Chapter 3

Dean had to come back.

"Claire, it's not like you don't have other options. Why are you putting yourself through this?"

"If it's that painful, then let's just break up."

I lay on the hospital bed, lost in thought, remembering a time I was misdiagnosed with cancer.

Dean had prayed for me for three days and three nights in a church.

But he only cried the day he found out it was a misdiagnosis.

"I almost thought I was going to lose you. I didn't know how I would live without you."

My mental state was terrible, and Dean stayed by my side in the hospital for a while.

But eventually, he couldn't resist. Young bodies held a fatal attraction for him.

He started again—influencers, minor celebrities, every woman caught in a scandal with him was younger and more delicate than the last. The youngest was even 18.

But the last woman caught by the media was different.

Her name was Brenda.

An ordinary figure, plain looks, with wrinkles around her eyes that she couldn't hide.

Thirty-three, even a few years older than me.

I threw a photo violently at his face.

"Didn't you say you liked young women? Explain yourself!"

He picked up the photo, gently wiping away a speck of dust from her face.

"She's different. Her massage technique is good, and she's very gentle."

My head buzzed, and I asked in disbelief.

"Haven't I done these things for you?"

He often got headaches, so I had studied massage for two years.

I burst into uncontrolled sobs, but Dean just looked at me coldly.

"She's a very gentle woman. Don't try any of your tricks on her, or else..."

Gradually, Dean stopped coming home at all.

I would stake out places where he was likely to appear, just wanting him to come home.

But Dean, fearing I might harm Brenda, obtained a restraining order from the police.

Forbidding me from coming near them.

He even spent a fortune, buying Brenda an astronomically priced diamond ring.

I smashed the TV, my heart felt tightly wrapped in asphalt, aching so much I couldn't breathe.

He had proposed to me the moment we were old enough.

But back then, starting our business was tough; we were deep in debt, and mice scurried through our apartment at night.

I picked out a three-hundred-dollar plain silver ring.

Happily, I let him put it on my finger.

He clutched the ring, his eyes red for a long time.

He said that when things got better, he'd give me the best things in the world to make up for it.

But later, when things did get better, he could easily afford the best rings.

And he put one on someone else's hand.

What finally crushed me was that Dean, who always claimed to enjoy his freedom, cut off all his other women.

And proposed to Brenda with that very ring.

"She's older, she wants to settle down, enjoying freedom isn't that important anymore."

I was completely shattered. I broke through the police's barrier.

A group of people held me back as I screamed hysterically at them.

"Dean, just tell me, why *her*? Why can *she* have it?!"

Dean shielded Brenda behind him and coldly glanced at me.

"What are the police for? Take her away."

A surge of indignation ignited within me. I pulled out a utility knife and held it to my throat.

Threatening to kill myself if he didn't come with me.

Dean actually laughed.

"You didn't die last time, did you? And you're still using a knife."

My fragile composure broke again, and I struggled free from the police.

Dean impatiently pushed me.

"Stop making a scene! If you want to die, go do it at home."

I lost my balance and tumbled down the grand spiral staircase of the mansion.

I was pregnant, though I didn't know it then. The baby was gone.