Jillian's POV

The night of my birthday party, I was assaulted, humiliated, and filmed in a private video I never consented to.

Just when I thought my life was ruined, Ethan Graves appeared like a hero descending from the heavens and saved me that night. He even gave up on pursuing graduate school, choosing instead to stay by my side and help me survive those darkest days.

His devotion touched me, so I gave him my heart and loved him for eight long years.

And when I held a pregnancy test in my hand, I thought I was about to give him the happiest surprise of his life. But instead, I overheard a conversation that shattered me.

“Jillian’s completely devoted to me, and she’s perfect wife material. But every time I think about what those guys did to her, it makes me sick. If it wasn’t for me, who knows whose bastard she’d be carrying right now.”

“I don’t touch her because I still think she’s dirty.”

——

I froze in the doorway, staring at the pregnancy results in my hand, unable to breathe.

Was this really the man I had loved for eight years?

I gripped the doorknob so tightly my knuckles went white, forcing myself to calm down.

No, this couldn’t be true. Ethan loved me.

Just yesterday, he had held me in his arms, playfully talking about marriage, even teasing me to give him enough kids to form a soccer team.

But the disdain I heard in his voice now, the disgust twisting his expression through the crack in the door, was nothing like the tender man who had whispered promises to me.

“Ethan, you’ve really put up with a lot all these years! But damn, Jillian’s body is smoking hot. I still kept that old video, you know exactly what I mean.”

That voice was Howard Nicholson, Ethan’s closest friend.

For a second, I couldn’t even process why he had the video from back then. But the room filled with crude laughter, and the shame burned so deep in me I thought I would suffocate.

I was just about to shove the door open when Ethan blew out a smoke ring and said, almost casually, “That’s the thing. I can’t even imagine how many men have seen her body.”

“Come on, Ethan, don’t get mad, but Jillian really isn’t good enough for you. Marrying her is basically asking to be cheated on.”

But as soon as Ethan heard that comment, his expression hardened, and he shot his friend a sharp glare. “Watch your mouth.”

Irritated, he ground his cigarette into the ashtray.

“The problem is, Jillian’s love for me is flawless. If it weren’t for that damn video, I’d have no reason to break up with her. But marry her? Then what? The rest of my life would be flat, boring, predictable. What’s the point? Can you imagine preferring your own hand over touching her? Because that’s where I’m at.”

He then lit another cigarette, drawing in a long drag, the smoke curling around him like a shroud of misery. His friends raised their glasses, nodding with sympathy, as if he were the victim.

He even brushed at the corner of his eyes, pretending to hold back tears, and downed his drink like a man betrayed by a cruel woman.

I had never seen him look so defeated before. And the fact that I was the reason he wore that look cut me to the bone.

So, to him, loving me and marrying me was agony. No wonder he always pushed me away in bed, claiming he was tired from work. But in truth, it wasn’t exhaustion. It was disgust.

And I had been such a fool. Running around to find doctors, cooking him special meals, trying every recipe to “restore his strength,” when all along, he just couldn’t stomach me.

The pregnancy test crumpled in my fist as my nails dug into my palm. Thin streaks of blood stained the white paper, blurring the black printed words. The red and black bled together like some cruel piece of art.

“Ethan, life’s too short. If you can’t bring yourself to dump her, then marry her. One woman for the bills, the rest for the thrills. What’s the harm?”

“Yeah, just let her stay home, raise kids, and serve your parents. It's just like you've got a first-class free maid!”

“Also, I heard Jillian’s so desperate to marry you that she doesn’t even want a dowry. That’s a bargain, man!”

“And as for those videos? I’ll delete them for you, no problem.”

I stared through the crack at Ethan, praying for even the slightest flash of anger, some shred of defense for me.

But he didn’t get angry. Instead, he nodded calmly. “You’re right. Women like Jillian don’t just walk through the door every day.”

My heart stopped. He wasn’t just tolerating their words, but he also agreed.

While I was still reeling from his cold calculation, Howard shoved his phone toward him with a grin and said, “Ethan, here are a few girls I know. Take a look, see if any catch your eye.”

I held my breath, eyes wide, waiting desperately to see Ethan refuse.

Jillian's POV

But then, I was crushed by disappointment.

Ethan’s eyes were glued to Howard’s phone screen. Light from the display kept flashing across his face. He looked like a cat that had spotted a fish; his Adam’s apple bobbed with eager hunger.

After loving him for eight years, I had never seen him like this. If the woman on that screen were standing right there, he wouldn’t hesitate and immediately pounce on her.

As Howard swiped through the photos, Ethan’s mouth curved higher and higher. He clearly liked what he saw.

After a long, deliberate scroll, he stopped on one picture and said, casual and satisfied, “This one. That’ll do. She looks good.”

“You’ve got an eye, Ethan!” Howard crowed. “This one’s a tough prize. She's hard to get. I’ll call her over right now.”

The men’s leering laughter cut into me, and Ethan’s laugh was the loudest of all.

My heart fell completely into a dark pit.

Humiliated and trembling, I ran to the bathroom and vomited until I retched. I clutched my abdomen and thought of the twins growing inside me, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to do. These were the children I’d waited eight years for. Because of my PCOS, getting pregnant was harder for me than for most women. But Ethan’s mother had made it clear over and over that if I couldn’t have a child, I didn’t belong in their family.

So, for his sake, I had seen specialist after specialist and taken bitter medicines. Finally, my perseverance paid off, and I was pregnant. When the doctor told me it was twins, I was over the moon. But that joy lasted only an hour before Ethan crushed it.

I fixed my face, wiped my swollen eyes, and waited outside the bar for a ride. Then I saw him come out, walking fast, eyes already locked on someone.

