The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife.

Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie."

On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down.

I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce.

Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

Just as I took off the suit, which was clearly a size too small, Sylvie Thompson walked through the door.

She reeked of alcohol, kicked off her high heels without care, and offered a half-hearted compliment. "Nice suit. Looks good on you."

Her eyes didn't linger. She didn't even glance at me twice. Instead, she pulled her car keys from her purse and tossed them onto the table.

"Take this tomorrow. Everyone attending will be someone of status. And make sure to find a makeup artist for that face of yours—cover up the scar."

I touched the scar on my cheek. The fleeting look of disdain on her face pierced through me, sharp and cold.

There was a time when she loved me. A time when she would worry about my injuries, when appearances didn't matter to her. But now, all that remained was undisguised disgust.

I said nothing. Quietly, I hung the suit back in the closet.

"No need. Cancel the wedding," I said calmly.

Then I reached into the drawer, took out the divorce papers, and looked straight at her. "Let's find a time to get the divorce done too."

She paused mid-step on her way to the bathroom. Her voice came out light and unbothered.

"All this because of a suit in the wrong size? Johnny, are you really divorcing me over that?"

"Tyler didn't know your measurements," she continued. "Just wear it for now. I'll get you another custom one later."

Tyler Camden was her assistant, her junior from university. She often said she admired his talent, that she wanted to train him personally. Whether on business trips or at the office, the two were always side by side.

Even the suit meant for our wedding had been designed based on Tyler's frame.

She never once asked what I thought. Never cared to hear the opinion of her actual husband.

It made sense that Tyler didn't know my size—he was just an assistant.

But how could Sylvie not remember?

She had designed this suit with her own hands.

"If Tyler didn't know, then what about you?" I asked.

She avoided my gaze. Her brow tightened with visible impatience.

It was always like this. Whenever I asked her anything real, she answered with silence.

I let out a bitter laugh. I hated myself for still hoping, for still expecting something different.

When I pulled the half-packed suitcase beside me, her patience snapped completely.

"Seriously? You're thirty years old and you're pulling the 'runaway' act?"

"You don't have a job. No apartment. No family. Without me, where the hell are you even going to go?"

She said it with such certainty—so sure I had nowhere else to turn. Because in this city, I had nothing. And she knew it.

Her face darkened as she continued, her voice growing sharper. "Johnny, I'm busy. I've got a new line to design, work to handle. Unlike you—doing nothing all day, just lazing around at home. I don't have time for your tantrums."

On any other day, I might've apologized.

But now, looking at the woman I had loved for years, all I felt was unfamiliarity.

She was still beautiful, still magnetic in her own way. But everything else… was gone.

"I mean it. Make sure you sign the divorce papers."

I turned away, opened the door, and left without looking back.

Behind me, I heard the shattering of glass. Sylvie was furious and out of control.

"Fine! Go ahead and leave! I can still have the wedding without you! Let's see where a scar-faced freak like you can go without me!"

Sylvie's words tore through me once again, sharp and merciless.

Many years of love, and in the end, I was nothing more than a scarred freak in her eyes.

I walked downstairs, stopped in front of a pane of glass, and caught my reflection. The jagged scar across my face distorted under the light, and a dull ache clenched at my chest.

I met Sylvie in college.

I was a rising star in the drama department; she was the top student in fashion design. Most of the costumes I wore on stage came from her hands.

That connection—subtle at first—soon drew us into each other's orbit.

Back then, she was radiant, the kind of beauty no one could ignore. And I… I was just a student juggling part-time jobs to make ends meet.

She was the campus queen, the daughter of a wealthy family. So I buried my feelings deep, convinced they were never meant to see the light.

After graduation, fate gave us another chance. My employer began collaborating with her company. We talked more. Worked together more.

As I gained attention in the acting world, her brand also began making waves in the industry.

Eventually, we got together.

That's when I learned why someone like her—so wealthy, so privileged—still chose to start a business from scratch. She said she wanted to prove herself to her family.

And for a while, she did. She became the rising star of fashion design. Everything was on the upswing—until betrayal came from someone she called a friend.

Her original designs were accused of being plagiarized. Overnight, public opinion turned. Her company's stock plummeted. Worse, she crossed one of the industry's most powerful figures and was left drowning in debt.

Some tried to take advantage of the chaos, offering to "help" if she'd pay the price—with her body.

She refused firmly. And in doing so, infuriated them.

They came for her with a knife, intending to ruin her face.

I didn't think twice. I stepped between her and the blade.

The steel carved deep into my cheek, slicing to the bone. It shattered the bridge of my nose.

She was unharmed.

But my career in acting ended that night.

No agency would sign someone with a face like mine.

In the hospital, she wept in my arms.

