If things were really as you said, I might feel wronged, but I wouldn't be divorcing you over it.

"Do you think I don't know? When a firefighter is faced with a life-or-death choice, the protocol is to save the closest person first. I was clearly nearer to you. Celestine was lagging far behind because she ran slower. Yet, you didn't even look at me—you went straight to her.

"Ask yourself honestly—was there really no personal bias in your decision?"

Caught off guard, Benedict stiffened.

A long silence followed before he awkwardly reached for my hand. "Ophelia, I admit it—I just wanted to get her out first and come back for you right away. She's my friend. I couldn't just leave her to die, could I?"

I yanked my hand away and sneered. "Amazing. Leaving your wife, who was closer, and going out of your way to save a friend instead. Did she give you a fortune, or did she save your entire family, for you to be so devoted to her?

"And tell me. In the three days I've been hospitalized, have you come to see me even once? Or have you spent all your time comforting your traumatized sweetheart?"

Benedict opened his mouth, struggling for a retort, but no words came out.

Since we were already at this point, I figured I might as well tear the last shred of pretense apart. "If she were your wife, and I were just a friend, who would you have saved first?"

His whole body went rigid. His gaze flickered evasively.

I closed my eyes. "Let's get divorced."

I already knew the answer.

He still didn't nod. But he had nothing left to say. In the end, all he did was hastily throw out an "I don't agree to the divorce" before rushing out the door.

Look at that—he knew he was in the wrong and was too ashamed to even face me.

I put away the divorce papers and called my best friend, Anwen Sinclair, a lawyer.

I asked her to prepare the legal documents for filing a divorce suit and to find me a place to live after I was discharged.

If Benedict refused to settle this amicably, then we would do it through the courts. I wasn't going to endure this for another day.

After I was hospitalized, waves of people came to visit me—old classmates, friends, and coworkers. But never in a million years did I expect Celestine to show up.

Gone was her smug smirk from that night. Now, she was crying like a delicate flower in the rain.

"I'm so sorry, Ophelia. I didn't know Benedit would save me first. I had already passed out from the smoke. If I had been conscious, I never would've allowed him to do that.

"Please don't be mad at Benedict. If you want to take it out on someone, take it out on me."

Saying this, she grasped my wrist and weakly slapped her own face a few times.

I watched her little performance with cold indifference.

She knew full well that my hand was burned, still wrapped in bandages, and too weak to exert any force.

How convenient—she used that to stage this pathetic act.

I must have been blind before. How had I never noticed she was the ultimate manipulative schemer?

The stench of pretense was so thick that I was suffocating.

Just like a cheap soap opera, in the next second—right on cue—Benedict burst into the hospital room. He violently swatted my hand away and pulled Celestine into his arms, his face filled with distress.

"Cece, what are you doing? The fire wasn't your fault, and she wasn't injured trying to save you. Why are you blaming yourself?" Benedict said.

Celestine clung to his chest, sobbing and shaking her head. "But I just feel awful! I wish I had been the one burned instead. If I were the one lying here, I'd feel a little better about it."

Watching this pair of shameless lovers put on such a melodramatic show in front of me almost made me gag.

With a mocking sneer, I said, "You should feel guilty. My dear husband chose to save his old flame while leaving his actual wife to fend for herself. If I were to spread the word, do you think the two of you would be drowned in public outrage?"

Celestine stiffened for a moment at my words, but she quickly recovered and suddenly lunged toward the wall as if to bash her head against it. "Let me die! Let me die! It's my fault Ophelia got burned. I'll compensate her with my life!"

Benedict paled and rushed to grab her. "Cece, don't do anything rash! Ophelia is just upset. She didn't mean to blame you!"

I seized the moment and added fuel to the fire, my voice even louder than Celestine's tearful wails as I said, "Who said I didn't mean it? I do blame her!

"She knew you were married, yet she still clung to you. And you—you knew that whoever wasn't rescued first would likely die, but you didn't hesitate to choose your ex. If it weren't for your coworker arriving in time, I wouldn't even be alive right now. Am I not even allowed to resent the mistress?"

Benedict could no longer tolerate me verbally lashing out at his innocent first love. With a loud smack, he slapped me hard across the face.

"You're being unreasonable! Cece is delicate and fragile. What's wrong with me saving her first? It's not like you're dead, are you?"

That slap severed the last shred of emotion I had for him.

Exhausted, I turned to my caretaker, Thea Winslow.

