chapter 8

With my parents finally back, Sean wasted no time accelerating our wedding plans.

Though the timeline was tight, nothing was overlooked.

The wedding dress, the diamond ring, the ancient castle he bought specifically because he knew I'd love it as a venue.

Everything made me feel I was incredibly cherished.

When I married Victor, he was a penniless young man who couldn't even afford an engagement ring. Blinded by gratitude for saving my life, I had jumped into the wolf's den, bringing all my wealth with me into his family.

And once he became CEO of my family’s company, he used my money to lavish gifts on an intern.

How absurd!

Finally, I went back to the house we shared to collect the last of my things.

The moment I opened the door, the stench of alcohol hit me.

The living room floor was littered with empty bottles of every size.

I pressed my lips together and walked into the master bedroom.

The floor was strewn with lingerie and sex toys.

None of it was mine.

Clearly, while I was keeping vigil at our daughter's hospital bedside, he had brought Luna into our home, into our bed.

Fighting nausea, I quickly packed my bags. As I was leaving, I heard the key turn in the lock.

He shouted, "Ivy? You're back! You came back to me, didn't you?"

Victor stood there, clutching a bag full of bottles of beer, his face flushed with drink.

He slurred drunkenly, "I knew you couldn't forget me! Baby!"

He dropped the bag, and the bottles shattered one after another. Then he spread his arms and lunged at me.

I couldn't dodge in time. He trapped me in a crushing, beer-soaked embrace.

He muttered gently, "Ivy, baby, honey, I've missed you so much! Let's get back together, please..."

He slurred, lowering his head, trying to find my mouth.

I struggled desperately and snapped at him, "Victor! We're divorced! This is assault! This is rape!"

Hearing this, he only held me tighter, sinking his teeth into my lip. The taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and vile.

He continued, "We are not divorced! You're still my wife! I'm still the CEO." His words were cut off by a loud thwack. Then he crumpled to the floor.

Sean burst in, his face a mask of fear and anger.

He cried, "Ivy! Are you okay?"

I shook my head, glaring down at the moaning figure on the floor.

Ignoring his pathetic pleas, I turned and walked away with Sean.

Our wedding day arrived quickly.

The venue was filled with guests.

The Westons were an established family with many mutual friends with the Sullivans, and my father was so happy that he got drunk.

But just as the ceremony was about to begin, Victor burst in, followed by his mother.

They threw themselves to their knees in the middle of the aisle and cried bitterly, "Ivy, I was wrong! I know I was wrong! Please, don't marry another man!"

The man who was the epitome of machismo was actually crying in front of everyone, holding out a diamond ring.

He shouted, "Look! I bought you a ring! Didn't you always want a ring from me? I have it now! Come back to me, please!"

I narrowed my eyes and let out a soft, derisive laugh.

Then, I held out my hand, displaying the glittering diamond Sean had given me.

The stone was the size of a pigeon's egg, and it was perfectly matched by the necklace, earrings, and other jewels I wore.

Sean interlaced his fingers with mine, and we looked down, united, at the broken man before us.