The year her ex-boyfriend posed as her husband for the ninth holiday season in a row, I asked for a divorce.

Greta James didn't even try to hide her irritation. "You have a title at the company, your name on the marriage certificate, a luxury car to drive, and a mansion to live in. What more could you possibly want?"

She crossed her arms. "Everyone back home looks down on you—some hick with a trade school diploma. If Melvin Gilbert hadn't been smoothing things over with my family for the past nine years, they would've thrown you out on the street a long time ago."

I stared at her, at the entitlement written across every line of her face, and felt something cold settle in my chest.

Maybe she'd forgotten.

Nine years ago, the James family was on the brink of bankruptcy. Melvin had fled the country overnight and cut all contact.

It was Greta—crying, begging—who came to me for help.

But for nine straight years, she had pushed me past my limits again and again. She assumed I'd stay no matter what, that my patience was infinite. She didn't understand that even the most devoted man needed something to hold on to. All she'd ever given me was bitterness.

——

When she saw that my expression hadn't changed, Greta faltered. A rare flicker of panic crossed her face.

"Honey, you're not serious, are you?"

She stepped in front of me, searching my eyes. "Let me make one thing clear—I don't do second chances. If you go through with this divorce, you will never get close to me again. Not in this lifetime."

"Think about it," she pressed. "You're not that long-lost heir everyone pitied anymore. Melvin already controls every asset in the Gilbert Group. Without me, you're nothing. Just some nobody with an empty name."

"Sure, when they first brought you back, the Gilberts felt guilty. They wanted to make it up to you. But what do you have now besides the surname? What connection is left?"

"Some people are born into fortune but never meant to keep it. Getting swapped at birth was just bad luck." She lifted her chin, smug and self-satisfied. "At least I never held it against you."

Greta was still beautiful—sharp brows, striking features, that imperious tilt of her jaw. But the sight of her stirred nothing in me anymore. Only exhaustion.

For nine years she had wielded my love like a weapon, saying whatever she pleased.

She knew. She knew the thing that cut deepest—being swapped at birth, growing up in misery, abandoned by my real family, scorned by the world.

And she brought it up every chance she got.

Melvin Gilbert stepped forward with a smirk. "Victor, you know what they say—a man should have his life together by thirty. You're well past that, and the only reason you have a respectable job is because of Greta. Divorce her, and you'll have nothing."

Greta's expression shifted instantly. She smiled and looped her arm through mine, all sweetness. "Honey, Melvin's right. Don't throw everything away over a moment of pride. We've been married nine years—you know how I feel about you."

"Every decision at the company, big or small, I've handed to you. Every document you sign goes straight to finance for payment. Every product launch, every press conference—you're the one who speaks on my behalf."

"How can you not see what that means?"

Her voice softened. She swayed my arm gently. "All I'm asking is for Melvin to pretend to be my husband for one trip home a year. If it really bothers you that much, I'll bring you next time. I'll tell everyone the truth—that nine years ago, I didn't marry the well-bred Melvin Gilbert. I married Victor Gilbert, the boy from the countryside."

"Even if the whole world laughs at me. Even if my parents break my legs. I will never give up on you."

She held up her hand like she was swearing an oath, her face the picture of sincerity.

If I hadn't heard this exact speech for nine years running, I might have believed her.

But this time, I didn't feel the old ache for her. I didn't worry about hurting her feelings. Instead, I smiled and nodded.

"Sure."

Greta blinked. "What?"

Her jaw practically hit the floor. "You actually want to come home with me? Don't you care that my parents might break my legs?"

I gave her a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Of course I care. But a quick cut heals faster than a slow bleed. We can't hide in the shadows forever, can we?"

"Besides, if I remember right, your grandfather's eightieth birthday celebration is the day after tomorrow. No time like the present. We'll bring a generous gift, say all the right things. I doubt the old man would raise a hand against someone who came bearing smiles on his big day."

The moment the words left my mouth, Greta's expression turned ugly. She didn't speak for a long time.

It was Melvin who stepped forward instead, every inch the man of the house, scolding me with feigned concern:

"You know perfectly well the James family looks down on you. Are you really going to ruin her grandfather's eightieth birthday just for a moment of self-satisfaction?"

The second she heard Melvin's rebuke, Greta straightened her spine:

"Victor, it's not that I don't want to bring you. The timing is just wrong. Grandpa's health has always been fragile. This whole celebration is meant to lift his spirits. If I brought you along and something happened to him, I'd never forgive myself."

A thousand words, and every single one of them was an excuse to shut me out.

I nodded and stepped back. "Fine."

I turned in silence and walked away. Greta reached out to stop me, but Melvin caught her wrist.

"Let him go. Let him cool off before he loses it again."

My steps faltered. A memory surfaced, unbidden. The day I first came home, nine years ago.

I had just turned eighteen. College entrance exams were right around the corner.

The Gilberts appeared out of nowhere, holding Melvin's hand, telling me he was my twin brother. They said they'd believed I died as an infant, that someone had taken me away.

But I overheard Melvin on his knees before my parents, his face twisted with guilt:

Maybe I should be the one to leave. Victor is your real son. If my birth parents hadn't switched us, Victor never would've ended up with a crippled left leg and a half-blind right eye.

