Marianne’s POV
It was Thanksgiving, and during dinner, someone asked everyone to share the craziest thing they’d ever done.
When it was my husband’s turn, his “Fatal Obsession,” the woman from his past, stormed in with a group of people and flipped the table over.
She then stepped on his thigh and grinned straight at me.
“The mole on your husband’s manhood, I tattooed that.”
The color drained from my face.
So that mole he never once let me touch, not even after three years of marriage, wasn’t natural at all.
The room fell into a dead silence, except for her laughter echoing through it.
“I inked it the day before your wedding,” she said, winking at me. “We even made a pact that until the scar on my collarbone healed, he couldn’t have kids with you. Looks like he really kept his word.”
Bitterness coated my tongue, tasting like the nine hundred ninety-nine bitter pills I had swallowed to prevent a child for three years.
I turned to my husband, but his face was unreadable.
In that instant, I finally understood everything.
I yanked his hand off my waist and stood up.
——
My husband, Gideon Ward, calmly patted the leg Arabella Duvall, his Fatal Obsession, had pressed against his thigh and said, “Arabella, you know Marianne isn’t like you. She takes your nonsense seriously.”
Only when she pulled her leg back did the air in the room loosen.
Then, one of his closest friends quickly tried to smooth things over. “Yeah, come on. Our Marianne isn’t like us. She can’t take jokes like that. You’d better apologize, or Gideon won’t let this slide.”
Smirking, Arabella grabbed his glass and drained it. “Why should I?”
The room froze again.
But Gideon squeezed my hand gently. “It’s a holiday. Let’s not waste it on her. Next time, I’ll make it right for you.”
Next time. Always next time.
Last Valentine’s Day, the car full of blue roses he sent me was hijacked by her and switched with lilies. I almost died from the allergy and spent three days in the ICU because of it.
He said he’d deal with her, but when I was discharged, I saw her posting photos online, bathing in petals from those very roses.
It didn’t end there.
On World Children’s Day, Gideon rented out an amusement park just for me. But she cut the power, and we were stuck on the Ferris wheel for five hours.
Why was it always me who had to endure everything?
Maybe the man who once, for my sake, picked up a knife and slashed open her collarbone after she called me a whore was gone.
I gripped my glass so tightly I heard it crack.
As Gideon thought I had let it go, he told the waiter to clear the table and bring in new dishes. He even handed Arabella a fresh plate and cutlery.
She arched a brow, all casual, and asked, “Weren’t we sharing the craziest things we’ve done? I already shared mine. Who’s next?”
While people glanced at each other awkwardly, I spoke up softly. “My turn.”
Everyone exhaled, relieved, thinking the matter was finally over.
Until they saw me stand, slap her hard across the face, then pour a full glass of red wine over her head.
She froze for a second before her eyes widened and she shrieked, “Marianne! How dare you?!”
Gideon instinctively grabbed my wrist, but I tore free with a sharp jerk.
I smiled faintly and spoke over her hysteria. “This… is the craziest thing I’ve done today.”
Then I raised my phone, snapped her humiliating state, and posted it instantly.
Everyone at the table saw that her face darkened in that instant.
She clenched her teeth and screamed, “Gideon! Whatever’s between us, it’s our business. But now your wife picked the fight herself. What are you going to do about it?!”
Marianne’s POV
Everyone in the city knew that Gideon and Arabella were sworn enemies. Whenever they crossed paths, it always ended in a fight.
Back in school, their battles were the stuff of legend. She once tried to poison his lunch, and he hired people to throw a sack over her head in return.
Eventually, they struck a truce that as long as neither crossed the line, they’d leave each other alone.
And yet, facing a woman like that, someone he hated so deeply, he still turned on me tonight.
“Marianne,” his voice was cold, his face stormy, “this time you went too far. Arabella was just joking. Don’t make people think we can’t take a joke. Apologize.”
A laugh bubbled up in my chest, bitter and sharp.
With a trembling voice, I said, “You forgot everything she’s done to you?”
He shot back without hesitation. “I already broke her collarbone for you. That scar is still there. What more do you want?”
His words stunned me, and for a moment, I forgot why I had once risked my life for him.
Back then, when Arabella rammed her car into his family’s vehicle, I was the one who dragged him out, even with the gas tank about to explode. He was bleeding everywhere, his strength nearly gone, yet he clung to me with all he had.
