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."