"Elena, I really feel like I'm dreaming."
"This scene that's appeared in my dreams countless times has finally become reality."
"Elena, I'm not like Andrew. I'll love you properly. I'll protect you."
I smiled, then picked out a few carefully selected photos.
"Yeah, to welcome a new life, I should post a few on social media to announce it. I want everyone to know my husband has changed."
When Andrew scrolled to my announcement post, he was at a bridal shop, accompanying Sophie as she tried on wedding dresses.
He looked at the photos—my face bright and gorgeous, like a fully blooming red rose. And I was standing arm-in-arm beside another man, smiling sweetly.
Something clenched tight in his chest. Restless. Irritated.
When did Elena become this good-looking?
For five years, he'd grown sick of my ugly face. Dark, sallow skin—like I'd come from the countryside. Just because a friend had once said in private, "What kind of taste does Andrew have, actually finding such an unrefined country bumpkin?"
From then on, he never brought me to any gatherings again.
But now—the bright, gorgeous woman in those photos—how was that still the Elena he remembered?
"Hey, Andrew, I'm talking to you. Did you hear me?"
A hand slapped heavily onto his shoulder. Sophie's whiny voice cut through.
"What exactly do you mean? Do you really want to marry me? I heard your family's housekeeper Sarah Lambert say it—when Elena married you, her wedding dress was custom couture. Fine, no couture for me, but you actually picked something this plain? How am I supposed to wear this? It's hideous!"
"Do you even have me in your heart at all?"
Andrew's brows knit tight. He only felt irritated. He perfunctorily handed over a bank card.
"Buy whatever you want yourself."
Sophie's dissatisfaction instantly melted into a grin. She took the card, but as soon as she lifted her head, her eyes met mine—and her smile froze.
"Elena... why are you at a bridal shop?"
She glanced at me, then looked at Andrew with a weird, sarcastic expression.
"Don't tell me you regretted the divorce and came to stalk him?"
Luke and I looked at each other and smiled.
"Coming to a bridal shop? Of course—we're also here to try on wedding dresses."
Hearing my voice, Andrew suddenly raised his head. He stood abruptly and walked over.
"Elena?"
A disdainful snort-laugh. "I didn't expect you to have some tricks. Just a few days after the divorce, you already hooked another man."
"But your acting is too clumsy. You want to use this man as cover to stalk me—do you think I can't tell?"
I stayed silent.
After all, this kind of thing had happened before. In the period when Andrew had just started cheating, I was like I'd been possessed—crazily stalking him, crazily wanting to catch evidence, like self-abuse.
But every time, what I got in return was him hurting me even more recklessly.
He went from hiding it at the beginning, cheating in secret, to being brazen and self-righteous—even right in front of me, taking Sophie to a sex hotel to get a room. Or coming to the house, deliberately editing sex videos and sending them to me.
Calling it, in a nice-sounding way, "letting me appreciate them."
But from the moment of the divorce, I had already ended the self-abuse—and drawn a clear line with him.