That day, he told me he hated her and how lucky and grateful he was to have me.
Now, that memory just made me feel tired.
I grabbed my bag and stood to leave, but his hand clamped around my arm, hard enough to bruise.
The sting pushed me over the edge. I yanked free and slapped him hard.
Everyone froze, except for Arabella, who looked almost entertained.
With a red handprint blooming across his cheek, he said nothing. But the fury in his silence made it clear that he was livid.
But what right did he have to be angry?
I shook the pain out of my hand, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked out of the private room.
Behind me, voices carried.
Arabella, drying her hair with a towel, chuckled as she clapped him on the shoulder.
“Looks like the girl you broke my collarbone for isn’t so great after all.” She smirked. “But since you look so pathetic right now, I’ll cut you some slack. Go run after her before she’s gone for good. Or what, are you planning to break my collarbone again?”
For the briefest moment, I caught her eyes glistening red, just a hint. And that alone made Gideon frown.
Closing the door, I turned my back and silently counted to three.
I thought he remembered what I once told him, that no matter how angry or hurt I was, I would always wait three seconds for him to come after me.
But this time, instead of footsteps chasing me, I heard his voice.
“Arabella, about what happened back then, I’m sorry.”
My heart dropped.
I had always believed he would never, ever apologize to her. Not after everything.
She was the one who drove drunk and killed his father. She also kidnapped me and held a knife to my throat, forcing him to sign a forgiveness agreement.
Back then, she gave him two choices. Either sign the paper and save me, or kill her and lose me forever.
And Gideon, eyes bloodshot, rage uncontained, chose both. He slashed her collarbone open, shattered her knee with a kick, and still signed the agreement.
I remembered the way he spat, “If you’re still alive today, then count yourself lucky. But don’t expect me to ever show mercy again. Locking you up would be a waste of resources. One day, you’ll kneel and beg me for forgiveness.”
With her hate-filled eyes burning into him, he carried me away. That night, for the first time, he cried in front of me. He whispered “sorry” over and over, as though he’d failed me by letting her live.
But tonight, on the ride home, he didn’t call me once.
Instead, I saw his friends posting updates, sharing his interactions with Arabella.
Turned out, after I left, their atmosphere wasn’t nearly as hostile.
Marianne’s POV
Maybe the truth was, they had already made peace a long time ago. And I was the only one still holding on to all of this like a fool.
With that in mind, I called my best friend, Colette Montgomery, who happened to be a lawyer, and asked her to draft a divorce agreement for me.
When she heard I wanted a divorce, she was shocked. “What did Gideon do? Did he hit you?”
“No. He treats me well,” I said quietly, then gave her a brief explanation.
The moment she learned he had forgiven his sworn enemy, she laughed in disbelief. Then she swore she’d handle the divorce papers for me.
It was supposed to be Thanksgiving, but as I walked away from the noisy gathering and came home alone, the silence felt crushing.
At four in the morning, Gideon finally stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. The moment he got into bed, he pulled me close, pressing his warm lips against mine, insistent and probing.
After three years of marriage, I knew exactly what he wanted.
His body pressed down on me as one hand fumbled toward the nightstand. His kisses left me weak until I heard the sound of a pill packet being snapped open.
In that instant, desire turned to ice in my veins.
“Be good,” he whispered. “Take the pill, and we’ll keep going.”
But I clenched my jaw and refused. I wouldn’t take another birth control pill.
Out of nowhere, Arabella’s words from earlier replayed in my head. “We even made a pact that until the scar on my collarbone healed, he couldn’t have kids with you.
My stomach turned. I shoved his drunken body off me and spat the pill he’d tried to force between my lips back out. The bitterness burned so much that it brought tears to my eyes.
I took a deep breath and said, my back to him, “Let’s get a divorce.”
But when I turned around, bracing myself, Gideon was already asleep.
His wedding ring then slipped out of his pocket and hit the floor. He probably took it off earlier while “playing games” with Arabella, so he wouldn’t scratch her with it.
I stared at it for a long moment, then slowly slid my own ring off and tucked it into the drawer of the nightstand.
The next morning, Colette sent me the completed divorce agreement. At the same time, a reminder about amusement park tickets popped up on my phone.
