Lowest moments?
The so-called “darkest time of his life” was three years ago—the day his car malfunctioned mid-race, the brakes failing as he hurtled toward the barriers, inches from death.
I was the one who ran onto the track, throwing caution to the wind to drag him from the burning wreckage.
The flames had licked at my skin, searing my arms and back, leaving me with scars he never even acknowledged.
When he woke up in the hospital, he recovered quickly, as if the accident had been nothing more than a bad dream. He forgot many things—but not Bethany. Never her.
Meanwhile, I spent three months in a hospital bed, enduring the agony of skin grafts, surgeries and relentless pain.
And as I healed, Rio grew colder.
Support? Devotion? Never leaving his side? How could he stand there and say those words with a straight face?
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at him, desperate to see a flicker of guilt, a trace of regret, any sign that he once loved me.
But his eyes held none of that. Only Bethany. Only the cameras. Only the glory.
As the press conference ended, Rio and Bethany made their way toward the parking lot. My legs moved before my mind could stop them and I ran after him, my voice breaking as I called out:
“Rio, stop! We need to talk. You owe me an explanation!”
But he didn’t even glance back.
Instead, he strode up to a sleek, cherry-red sports car, holding the door open like a perfect gentleman as Bethany slid inside, shooting me a smug look before she adjusted her sunglasses.
Rio smirked, got in and slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life and without hesitation, he sped off, leaving me standing there like a fool.
I stumbled back, my vision blurring. My body trembled from the cold—or maybe from the weight of betrayal crushing down on me.
A passing event staff member hurried over, helping me up and asking if I was okay. I forced a weak nod, murmuring a quick thank you before they let me stand on my own.
My heart ached, sharp and relentless, like a thousand tiny needles piercing through it.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers shaking as I dialed Rio’s number. I had to ask him why—why he was doing this to me.
It rang once. Twice.
Then—
“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable.”
He had shut me out. Completely.
Like a ghost, I drifted back home. The mansion that once felt warm now stood eerily silent. The massive wedding portrait hanging on the wall mocked me, frozen in time—a reminder of my foolishness.
Six years. Over two thousand days and nights. I had given him everything—my love, my devotion, my dreams. I had sacrificed my career, my ambitions, my very identity for a marriage that never truly existed.
He had promised me a grand wedding. The kind every woman dreamed of. Six years later and that promise had become nothing more than an illusion—dangling just out of reach, shattering time and time again.
“Let’s keep our marriage a secret. Going public would hurt my career right now.”
“Hazel, I swear, once I win the championship, I’ll make our relationship official.”
“Just be patient, okay? Beth is my business partner now—I have to consider her feelings.”
Lie after lie, each one slithering around me like a venomous snake, squeezing the life out of me.
I had reduced myself to nothing more than a shadow, a servant in my own home—walking on eggshells around the man who was supposed to be my husband, terrified of displeasing him.
I didn’t even dare to bring up the words "go public" because every time I did, he would explode—calling me ungrateful, childish, an embarrassment to him.
Again and again, I told myself that Rio loved me. That he was just busy, just stressed, just waiting for the right time. That once he won the championship, everything would change.
Like a drowning woman, I clung to that fragile thread of hope, desperately fighting to stay afloat.
I thought that if I just held on a little longer, if I just gave him everything, he would finally see my worth. That he would cherish me.
