"Dummy, the guy's supposed to confess. You can't let the girl make the first move."
That day, he knelt on one knee and spoke like he meant it.
"Alex Harding, marry me."
I cried tears of joy. Three years of secret longing, finally answered. I thought he was the person I'd spend my whole life with.
Until Vivian Fox appeared.
Only then did I realize—loving someone can make you lower your standards without limit.
Vivian could carelessly destroy his favorite houseplants. She could eat snacks in his office and let crumbs scatter across the carpet.
Nathan would just frown. "What a naughty little thing."
Then he'd remind her, all indulgent, to stop watching trashy videos. He'd even put a face mask on her himself, clumsy but gentle.
Unlike me—I restrained every word, every gesture, terrified of making him uncomfortable. Terrified he'd find me disgusting.
Vivian's boundary-crossing only got worse.
Until one negotiation, Nathan bypassed me entirely and brought her instead.
When I rushed over, he was having her sign the contract—for a deal I had already closed.
I snatched the paperwork and demanded an explanation. He was angrier than I was.
"Why are you so petty? You won't even let a newcomer have one deal?"
"Nathan, she's a liberal-arts secretary. Does she know after-sales? This is a multi-billion-dollar contract. If something goes wrong, who takes the fall?"
He said one cold sentence—"I will"—and held Vivian's hand as she signed.
We didn't speak for weeks. For the first time, I wavered on this love I'd chased so long.
Then the contract fell apart. The client threatened to break it and sue for damages.
Nathan said, "Wife, help me. I really can't do this without you."
Just like that, all my doubt hardened back into certainty. I salvaged the deal, spent three months on after-sales, and kept the relationship intact.
And so the cycle began again.
Vivian added mango juice to my milk. I was hospitalized from the allergic reaction. Nathan spent the whole time comforting her—then made me reassure her it wasn't her fault.
I was two weeks pregnant. Vivian deliberately poured cleaning solution at my office doorway. I slipped. I fell.
I lost the baby.
The moment I reached for my phone to call the police, Nathan grabbed my wrist.
"Vivian's still young. You can't ruin her future over this."
"Alex, she's just immature. She made a bet with coworkers about your balance. She didn't mean it. We can have more kids."
I was furious. I screamed. I cursed. For the first time, I said the word divorce.
Nathan called my father and stepmother.
My stepmother looked me over and sneered. "A little girl played a joke on you and you throw a tantrum? You really think you're royalty? That everyone has to cater to you?"
Dad delivered the verdict. "Don't even think about divorce. The Harding family can't afford that embarrassment."
"Keep making trouble, and I'll have your mother's ashes removed from the family cemetery. Dumped in some unmarked hillside. That's what she gets for raising a jealous thing who fights over men."
I just lay there on the hospital bed, listening to them take turns cursing and threatening me.
Finally, Nathan spoke. "Alex, I've never once thought about divorcing you. From now on, I won't let Vivian pull anything again."
That day, right in front of me, he called her. He scolded her, voice sharp with anger.
Through my tears, I forgave him.
But today, that last thread of faith snapped completely.
"Nathan Floyd, I don't want you anymore."
When Nathan came home, it was already late. Vivian came with him.
She looked at me like a startled deer, all timid and fragile.
"Ms. Harding, the doctor said my tonsillitis is really severe. I might spike a fever. Mr. Floyd didn't feel right leaving me alone, so he brought me back with him."
