The year my girlfriend, Maisie Summers, and I were supposed to get married, I broke up with her.

Later, she made it big and used every means necessary to force me to marry her anyway.

Everyone says we're destined to be together from the start. Yet no one knows that after we got married, she's been bringing different men home every so often.

I never react and pretend as if I don't see anything.

While she sleeps around night after night, I silently count how many days I have left to live.

In the second year of my marriage to Maisie Summers, she took a male intern from her company as her kept lover.

His name was Dash Archer. He wore semi-rimless glasses, always sported trendy hairstyles, and had strikingly handsome looks.

He was exactly Maisie's type. Besides me, he was the man who had stayed by her side the longest.

My friends said he looked a lot like me when I had just entered the workforce. That was probably why Maisie felt differently about him. In fact, it was entirely possible that she had developed feelings for him.

The first time I saw Dash was the day my condition worsened. I had gone to the hospital for a follow-up that day. The doctor, Robin Carson, frowned and told me that my condition had deteriorated since my last visit. I had to choose between undergoing chemotherapy or getting injections of a special drug.

To me, chemotherapy meant being locked away and waiting to die, but the special drug was insanely expensive.

I had money in my bank account that I had saved by working two jobs every day, but I couldn't touch it. So, I had no choice but to ask Maisie if I could borrow money from her.

Before I even reached her office, I saw Dash. Dressed in a jacket and expensive sneakers, he was really good-looking and radiated youth and vitality from head to toe.

I recognized him instantly because I had seen him in the photo Maisie had saved as her phone wallpaper.

One day, she had deliberately placed her phone in front of me and asked, "Does he look good? This is my new boyfriend."

I stared at it a long time before saying yes. But she got mad again and demanded to know why I wasn't jealous. I said nothing and silently mocked myself. As a dying man, what was there for me to be jealous of?

By then, my arrival at the company had drawn everyone's attention.

Dash looked me up and down before whispering to the person beside him, "Is he Maisie's husband? Why does he look like a skeleton? Why does everyone say I look like him? I'm not some walking skeleton."

He was right. Calling me a skeleton was probably the most accurate description of my current state.

The person beside him quietly tugged at his sleeve. "Stop talking nonsense. He's still her legal husband, after all. Be careful, or Maisie might come after you."

Dash shot me a resentful glare, then suddenly raised his voice. "Why didn't Maisie pick you up, Tristan? That's weird. She picks me up for work every day and even buys me breakfast. I thought she'd treat you better."

His words were an undisguised provocation.

This was the first time I had seen such a brazen, arrogant lover, but it wasn't surprising, considering how much Maisie spoiled him.

After we married, she had countless lovers. One after another, she brought them home and behaved intimately with them right in front of me.

None of those men lasted more than a week by her side—except Dash, whom she had been with for nearly a year. She even bought him a villa and kept him tucked away like her secret lover.

Every weekend, they would go shopping, watch movies, dine out, and do escape rooms. They were no different from an ordinary couple at all.

She gave him all her heart but never brought him home. Instead, she would show me their photos and messages as proof of how deeply in love they were.

I smiled as I looked at Dash now. "Since she favors you so much, you should hurry up and get her to divorce me. That way, you can take my place and openly be with her instead of being a secret lover forced to live in the shadows."

Dash's expression instantly darkened, and his voice shook with anger. "You just met Maisie before I did—that's all. If I'd met her first, she would've married me.

"Besides, the order doesn't matter because the one who isn't loved in a relationship is the actual third wheel! A sick, ugly man like you is nothing but a burden to her!"

As he grew increasingly agitated, the people around him tried to pull him back and told him to stop talking nonsense, but he shook them off.

He attempted to lunge at me, only to trip over a loose cable at his feet and crash to the floor.

Just then, Maisie happened to step out of the elevator. When she spotted Dash on the ground, she rushed over to help him up and angrily asked, "What happened? Who tripped him?"

The air seemed to freeze immediately. No one dared utter a word.

This was the first time I had seen Maisie be so protective.

I supposed that was what it meant to love someone—living in constant fear of them getting hurt and finding your heart tethered to every rise and fall of their well-being.

I let out a soft laugh and stepped forward. "I did, but he deserved it. A fall's just a light punishment."

Dash, who had just looked furious, immediately switched to a wounded, pitiful look. "Fine! It's all my fault for getting between you and Maisie, but how is that a mistake? I simply fell in love. Does that mean I'm destined to be scorned and branded a homewrecker?"

Then, he turned to Maisie with red-rimmed eyes. "What's so wrong about us loving each other, Maisie?"

He spoke those warped words in such a righteous tone that Maisie saw nothing wrong with them.

She reached out to pull him into her arms and softly murmured, "You did nothing wrong, babe. Neither of us did."

That day, I finally witnessed just how much Maisie loved Dash. It really was different, but I no longer cared about who she loved or chose to dote on.

All I wanted was to live a few days longer. That way, I could earn more money to reach that number.