I looked down at my crooked leg and shoved the door open with a cold laugh:

So you knew. You knew Melvin's parents did this to me, turned me into something barely human, and you still lied. You let me believe they were the kind strangers who took me in and raised me.

For as long as I could remember, I'd been beaten and humiliated. I never understood why my own parents could be so cruel.

Not until the Gilberts stood before me.

Then it almost made sense.

I wasn't their child. Just something they'd picked up. No wonder they never wanted me around. At least they'd put food on my plate. I should be grateful for that much.

But just as I was learning to accept it, the ugliest truth of all was laid bare.

My fist connected with Melvin's face. I tore that mask of kindness right off him.

"You put nails in my bed and now you talk about leaving? Drop the act!"

The Gilbert parents threw themselves between us, but it didn't matter. I shattered Melvin's leg. And even that didn't come close to repaying what his parents had done to me.

After that, every elite family in the city knew the same story: the Gilbert heir they'd found was a lunatic. A savage who'd maimed his own brother.

I was sent overseas. They re-broke my bones and set them straight. Gave me new corneas.

The Gilbert parents told me:

From now on, Melvin owes you nothing.

The memory dissolved. Greta's cool voice drifted up from behind me: "If you want to lose your mind, take a good look at what you are first. And besides, Melvin doesn't owe you a thing. If he ever tried anything against you, I'd be the first to put a stop to it."

The echo of those words, so eerily familiar, drew a laugh out of me.

"Doesn't owe me?"

I turned to look at Greta.

"Are you saying Melvin doesn't owe me, or that you don't?"

"Do you really want me to lay it all out?"

Whether it was Melvin, who'd stolen my place and tried to ruin me time and again, or Greta, who'd fed off my blood and sweat to climb her way up all these years, neither of them had any right to say those words to me.

The composure drained from Greta's face, replaced by a flash of irritation.

"Victor, what's gotten into you? 'Lay it all out'? You're my husband! Don't act like reviewing a few documents for me at work makes you some kind of hero."

"Other husbands would lay down their lives for their wives. All I did was give you a little extra work and skip bringing you home for the holidays. Is that really worth making a scene over?"

Her brows pinched together, as if I were the one being unreasonable.

I didn't spiral into hysterics the way I used to. My voice was level, almost detached, as I delivered my ultimatum.

"Greta, ask yourself honestly. Have you ever truly thought of me as your husband?"

"In your eyes, wasn't I always just an employee you could summon whenever you needed?"

Greta was the only child in the James family, but she'd never had a head for business. Nine years ago, a catastrophic miscalculation nearly drove James Corp into bankruptcy. Her parents had even floated the idea of marrying her off in exchange for a project deal and adopting a nephew to carry on the family name.

She'd come to me in tears, thrown her arms around me, and said I was the only one she wanted to marry. She begged me to help her.

I remembered how, when I'd first been brought back to the Gilbert household, she was the only person who hadn't mocked me or looked at me with contempt. That small seed of affection in my chest couldn't help but bloom.

I said yes. And with that, I began over three thousand days of quiet misery.

Outside of our wedding night and the occasional crisis at the company, Greta never shared a room with me. She said she was naturally frigid and told me not to be disgusting by always thinking about sex.

So I respected her wishes. I held myself back, never once crossing the line.

But on too many late nights, I watched from the window as Melvin walked Greta to our front door. The two of them holding hands, embracing, and not once did either of them seem to remember that I was her husband.

Years of turning a blind eye hadn't earned me Greta's heart. If anything, it only emboldened her.

Her expression twisted. "Victor, wasn't all of that your own choice? Did I ever force you? Didn't you say you loved me? If you love me, why keep score?"

Melvin shook his head at me. "Victor, real love doesn't ask for anything in return. It doesn't keep a tally. The fact that you're counting every little thing proves you don't deserve to use the word 'love.'"

Between the two of them, in just a few sentences, they'd painted me as some petty, scheming lowlife.

Hearing Melvin's words, Greta's lips curled into a sneer.

"Victor, nine years ago you were nothing but a castoff about to be thrown out of the family. If I hadn't taken you in, you'd probably still be digging through trash somewhere. You gambled on me making a comeback, didn't you? Well, congratulations, your bet paid off. What more could you possibly want?"

My heart went cold. Completely, irreversibly cold.

Images from nine years ago flooded my mind, from when I'd first been brought back to the Gilbert family.

Melvin had wanted to humiliate me. He'd paid to get photos from my years in the countryside: pictures of people shoving my face into garbage, slapping me around. He played them on a screen at our parents' investor gala for everyone to see.

Every wretched, degrading frame, burned into every pair of eyes in that room.

I wanted to run. I was so ashamed I could barely stand.

It was Greta who caught my hand.

"They're the ones who hurt you. They should be the ones drowning in shame, not you."

She saved those photos. She called the police and had every single person who'd tormented me hauled down to the station. She publicly called Melvin out for his jealousy, told everyone he didn't deserve to call himself a Gilbert.

From that day on, Greta was carved into the deepest part of my heart.

But now she'd taken my most painful memories and sharpened them into a blade aimed straight at my chest.

I didn't say another word. I just pulled off the wedding ring I'd never once removed.

"Let's end this while we can still walk away clean."

The expression on Greta's face froze solid. She realized, a beat too late, what she'd said.