On the eve of my wedding, my wife, Sharon Moonstone, drugged me and knocked me unconscious.

She let her first love, Aaron Miller, take my place as the groom, standing beside her as they held the wedding that was supposed to belong to both of us.

By the time I finally found them, they had already gone into the bridal suite and consummated their marriage.

When I demanded answers, Sharon did not show a trace of guilt. "You live off me. You'd better behave. Make a scene, and we'll divorce."

My heart went cold. I handed her the divorce papers, but she barely looked at them.

"Looks like you've improved," she said lightly. "At least you know a performance should be convincing from start to finish."

Sharon Moonstone did not sign the papers that day. Instead, she froze the bank card she had given me and kicked me out of the villa.

I knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to force me to beg.

In her eyes, I was nothing more than a pretty boy she kept around, someone she paid to exist.

She was convinced that within three days, I would be crawling back to her in disgrace, kneeling in front of her, and confessing my sins.

Unfortunately for her, several days passed, and I still did not bow my head. In the end, she was the one who lost patience and came looking for me first.

The moment she stepped through the door, her first words were dripping with mockery. "Without me, this is all you can afford? A rundown rental?"

She dropped herself onto the couch, sprawling without any grace, then issued an order, "Go take a shower. Serve me properly, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened."

The confidence in her voice, the way she looked down on me from above, was almost laughable.

I placed the divorce agreement I had prepared long ago onto the low table in front of her. My voice was flat.

"Sign it."

Sharon flipped through the document casually, then sneered. "You’ve improved. At least you know a performance has to look convincing from start to finish."

Then she added coldly, "I suggest you stop pretending. If I really sign this, you’re the one who’ll regret it."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re not young anymore. Can you think about the consequences before acting for once?"

I shot back coldly, "If you cared about consequences, you wouldn’t have drugged me with sleeping pills."

At my words, Sharon’s expression grew even more irritated. "What’s the point of constantly digging up the past?

"Aaron is severely depressed. If I hadn’t held that wedding with him, he would have killed himself. What was I supposed to do?"

I lowered my gaze and said nothing.

Her tone remained impatient. "I know you’ve been wronged. Once Aaron’s condition stabilizes, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you another wedding."

She reached out, trying to ruffle my hair. "Smile, pup. Your owner doesn’t like unhappy puppies."

Those two humiliating lines were once our unspoken ceasefire signal. Now, they no longer worked.

I tilted my head and avoided her hand. I was not a clean freak, yet the thought that this hand had touched another man made my stomach churn.

Her hand froze in midair. The room fell silent for several seconds before her voice exploded in fury.

"Even throwing a tantrum has its limits!" She grabbed my chin. "You toss out the divorce papers and feel satisfied! Do you know you triggered Aaron? He slit his wrists. If I hadn’t found him in time..."

Fear still lingered in her eyes as she jabbed a finger against my forehead. "You almost cost someone his life! Aaron isn’t even blaming you anymore. Can you stop clinging to this already?"

I stated my condition, "As long as the two of you never see each other again."

Sharon rejected it immediately. "I’m pregnant. It’s Aaron’s."

My heart turned ice-cold. My wife was carrying another man’s child.

"You’ve always wanted a child, haven’t you?" she said lightly. "Behave yourself. In a couple of years, I’ll give you one too."

I shook my head. There was no need.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "You think I want to have a child with you? After the divorce, you can have a whole soccer team with someone else. I don’t care."

She sneered again and again. "Constantly acting out won’t get my attention. It’ll only disgust me.

"You want a divorce, right? Fine. I’ll grant your wish." She signed her name on the agreement and flung it straight into my face.

Sharon looked at me smugly, waiting to enjoy the sight of me panicking after my little scheme was exposed.

Instead, I simply picked up the papers and told her to leave.

Her face flushed red with anger. "Don’t regret this!"

As she was about to step out the door, I called after her.

She raised her brows triumphantly. "Regretting it already? Too late."

I spoke calmly, "Set a time. Let’s go get the divorce certificate."

Not long after Sharon left, her severely depressed lover, Aaron, updated his social media.

He posted a photo of the two of them kissing, with a caption that read: "Wifey says my lips are soft and sweet, a hundred times better to kiss than her ex-husband’s! Wifey says my waist..."

I only read the beginning before quietly exiting the app. I also gave Aaron a nickname: Mr. Hundred Times.

Thinking about it, it was actually ridiculous. He was the one Sharon always held closest to her heart. Why was he competing with a loser like me?

He probably was not depressed at all. His brain was more likely broken.

Of course, the absurdity did not stop there. Mr. Hundred Times even messaged me privately, sending over a naked photo covered in kiss marks.

"Lucas, when she was with you, was she this inconsiderate, too? It hurts so much. I’m about to be completely drained."

A wave of goosebumps ran over my skin. I replied to him: "I can tell. Tell her to be careful not to snap you in half."

This was not me being sharp-tongued. He really was built like a twig. Those skinny arms and legs looked like they could break at any moment.

Just a few minutes later, Sharon’s call came through. She exploded into curses in her hometown twang. I did not understand a single word.

After a long silence, I tested the waters. "Can you say it again in normal English?"

