The message sank like a stone. Patrick didn't reply all night.
My marriage to Patrick started three years ago at an alumni mixer.
Back then, I'd seen enough of the ugly side of human nature working in obstetrics. I had zero interest in finding a partner. But the organizer happened to be a close friend of mine, and she badgered me relentlessly until I caved.
The moment I stepped into the private room, my eyes landed on Patrick. He radiated an aura that practically screamed stay away. My friend nudged me, eyebrows waggling, and pulled me aside to gossip.
He was a year ahead of us in school, now the CEO of Sanchez Group. Not only was he devastatingly handsome, but his romantic history was a complete blank slate. A prime catch by every measure.
I didn't take the bait. My gut told me the more captivating the man, the more dangerous he was.
The night the mixer ended, a friend request popped up on my phone. Patrick Sanchez.
The instant I accepted, he sent me a location pin for the county clerk's office and a time.
"Hello. Would you be willing to enter a secret marriage with me?"
My fingertip froze in midair, trembling. I didn't dare move, convinced I was dreaming.
It turned out Patrick's grandfather was on his deathbed. The old man's only dying wish was to see his grandson married before he passed. That was why Patrick had suddenly shown up at the alumni mixer.
His reason for choosing me was simple. I was in medicine, out the door before dawn and home after dark. We'd barely cross paths. And since I'd already grown numb to the world's cruelties at the hospital, he assumed I wouldn't be interested in romance.
It felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in my face. I was about to refuse when another message came through.
"I know a secret marriage isn't fair to you. I'll give you a divorce agreement with the date left blank. The moment you want out, I'll sign. And for every year the marriage lasts, five million dollars will be deposited into your account."
When I thought about how I could work my entire life and never earn five million, yet all I had to do was marry a handsome, restrained man for one year to get it, I was ashamed to admit my heart wavered.
In the second year of our marriage, our relationship shifted. We went from two strangers coexisting under the same roof to exchanging small daily check-ins, casual concern, quiet warmth.
Then one night, he came home drunk from a business dinner. The second he walked through the door, he pinned me beneath him and murmured Edith's name, his voice thick with longing.
My heart lurched. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around him. But the moment our lips touched, I remembered: he had someone else. The one that got away. The woman he'd never stopped wanting.
I shoved him off. Hard. And I laid it all out before things went any further.
I didn't share. Not ever. If anything happened between us tonight, then from this point on, I had to be the only woman in his heart.
Patrick clung to me, stealing kisses between sloppy, mumbled agreements.
As time went on, I started pressing him. When are we going public?
To prove I was serious, I tore up the divorce agreement right in front of him and made a vow: As long as you don't leave, I won't either.
Looking back now, that unreadable flicker in his eyes must have been pity. Or mockery. He'd been laughing at me for reading too much into us.
I gagged as I canceled the couples' trip to the Maldives—flights, hotel, all of it.
The first year, we had no feelings for each other, so there was no anniversary trip.
The second year, things between us had gotten visibly better. With his quiet approval, I'd planned every detail of the vacation. Researched restaurants, mapped out itineraries, bookmarked sunset spots.
But a phone call came right before boarding. Patrick left and never came back.
That day, every headline was buzzing about how Patrick Sanchez had lost his mind—how he'd ignored everyone trying to stop him, ordered the artificial lake in the city center drained, and then jumped in himself to fish something out.
The third year, I planned to go public with our relationship first, then take the trip.
But fate had another cruel joke waiting for me.
It wasn't until I saw Patrick bring up the past with my own eyes that I finally understood. I was the fool. The complete and utter fool.
In Patrick's heart, Edith would always come first.
All she had to do was stand there, and I'd already lost.