Last week was my birthday, but Gideon had skipped it to work late. So, he bought those tickets to make it up to me.
Usually, after a night of heavy drinking, he slept until noon. But today, he was up early, freshly showered, dressed in the new clothes I’d just bought him.
Watching him stand in front of the mirror, carefully shaving, I felt a tangle of emotions.
“Gideon, I have something to do today. About the amusement park—”
Unexpectedly, he cut me off without even looking up. “I can’t go today. I’ve got a client meeting. I’ll just cancel it and take you next week instead.”
As he said that, he scrolled casually through his phone, not noticing my face go pale.
And at that very moment, two notifications popped up on my screen.
[Your amusement park reservation has been canceled.]
[Payment confirmed! Two adult tickets for Mr. Ward at the amusement park.]
After that, he finally looked at me, and only then did he notice my silence. He cupped my face with one hand, then kissed me lightly as though that was enough.
“Don’t pout. You never used to be like this.”
Then, without even trying to coax me, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the door.
My throat tightened as I asked, “This ‘client,’ is she more important than me?”
His expression shifted, and then he gave me a dismissive smile. “Don’t talk nonsense. Everything I do is for you and for our future child.”
But after saying that, he walked out directly.
However, his backup phone lay forgotten on the sofa, the screen flashing with notifications. Most of the messages on that device were synced with his main phone.
Upon picking it up, I discovered that, apart from me, there were also two group chats pinned on his messaging app.
But after checking those, beads of sweat formed on my palm.
In one, it includes him, his friends, and me.
But in the other, everything was the same, except the woman’s name wasn’t mine.
It was Arabella.
Marianne’s POV
The latest messages stopped last night.
[I swear, Arabella. You could’ve at least warned us you were coming. Didn’t you know Marianne would be here?]
[Exactly. Don’t let her find out you and Gideon are getting close!]
[I really don’t get it. Why does whatever Gideon and Arabella have to do with some third party?]
Arabella replied to that last one. [Some women are petty. She probably thinks that if Gideon and I patch things up, she’s out of the picture.]
From the start, Gideon hadn’t defended me. He never said one word to explain that I hated Arabella because she’d bullied me for three years.
I found myself scrolling back through the chat and realized this group was created the day we got married.
I remembered, on our wedding night, he didn’t touch me as he had to deal with a difficult client, he said. But the truth was, he spent the whole night in that group chat.
I wiped my tears and called my Colette.
“I suddenly want to go to the amusement park today. You free?” I asked, wrapping myself up against the fall chill.
We met there a little while later, and as soon as we met, she handed me the divorce papers.
Without ceremony, she asked the question we both already knew the answer to. “Those two are together?”
I nodded.
She ground her teeth with anger. “Gideon’s an idiot. His dad got murdered by that bitch, yet he acts like it’s nothing. Also, he knows how badly Arabella treated you because of him himself.” Her voice was thick with fury.
She was right. Because I’d dragged Gideon out of a wreck, we’d confirmed our relationship.
But after that, someone locked me in a bathroom and forced me to drink disinfectant.
If someone hadn’t found me in time, I would have died.
Just because I saved him, things between him and Arabella had only gotten worse, at least on paper.
The park was huge, but I soon found them. Arabella’s head rested on his shoulder as she ate a double-scoop ice cream. Their voices were low, but I heard everything.
“We shouldn’t go out alone anymore,” she said. “Even if I’ve done nothing, your wife still looks at me like an enemy. I’m a woman too, I get hurt.” She wiped at her eyes. “Also, that night three years ago, I was drunk. Let’s just pretend it never happened. We can still be enemies, but move on.”
So that was why Gideon was impossible to reach before our wedding night. He’d been busy with Arabella. No wonder she had time to get a tattoo on him before the wedding.
Even though I’d braced myself, her words felt like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
But Colette, hot-tempered as always, rolled up her sleeves and started forward.
Luckily, I grabbed her in time. But a kid holding an ice cream cone barreled into us, and the sticky mess splattered across my clothes.
When I looked up, Gideon was using his finger to wipe ice cream from the corner of Arabella’s mouth. I felt ridiculous, humiliated, scrubbing my shirt until the stain only grew worse.
