Gareth's POV

In our batch reunion dinner, someone asked everyone to share the craziest thing they’d ever done.

When it was my wife’s turn, the poison she couldn’t quit barged in with his crew and flipped the entire table.

Then he stepped right onto her thigh and grinned at me. “Your wife’s little beauty mark in her pretty little peach? I put that there.”

The blood drained from my face.

Turned out that the mark she’d never let me touch in three years of marriage, even in our closest moments, wasn’t natural.

The whole room went silent. Only he was laughing, loud and smug. “I tattooed it myself the night before your wedding.”

He winked at me and added, “We even made a deal that until the scar on my collarbone healed, she wouldn’t give you a child. Looks like she kept her word.”

Knowing her betrayal of me for three years, bitterness filled my mouth.

I turned to look at my wife, but her face was unreadable. And that silence told me everything.

I pulled her hand off my wrist and stood up.

——

My wife, Marjorie Frost, calmly patted the leg Silas Draven still had pressed against her. “Silas, you should know better. Gareth isn’t like you. He takes every word seriously.”

Only when he pulled his leg back did the suffocating tension in the room ease.

Her closest girlfriends jumped in to smooth things over.

“Yeah, Gareth’s not like us. He can’t handle that kind of joke.”

“You’d better apologize to him, or Marjorie won’t let you off easy.”

Silas gave a mocking half-smile and downed her glass of wine instead. “Why should I apologize?”

Awkward silence fell.

Marjorie squeezed my hand. “It’s the holiday. Let’s not stoop to his level. I’ll get back at him for you next time.”

Next time. Always next time.

On Valentine's Day, she sent me a car full of blue roses, but Silas hijacked it and swapped them for lilies. Since I was severely allergic to it, I ended up in the ICU for three days.

She swore she’d make him pay, but when I left the hospital, I saw his post online, washing his feet in blue rose petals.

And before that, on World Children’s Day, she rented out an amusement park just for us. But Silas cut the power, and we were trapped in the Ferris wheel for five hours.

Why was it always me who had to endure?

How did I never notice?

Maybe the Marjorie, who once grabbed a knife and shattered his collarbone just because he called me a loser, was long gone.

I clenched my wine glass so tightly I heard it crack.

Thinking I’d let it slide, Marjorie told the servers to clear the mess, bring new dishes, and even set out a plate and cutlery for him.

Silas raised a brow, acting as if nothing had happened, and asked, “Weren’t we just sharing our craziest stories? I’m done. Who’s next?”

Everyone looked at each other, hesitant, but I volunteered, “My turn.”

Relief filled the room as they thought the tension was over.

Until I stood, turned, and punched him hard across the face.

Then I lifted my glass and poured red wine all over his head.

He froze, stunned, before his eyes bulged in rage. “Gareth, you dare hit me?!”

Marjorie instinctively grabbed my wrist, but I yanked free.

I smiled faintly, my voice steady over his hysterics. “That is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

I then raised my phone, snapped a photo of his pathetic state, and posted it online.

Everyone saw how his face instantly went black as soot.

Grinding his teeth, he roared, “Marjorie! This was always between us. But now your husband made it personal. What are you going to do about it?!”

Gareth's POV

Everyone in the city knew that Marjorie and Silas were sworn enemies.

Every time they crossed paths, it turned into a fight.

Back in school, it was brutal. Silas once laced her lunch with poison, and Marjorie had someone throw a sack over his head and beat him half to death.

Eventually, they made a truce that as long as neither crossed the line, they’d stay out of each other’s way.

And yet, that same man, whom she hated most, walked in today, humiliated me in front of everyone, and still, somehow, she turned on me.

“Gareth,” she said, her face tight with anger. “You went too far this time. Silas was just joking. Don’t make it look like we can’t take a little fun. Apologize to him.”

I almost laughed. But the ache in my chest made it bitter. With a shaky voice, I asked, “Did you forget everything he’s done to you? To us?”

“I broke his collarbone for you, and that scar’s still on his chest. What more do you want?” Her expression was one of disbelief, like I was the unreasonable one.

And for a moment, I forgot why I’d even risked my life pulling her from the wreckage that day when he rammed her family’s car.

Back then, her body was covered in blood, too weak to stand, but she clung to my waist with everything she had. She whispered that she hated him and that she was lucky she still had me.

Back then, I believed her.

But now, I just felt exhausted.

As such, I stood, phone in hand, ready to walk out.

But her grip clamped down on my arm, sharp and painful.

I wrenched free and slapped her.

The crack echoed through the room, making everyone freeze except Silas.

A red mark bloomed across her cheek.

While she didn’t say a word, the look in her eyes said she was truly angry this time.

But why? Why was she allowed to be angry when I was the one betrayed?

My hand throbbed from the strike. Yet, I still grabbed my bag and left the private room.

Behind me, I could still hear them talking.

Silas, toweling his hair dry, clapped her on the shoulder and sneered. “Doesn’t look like the man you once nearly killed me for is worth much after all.”