"Thea, I'll pay you a thousand dollars. Get these two pests out of my sight."

Thea didn't hesitate. She rolled up her sleeves and gave each of them a resounding slap.

Benedict, with his thick skin, barely flinched. Celestine, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Her meticulously styled hair came undone, her face swelled up on one side, and she let out an ear-piercing shriek.

I nodded in satisfaction. "Well done, Thea. Another thousand-dollar bonus for you."

Emboldened, Thea didn't hold back. Despite being a middle-aged woman, she had no trouble chasing the two young lovers out of my hospital room, leaving them scrambling like frightened rats.

After I was discharged, Anwen decided to accompany me home. She packed my things, unwilling to let me be alone.

Forcing a smile, I tried to sound nonchalant. "You're so busy, yet you still made time for me. I feel bad about this."

She flicked my forehead lightly. "Don't pretend you are happy. Do you really need to wear a mask even in front of me?"

With just those words, the walls I had so carefully built around my emotions crumbled.

I threw myself into her arms and broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably. All the grievances, all the pain, I let them pour out.

Holding me tight, Anwen whispered, seething with anger. "Don't cry. The best revenge against a scumbag is to live a happy life."

After a few more comforting curses on my behalf, my sobs gradually subsided.

Wiping my tears, we finally stepped into my home.

But the moment we saw what was inside, Anwen's face twisted in fury, and she nearly jumped in rage.

"Are you kidding me? You two aren't even divorced yet, and he is already this desperate?" Anwen exclaimed.

Scattered across the couch and carpet were various pieces of women's clothing. The trash bin was overflowing with crumpled tissues.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened—Benedict had brought Celestine here for their little escapade.

Even though I had already given up on him, seeing this scene still hurt.

This was my home, too. The thought of Celestine invading a place filled with memories of my marriage felt like a knife twisting in my heart.

Clenching my fists tightly, I made my way to the bedroom.

Just as I expected, the place was a disaster—ransacked as if a gang of bandits had stormed through.

My clothes had been shredded. My makeup on the vanity had been mostly used up. The jewelry in my closet was nearly gone, too.

But the worst part? The couple's rings Benedict had given me before our wedding. The once-beautiful engravings had been scrapped and distorted, and now, the rings lay abandoned in the trash, treated like worthless junk.

Anwen, who was cursing under her breath, reached out to retrieve them.

I stopped her. "Leave them. They're ruined."

There was no turning back spilled water, and a broken mirror can never be made whole again. Even if we cleaned them up, those rings would never be the same.

Benedict and I had met through a blind date. Maybe it was his striking looks, or maybe it was the romanticized allure of his firefighter career, but I fell for him at first sight.

Later, I saw him rushing into a burning building to save someone. Covered in soot and grime, he looked anything but glamorous, yet to me, he was radiant—like a hero bathed in golden light. The world faded, leaving only the pounding of my own heart.

I fell for him completely.

Even though Benedict was distant toward me, I pursued him relentlessly. Eventually, he gave in and agreed to date me.

Looking back, I realize he probably wasn't moved by my persistence—he had just given up resisting.

After we started dating, I met his parents and learned about his past.

In high school, Benedict had been close to a girl—a girl named Celestine Aldridge. They had promised to attend the same college and marry after graduation. But after the college entrance exam, Celestine was sent abroad to further her study.

At first, they talked every day online. But over time, Celestine's messages became fewer and fewer. Eventually, she stopped answering his calls and ignored his texts.

Months later, she sent him a simple breakup message, cutting off all contact without giving him a chance to plead his case.

Benedict spiraled into a deep slump for months. He never dated again and joined the military. After his service years later, he became a firefighter.

It was only under pressure from his parents that he finally agreed to go on blind dates, and that was how we ended up together.

I knew from the start that a man with a lingering first love was hard to hold on to. But I was stubborn. I thought since he was so devoted to one person, once he became my husband, I would never have to worry about infidelity.

Now, I see how foolish I was.

There was no need to worry about other mistresses, because once the long-lost first love returned, no one else could compete. Even as his legal wife, I had been utterly defeated.

Sniffling, I abandoned my plan to pack my belongings.

"Anwen, help me take inventory. I want a record of every single thing she's damaged. Celestine is going to pay for every last bit of it, or I'm reporting her to the police!"

As for everything else? Taking it with me would only be a painful reminder, so might as well leave it all behind.

I would consider it a funeral for my youth—a life wasted on the wrong person.