"Johnny, I'll never let you down in this life," she promised. "One day, I'll design a suit just for you. You'll wear it on our wedding day."

I held onto that promise for five long years.

After her company collapsed, her family finally relented. Afraid she'd suffer another accident, they gave up forcing her into finance.

She returned to the Thompson Group, led her original team, and quickly rose through the ranks. Within a few years, she secured the position of Head of Design and launched her own brand.

As for me, I stayed home. Disfigured and unwilling to face the world, I became a full-time househusband.

My family had never been wealthy. After the incident, things only worsened.

To the Thompson family, I was a disgrace—never good enough for their daughter. They never accepted me. Not once.

But Sylvie stood by me. She never wavered when it came to marrying me.

Until this year, when her family finally gave their blessing—more out of urgency than acceptance. We were getting older. They wanted a grandchild.

They needed us to be married—legitimately.

So at the start of the year, we registered our marriage.

Tomorrow, we were supposed to hold the ceremony. The date coincided with the Thompson Group's annual gala. It would be a spectacle—a perfect promotional event for her new line.

Even if it was all for publicity, I still looked forward to it.

Because she had promised me that suit. The one she'd design just for me. The one I'd wear when I married her.

But reality, as always, had its own cruel timing.

The ill-fitting suit. The monogram sewn into the lining that wasn't my name. Her cold, dismissive gaze.

I realized the woman I loved most no longer had any love left for me.

Maybe the truth was, we'd already gone wrong five years ago.

Or maybe… we were never right to begin with.

Inside my rental apartment, I sat scrolling through my phone, searching for a reputable plastic surgery clinic.

Just then, a push notification lit up my screen.

[Top Trending in the City: The Wedding of the Century—Genius Designer Sylvie Thompson and Her Beloved!]

I had told myself I was over it. But the moment I saw the headline, a dull ache welled up in my chest.

I tapped into the Thompson Group's official livestream.

It was just in time to see Sylvie and Tyler exchanging rings.

The camera zoomed in, panning slowly from the hem of his suit upward in a polished close-up. Beside him, Sylvie beamed with joy, addressing the audience as she explained the inspiration behind the suit.

"This was designed by my husband and me, a tribute to the promise we made in our youth. We hope all couples in love can journey from school uniforms to suits, from shirts to wedding gowns."

That suit—the one she once promised would be mine—fit Tyler perfectly.

The initials "TC" shimmered faintly under the spotlight, embroidered on the chest pocket. They glowed like the rings on their intertwined fingers.

So that was the truth.

The suit was never mine to begin with.

A cascade of notifications buzzed through my phone.

They were messages from Tyler.

He'd sent photos of him and Sylvie. Their wedding portraits. Group shots with the entire Thompson family.

Anyone looking at them would think: what a perfect couple.

The pride and declaration was unmistakable.

The wedding I had longed for over five years, the acceptance I had waited so long to earn—Tyler had received with ease.

Like Sylvie, he came from a privileged family. He shared her brilliance in design. Perhaps, in the eyes of the Thompson family, he had always been the ideal son-in-law.

Wanting to spare myself more pain, I blocked Tyler without hesitation.

But before I could even set my phone down, Sylvie called.

Out of habit, I answered.

Before I could speak, her voice came roaring through the receiver.

"Johnny, how long are you planning to keep this up?! You ran out before the wedding—I haven't even said a word about that! And now you're taking it out on Tyler?! If he hadn't stepped in today, do you even realize what kind of joke I would've become?!"

I blinked, stunned for a moment, slowly piecing things together.

So Tyler ran to her—complaining like a child.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me.

"I'm not making a scene. I really do wish you both well," I said.

She fell silent for a beat, then softened slightly.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I was the one who asked Tyler to let you know. Make sure you come to the family dinner tonight. Mom and Dad are not happy with how you behaved today. You can explain it to them yourself."

Without thinking, I refused.

"There's no need. I'm just an outsider now. No reason to crash your family dinner."

My answer made her explode.

Her voice rose, sharp with indignation. "The wedding was just for the brand's exposure! You're still my husband! I forgive you for running away from home over such a trivial matter. You have to show up for this family dinner!"

How ridiculous.

A wedding, supposedly ours—where the groom wasn't me.

A suit that didn't fit me.

A ceremony staged to promote her company's latest line.

And she expected me to accept all of it, as if none of it mattered. As if I should smile and show up to dine with her family, like nothing had happened.

The truth was painfully clear. My feelings had never been part of the equation.

From the other end of the call, I heard Tyler's voice. The dinner was starting.

I clenched the phone in my hand, suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

"Sylvie," I said quietly. "I don't want to be your husband anymore. Find a time to finalize the divorce, so I can make room for him."