Then he chuckled, “But hey, seeing how pathetic you look now, I’ll make it easy for you. Go run after him before he leaves. Don’t wait until he’s gone for good and you have to break my collarbone all over again.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the redness in his eyes. Just a trace. But it was enough to make Marjorie frown.

Paying no further attention to it, I closed the door behind me and silently counted one to three.

I was foolish enough to believe she still remembered that I told her once that no matter how angry I was, no matter how much I wanted to leave, I would always wait for her three seconds.

But then, I heard her say, “Silas, I’m sorry for what happened back then.”

I froze.

I thought Marjorie would never, in her lifetime, say those words to him.

After all, Silas killed her father in that crash and tied me up, forcing her to sign a settlement agreement.

Back then, he gave her two choices. Either sign the paper and he’d let me go, or kill him.

Her eyes were bloodshot back then as she chose a third way. She grabbed a knife, hacked through his collarbone, and shattered his knee with a kick.

Then she signed and told him coldly, “If you survive today, consider it your luck. But I won’t ever show you mercy again. A madman like you doesn’t deserve a prison cell. It’d just be a waste of resources. One day, I’ll make you kneel and beg forgiveness.”

With his hateful glare burning into her, she had walked me out that night.

It was the first time I ever saw her cry. She whispered “sorry” over and over, clinging to me like I was her only anchor.

But tonight, on the cab ride home, my phone stayed silent. Not a single call from her.

Instead, I saw through her friends’ posts online that she was laughing, bantering, and even drinking with Silas.

It turned out their atmosphere didn't even tense up even after I left.

Gareth's POV

Maybe they’d already made peace a long time ago. Maybe I was the only one still holding grudges, clinging to old wounds like a fool.

That night, I called up my childhood friend, Derek Lawson, a lawyer, and asked him to draft up divorce papers.

After hearing my request, he was stunned. “You’re divorcing Marjorie? What happened? Did she beat you?”

“No,” I said quickly. “She treats me well.”

Then, I explained, just briefly, about her forgiving her so-called sworn enemy.

Filled in, he let out a sharp laugh, half angry, half bitter. “Unbelievable.”

He then promised me he’d handle the divorce quickly.

It was still our batch reunion, but when I walked home from the noisy event place, the silence inside was suffocating.

At four in the morning, Marjorie finally stumbled back, reeking of alcohol. She climbed into bed and pulled me tight against her. Her lips brushed over mine, hot and insistent.

After three years of marriage, I knew what she wanted.

She pressed her body against me, one hand fumbling at the nightstand.

Heat flooded through me under her kiss until I heard a crisp sound of plastic.

Like ice water, my desire froze.

“Honey,” she whispered, “put on a condom first, then we’ll keep going.”

Clenching my jaw, I firmly refused.

And without warning, Silas’s words from earlier replayed in my head. "We even made a deal that until the scar on my collarbone healed, she wouldn’t give you a child."

My stomach churned after remembering that. I shoved her away, together with the condom she had forced into my hand.

Using a condom had never been a problem with me before, but somehow my eyes stung with tears now.

Turning away, I whispered, “Let’s get divorced.”

But when I looked back, she was already asleep.

Just then, her wedding ring slipped from her pocket, clinking softly to the floor.

She must’ve taken it off tonight, probably afraid of scratching Silas during whatever “game” they played.

I stared at it for a long time before slipping off my own ring and placing it in the nightstand drawer.

The next morning, Derek messaged me that the divorce agreement was ready.

Following that was another notification about the amusement park tickets.

Last week was my birthday, yet she skipped it, saying she had to work late, and booked the tickets as compensation.

Normally, after drinking, she would’ve slept until noon. But today, she was up early, fixing herself up in the new clothes I’d bought her just days ago.

Watching her in front of the mirror with a face mask on, my feelings twisted.

“Marjorie,” I said carefully, “I’ve got something to take care of today. The amusement park—”

“You go by yourself,” she interrupted, eyes on her phone. “I’ve got a client meeting. I’ll cancel it and just reschedule it for next week.”

I was stunned upon hearing her flat tone while saying that. It seemed almost rehearsed.

As she was busy fumbling with her phone, she didn’t even notice how gray my face had gone.

But just then, my phone buzzed with two notifications.

[Your amusement park reservation has been canceled.]

[Mrs. Frost, your payment for two adult tickets has been confirmed.]

Seeing my expression, she cupped my face and gave me a quick, half-hearted kiss. “Don’t sulk. You never used to be like this.”

She didn’t even try to coax me further. She just slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.

Choking back the lump in my throat, I asked, “This ‘client,’ is he more important than me?”

She looked back with a forced little smile and replied, “Don’t say that. I’m making money so we can reach financial freedom sooner, that’s all.”

And then she was gone.

But her spare phone lay flashing on the couch. Most of the messages on it were synced with her main one.

I picked it up and discovered that besides me, two group chats were pinned at the top.

At that sight, my palm began sweating.

One was with her friends, which I was also in.

The other also had the same people in it.

The only difference was that the only man in it wasn’t me.

It was Silas.