Looking at Maisie, whom I once loved so deeply, I plainly stated my purpose for coming today, "Maisie, I've thought about that wish. I want to borrow 300 thousand dollars."

On my birthday, Maisie had been in a good mood and asked what I wished for. She had offered to grant anything I asked for.

I had said nothing, so she told me, "Save it. Come to me when you've decided."

She had always kept her word. Besides, 300 thousand dollars was pocket change to her.

But this time, she looked up at me indifferently and coldly stated, "I'm fine with lending money, but only if you bow and apologize to Dash. Then I'll give you 300 thousand dollars, and you won't even have to pay it back."

It was the first time Maisie had humiliated me with money for another man, so it seemed like she had indeed fallen for Dash.

She kept her eyes locked on me as if she were waiting to see my reaction.

When our eyes met, I couldn't help but find it strange. Her gaze and face felt so unfamiliar that I could barely recognize her anymore.

I tried my best to force down the waves of pain tearing through my chest. I didn't say anything and turned around.

As I was leaving, I called Dr. Carson and told him not to reserve the special drug for me anymore. I didn't want the money, and I wasn't going to treat my illness either.

A sudden thought struck me just then—would Maisie shed a single tear for me when I died?

…

That night, I returned to an empty house. It was terrifyingly quiet, and Maisie clearly hadn't been home for days. I assumed she must have been with Dash, wrapped up in their affection and acting all lovey-dovey.

I went into the bedroom and curled up under the covers.

Pain seared through my abdomen, clawing at me so hard that it kept me awake. My whole body was drenched in cold sweat. A chill came from deep inside my body, and it felt so cold that I shivered all over.

But I didn't even have the strength to get another blanket to cover myself with. All I could do was stay curled up and force myself to sleep. I told myself that once I fell asleep, I wouldn't feel the pain anymore.

I had no idea how long it took, but eventually, I did fall asleep.

I dreamed of the time when Maisie and I were still in love.

We had just graduated from college back then and squeezed into a tiny rental apartment. We were poor, but even our ordinary life held bits of quiet happiness.

That day, I received my first paycheck, which was just 1,500 dollars a month. The first thing I did was buy her favorite macarons and barbecue chicken wings.

I always remembered how happy she was that day. A single 30-dollar box of macarons was enough to make her happy all day.

She took my hands, her eyes curving into crescents as she beamed. "Since you're so nice today, I'll make you your favorite honey-glazed chicken wings too."

As she cooked, she kept talking about the future. She said if we worked hard for a few more years, we would have enough money to get married.

Once we were married, we would start a family right away and she would be a stay-at-home mom while I provided for us.

I held her from behind and rested my chin on her shoulder. "We'd definitely be so happy, Mae."

Back then, we really were happy without a homewrecker or any walls between us. Then, the scene suddenly shifted to Maisie and Dash hugging each other tightly.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Only then did I realize it was a dream.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Maisie had returned, holding a plate of steaming honey-glazed chicken wings.

With a smile, she set it on the nightstand and held my hand. "I made honey-glazed chicken wings for you, Tristan. It's been a long time since I last made them, so I'm not sure if you still like them."

She spoke gently, just like the Maisie from my dream. For a moment, it almost felt like we still loved each other—until I smelled tobacco on her.

She didn't smoke, so I didn't have to guess to know that the smell came from Dash. It reminded me that we were no longer the Maisie Summers and Tristan Blaise of the past.

I shook her hand off. "What the hell are you doing, Maisie?"

Her expression turned terrifyingly icy in an instant.

"Tristan, do you have any idea how ungrateful you sound? I even fought with Dash just to see you today. I heard you talking in your sleep about how you wanted honey-glazed chicken wings, so I drove all the way to the market near our old rental just to buy the wings and recreate that old taste."

It struck me that she still remembered our past. But even if she remembered all of it, what did that matter? Some things, once broken, couldn't be mended.

I had long since stopped loving honey-glazed chicken wings, and there was no way Maisie and I could ever go back to how we were.

I dumped the entire plate of honey-glazed chicken wings into the trash can.

To piss her off, I said harsh, unpleasant things. "You should be with Dash and not waste your time on me. Otherwise, I'd think you're just here to make peace, and that disgusts me."

Clearly enraged, she clenched her fists and forced down her anger, only to pull me tightly into her arms in the next second.

"What else do you want from me, Tristan? Do you know how happy I was when I heard you call me 'Mae' in your sleep and say that you wanted honey-glazed chicken wings?"

Her voice broke as she spoke. "Do you really not love me anymore?"

The smell of tobacco made my stomach churn. How did she have the nerve to talk to me about love when she was out there fooling around with other guys?

I shoved her away hard. "I stopped loving you a long time ago. You're the one who kept clinging to me and forced me to marry you."

My words ignited her anger, and she bit down hard on my shoulder, almost as if she wanted to tear my flesh off.

It hurt, but I didn't fight back. Instead, I silently prayed that after tonight, she would finally leave me alone.