Seeing that, I canceled my ride with my heart racing, thinking maybe the conversation I’d overheard had been a cruel joke. Maybe he still loved me and would come running to me now.

I took the pregnancy test from my bag and hurried toward him. “Honey!” I called.

But he didn’t hear. His attention was on a small-waisted, high-hipped girl who had just appeared.

I raised my hand to wave, but it immediately froze mid-air. Then a gust of wind sent the pregnancy paper fluttering right in front of Ethan.

Yet he didn’t even glance at it. He just brushed it aside with his foot, letting it fall to the pavement.

Then Ethan stepped forward, deliberately placing his shoe on the paper as he bowed to the girl with an exaggeratedly polite flourish. “Dulce!” he shouted.

She bobbed her head and cooed, “Ethan!”

Her voice matched her name: sugary, flirtatious, instantly endearing.

They smiled at each other like old friends and slipped arms together, possessive and familiar.

So this was the hard-to-get girl Howard had bragged about. Whether she was truly aloof didn’t matter.

The sight of Ethan pressing my pregnancy paper under his shoe felt like him stepping on my heart. The pain took my breath away.

I melted back into the shadows and watched the look on his face—awestruck and enchanted. His gaze lingered on Dulce Vance with restrained appetite. Their shadows on the pavement merged close together, looking very intimate. We were only three meters apart, but it might as well have been galaxies.

I couldn’t let it go, so I called him.

But when he pulled out his phone and saw it was me, he impatiently cut the call.

I called again, and this time, he snapped, “I’m still with a client. Don’t bother me.”

“I need to tell you something—”

But before I could finish, he had already hung up on me. Then, with his face soft and gentlemanly, he led Dulce back into the bar.

From the back, they looked perfect for each other, while the pregnancy test lay torn on the ground under his foot, crushed and split. A single sheet of paper was discarded like me.

In sorrow, I ripped the pregnancy results into pieces and walked away feeling empty, as if someone had taken all the color from my life. The cicadas droned in the summer heat, but I felt ice running through my veins.

Without thinking, I found myself at the hospital entrance, slumping onto a bench with my thoughts in a tangle. I had already begun to decide to terminate the pregnancy when my phone rang, and it was Howard.

Jillian's POV

“Jillian, hurry and come pick Ethan up. He’s wasted!”

“Babe, I miss you so much!”

From his slurred voice, it was obvious that he had drunk too much. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was already one in the morning.

I kept telling myself that he at least knew how to get home, despite being drunk, that he still remembered that I was his wife, and that maybe it had all been just a show tonight.

But another part of me knew better. Three hours after I left was plenty of time for him and that Dulce to do whatever they wanted.

My hand tightened around the thought of the twins inside me, conceived with so much trouble, and despite everything, my heart softened again.

By the time my taxi pulled up at the bar, only Howard and Ethan were left in the private room. Howard greeted me like nothing had happened. “Jillian, where have you been? Ethan’s been calling ‘wife’ in my ear so long I’ve got blisters!”

He said my name with oily smoothness, and I used to like hearing Ethan’s friends call me that. But now that tone felt like mockery.

While getting Ethan into the car, Howard didn’t miss a beat. “Jillian, make him a hangover soup when you get home. He worked so hard to land that client today!”

If I hadn’t seen and heard it myself, I might have been touched. But Ethan hadn’t been risking his life to earn money for me. Whether he’d been trying to close a big deal or to win some hard-to-get girl, I didn’t expose him.

Drunk, he kept smiling like an idiot, and I couldn’t tell whether he was happy for me or for her.

He then leaned against me, intimate in the way that used to comfort me, but now his breath stung of alcohol.

Through the blur in my eyes, I still saw the lipstick mark on the ridge of his ear. That tiny stain set my eyes burning and my chest aching.

By the time I got him home, I was exhausted and drenched in sweat from the effort.

He sprawled on the floor in a drunken starfish and, for the first time, I felt no pity. I didn’t bother carrying him to bed or making him the usual wake-up soup. I was not his maid. I had no obligation to do those things.

I took a hot shower, locked the door, and climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. His phone kept buzzing in his pocket, and the sound gnawed at me until I fished the device out. It was the first time I’d ever checked his phone.

The screen kept lighting up and, as I stared, my fingers hesitated over the passcode. He had once told me not to worry, that his phone password was our anniversary, so I could always check it. But when I typed the date, the phone said the code was wrong. Obviously, he had changed it.

They said no woman ever walked out of her husband’s phone smiling. With my heart racing, I pressed his finger to the sensor and unlocked it with his print.

There, I saw that the top chat wasn’t mine. It was that sultry girl, Dulce.

Opening their messages sent me tumbling down. They’d been close for a long time. Under a client label I recognized, their chat read like the old, intimate messages Ethan used to send me—sweet, flirtatious, electric. In a single day, he could send her thousands of messages, far more than he had said to me in the last two years.

[Ethan, I’ve reserved a VVIP seat for your performance tomorrow. Please come support me!] Together with that message, Dulce had also sent him the ticket location and seat info.

I just found out that she was an arts student, majoring in piano.

I remembered telling Ethan once that I wanted to learn piano because girls who played instruments had a certain charm. But he’d just shrugged and dampened my enthusiasm, calling piano “pretentious upper-class nonsense.” Yet he coaxed Dulce into competitions and said he wanted to see her shine on stage.

After reading their conversation, I marked the messages unread and went back to lie down, but sleep did not come. When dawn finally allowed me to drift off, I was jerked awake by a knock on the door.

There he was, standing and blinking resentment into the morning light.

“Babe, I slept on the floor all night. Why didn’t you look after me?” he demanded.

How was I supposed to “look after” him? Like a top-class free maid?

“Don’t call me that,” I said coldly. “I’m Jillian, not your babe.”