He once said, "Jessica, I don't ask for you to see me. I only hope that from now on, you can live freely, following your heart."
How ridiculous it was.
I cleared my heart, making room for Christopher.
I fell deeper and deeper in love.
I started fantasizing about our sweet future together.
But all I did was give him the perfect opportunity to carve wounds into my heart, one slice at a time, leaving me bloodied.
The pain was unbearable, like a slow, agonizing execution.
My emotions tugged at me, and my eyes burned with uncontrollable pain.
A tear slipped down, and I wiped it away immediately.
Inside, the conversation continued, voices throwing out ideas for his revenge.
"If you want to get back at a woman, the best way is to let her experience the peak of happiness—only to shove her straight into the abyss. Wouldn't that be more entertaining?"
"Exactly. Mr. Sanders, you should go back. Go with her to pick out a wedding gown, send out invitations together, and act like everything is perfect. Then, on the wedding day, leave her humiliated and alone at the altar. I'd bet anything, Jessica would lose her mind."
The room was filled with sickening laughter.
I swallowed my nausea and waited for Christopher's response.
I desperately wanted to hear him say, "Don't joke about that. I love Jessica."
Or at least tell them that this was too cruel a joke to pull on a woman.
But after a long silence, I heard his calm steady reply.
"Hm… Not a bad idea. Let's do that."
A wave of rage crashed down on me, suffocating me.
I let out a hollow chuckle, but my tears wouldn't stop running.
So, he wanted to play games with me? Fine, I'd play along.
I'd love to see his face on the wedding day when he realized I was the one who disappeared instead.
…
I erased all traces of my trip to Louville and returned to our wedding home.
I took out every gift he had ever given me and destroyed them one by one.
It was a strange feeling. I wasn't thinking about anything, but the tears kept falling anyway.
I once heard someone say that heartbreak was like arthritis, where you would feel fine during the day, but at night, when the cold crept in, the gnawing aches would follow.
Perhaps these were just my withdrawal symptoms.
I stood up and laid out the custom-made wedding gown on the floor.
Without a trace of emotion, I took a pair of scissors and cut through the fabric.
It was a reminder to myself about love. Once a crack appeared, no matter how hard you try to fix it, it would never be the same again.
After packing everything away, I placed them in the study. Christopher rarely went there anyway.
Lying in bed, unable to sleep, I scrolled through short videos when a recommendation popped up—someone I might know.
It was a video from someone with the ID: I Love Chris.
Something compelled me to click on it.
It was a girl's video diary about secretly loving a man.
The latest post showed her location in Louville.
The caption read, "The man I've loved for ten years is getting married next month. I want to be brave and confess. Wish me luck!"
In the thumbnail she posted, I saw a familiar hand—a hand wearing a wedding ring on the ring finger.
It belonged to Christopher.
…
I never got a message from him, but I did get a call from Hugh.
"Guess who I ran into in Louville?"
"Hugh, I don't care. Stop using different numbers to call me."
I was about to hang up when I heard the smugness in his voice.
"Jessica, do you really not know why Christopher disappeared for so long? He doesn't want to marry you. He hates that you used to pursue me with such fervor. The only reason he got close to you was to get revenge on me. He was never someone you could trust."
"What exactly are you trying to say?" I was getting impatient.
"Jessica, at least I can say this—aside from the ten years of your pursuit, there has never been another woman in my life."