Then I heard him say, casual and cruel, “I stopped blaming you a long time ago. My dad used to yell at you. So, him getting hit by you is just his karma. As for Marianne, if she hadn’t been in the picture, maybe you and I would’ve been together long ago. I always thought that sometimes hate, at its extreme, is just another kind of love.”
Arabella’s eyes lit up. “Then will you give me a wedding?”
My vision blurred. I didn’t see his answer. But Colette covered my eyes with both hands, swearing under her breath.
“You ungrateful dog!” she hissed. “If you hadn’t dragged him out of that car back then, he’d be six feet under! You helped him without asking for anything, and yet he let her ruin you for years!”
“Divorce isn’t enough,” she kept muttering as she fumed. “I’ll make sure he walks away with nothing.”
Marianne’s POV
I pulled Colette’s hand away from my eyes, only to see that the two of them were still on the bench, kissing like nobody else existed.
My hands shook as I dialed Gideon’s number. Once, twice, three times.
Yet he ignored every call, acting like he couldn’t hear.
Only when he finally picked up his phone did he see my text.
[Gideon, since you’re busy today, I came to the amusement park with my best friend.]
The moment he read it, he jumped to his feet and looked around in panic. But Arabella tugged on his arm and dragged him toward the roller coaster. That was when I stepped out from behind the tree.
All afternoon, I watched them riding the carousel together, taking the Ferris wheel all the way to the top.
All the while, I held Gideon’s spare phone, so I read his private wedding plans with Arabella.
Hundreds of wedding dresses were also sent to their group chat for the guys to vote on.
Those men usually sweetly called me and took favors from me, yet not one of them told me about the plan.
I used to believe Gideon just wasn’t into wedding stuff.
Back then, I handled our wedding planning myself. I picked the dress, and I tried it on alone. Even during the rehearsal, I stood in an empty hall pretending he was there, while he claimed to be too busy with work.
When my mom complained, I even defended him, reasoning, “Men just don’t care about these things.”
But tonight, I sat in the city’s best restaurant with Colette, back-to-back with Gideon and Arabella.
As he ordered food for her, he was messaging me, flooding me with pictures of wedding gowns and asking, [A friend of mine is getting married. Since you’re good at planning weddings, can you help her pick a dress?]
I scrolled through hundreds of photos and picked the gown I once loved most, the very same one Gideon had told me wasn’t flattering on me.
Yet he quickly replied, [My wife really has great taste. My friend loves it.]
Soon after, a message popped up in my work group chat.
[Boss: There’s a small private wedding at the church this weekend. The groom needs an experienced planner. Who’s available?]
Without hesitation, I typed, [I’ll take it.]
The next few days, Gideon acted like nothing had changed. He still staged little “romantic gestures” for me. But I noticed the difference. Most of those gifts were cheap leftovers. Clearly, the real treasures went straight to Arabella.
They were like lovers in their honeymoon phase, a love-hate couple, still targeting each other, but becoming deeply affectionate.
Arabella flaunted it shamelessly. [If I keep pushing forward, what place will she have left?]
She never said my name, but everyone knew. And I pretended not to. I just focused on the wedding I was planning.
When everything was finally set, Gideon came home with his usual apologetic face. “Marianne, I’ve got a business trip this weekend. I’ll have to bail on you again.”
He leaned in to kiss me, but I moved just enough to dodge it.
That flicker of rejection startled him.
“Baby, next week, I swear, I’ll spend every moment with you,” he promised again.
When I nodded faintly, he finally relaxed.
I offered to drive him to the airport, but he refused. I could just watch him get into Arabella’s car.
By Saturday, I had the timing memorized. I drove to the church with Colette, and from there, I remotely ran the entire ceremony, lights, music, everything.
And I invited everyone: Gideon’s clients, his employees, his relatives, his friends.
When the groom pulled up with his bride, he froze at the sight of the packed hall. For a second, he thought he was at the wrong wedding.
But one of Gideon’s closest friends frowned in annoyance. “What the hell are you all doing here? This isn’t some free-for-all. Get out before the bride and groom arrive—”
Then he turned and saw Gideon, stepping out of the car with Arabella on his arm. And his face went pale.
Holding a framed photo of Gideon’s father, I stepped out of the crowd, pressed the remote, and the projector switched on.
As their elegant couple’s photo was changed, Arabella’s carefully applied makeup seemed to crack.
“What the hell is happening?!” she shouted, fuming.
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