The other end went quiet as well. "Lucas Reed, don’t test my patience."

I understood instantly. "Then, shall we go to the courthouse tomorrow? It’s a bit late now. They’re already closed."

She gave no response and hung up.

When I called back, I found myself blocked. I let out a sigh.

She had always been like this. The moment she got angry, she blocked me.

In the past, I would have abandoned all dignity out of love, clinging shamelessly to beg for her forgiveness. Now, I could not care less.

Seven years with Sharon had exhausted both my body and my mind.

How had we ended up like this?

Back then, she had been the one who pursued me. At that time, her gentleness and those eyes full of love were meant for me alone. We struggled together, moving from a basement apartment into a grand villa.

Later, Sharon’s heart began to wander. She wanted me to return home to take care of her seriously ill parents. On the other hand, she used work as an excuse to stay away from home for half a month at a time.

It was not that I had no complaints. I loved her too much and truly could not lose her.

As long as she did not cross any fundamental lines, I was willing to turn a blind eye and muddle through life together.

Unfortunately, Sharon failed to hold the line.

After Aaron returned to the country, the two of them quickly rekindled their old relationship.

Endless arguments followed, until we grew sick of even looking at each other. Every time we fought, she was in the wrong. That was when she would deliberately choose the most vicious words to wound me.

She despised me for living off her, saying I was useless and could not help with the company at all. She forgot that all the connections she had were earned back then, glass by glass, when I drank myself into them.

After countless arguments, I brought up divorce. She hugged me instead and promised to make up a wedding for me.

When we got married, we were poor. We could not afford a wedding. That day, Sharon cried as she swore that once she made it big, she would give me the wedding of a lifetime.

When she finally became rich enough, she had the means but not the intention. When she mentioned it again, my heart stirred despite itself.

Every detail of the wedding had to pass through me. I would not allow even the smallest flaw.

In the end, she still destroyed everything.

I knew it then. My heart would never beat for her again.

The next day, I slept until I woke up naturally. The moment I turned on my phone, I saw more than a dozen missed calls from her. That was rare.

Before I could finish feeling surprised, she called again.

"Lucas, where the hell did you go? My dad had an accident in his pants! And my mom… how many days has it been since you last bathed her?"

Her voice was sharp and shrill. "You promised me you’d take good care of them. That’s why I handed them over to you! Is this how you take care of people?

"Being useless is one thing. I didn’t expect you to have zero sense of responsibility too! You’ve really disappointed me!"

Listening to her, I found it almost funny. If I truly had no sense of responsibility, would I have taken care of her parents, Robert and Margaret Moonstone, for three years?

Her father was paralyzed while her mother had Alzheimer’s. Anyone could imagine how difficult that was. They despised me, looked down on me for living off their daughter, and constantly pressured me to divorce her.

When I refused, they did everything they could to torment me. Soiling themselves three times a day was basic routine.

I was miserable, yet because I loved her, I endured it all in silence.

Only after I brought up divorce did I finally find some relief.

I replied casually, "Why don’t you hire a caregiver, ex-wife?"

She exploded instantly, "What do you mean by that? You’re saying you won’t care anymore?"

I spoke calmly, "They’re your parents, not mine. You’re the one who should be taking care of them. If you don’t want to do it yourself, then consider spending money and hiring someone. Why are you yelling at me?"

Her parents were notoriously difficult, even among professional caregivers. Finding someone reliable on short notice would not be easy.

She seemed to realize that, too, because her tone softened. "You’ve been the one taking care of them all these years. You know their situation best. We’re family. There’s no need to draw such clear lines."

I laughed. "Don’t drag me into this. You and Aaron are their real family now. If you can’t handle it, let him take care of them."

A shrill scream came from the other end. "His hands are meant for playing the piano! How could he do such crude work! Lucas, what kind of intentions do you have?"

So what? I was just supposed to endure all of this?

It turned out love and the absence of it were painfully obvious. Then what exactly did my seven years amount to? I only felt tired, so tired I did not even want to breathe.

"Pick a time. Let’s finalize the divorce. If you keep messing around, don’t blame me for not holding back."

She froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You think you can threaten me? Lucas, you really overestimate yourself. Final warning. Keep this up, and I’ll make sure you leave with nothing."

How did I never notice before that she could not understand human language?

I was exhausted. "Fine. You pick the time. I’ll be there."

The sound of glass shattering came through the phone. She had lost her temper.

She gritted her teeth. "Great. Let's meet in an hour. Whoever doesn’t show is a loser."

She had always been all talk and no action. This time was no different.

I waited outside the courthouse for two full hours. She never showed.

I called her. No one answered. I pinched the bridge of my nose, a suffocating pressure building in my chest.

Was this really necessary? We were already getting divorced. Did she still need to toy with me like this?

At the peak of my irritation, she came running toward me in a fluffy dress and thin stilettos. Her smile was sweet as she threw herself into my arms.

"Honey! I’m so happy! We can finally get our marriage certificate!"

I frowned and looked past her, straight at her assistant, Emily Parker. "What’s going on?"

Emily covered her face, her expression pale. "Sir… she was just in a car accident. She has amnesia."