Marianne's POV
It was Thanksgiving, and during dinner, someone asked everyone to share the craziest thing they’d ever done.
When it was my husband’s turn, his “Fatal Obsession,” the woman from his past, stormed in with a group of people and flipped the table over.
She then stepped on his thigh and grinned straight at me.
“The mole on your husband’s manhood, I tattooed that.”
The color drained from my face.
So that mole he never once let me touch, not even after three years of marriage, wasn’t natural at all.
The room fell into a dead silence, except for her laughter echoing through it.
“I inked it the day before your wedding,” she said, winking at me. “We even made a pact that until the scar on my collarbone healed, he couldn’t have kids with you. Looks like he really kept his word.”
Bitterness coated my tongue, tasting like the nine hundred ninety-nine bitter pills I had swallowed to prevent a child for three years.
I turned to my husband, but his face was unreadable.
In that instant, I finally understood everything.
I yanked his hand off my waist and stood up.
——
My husband, Gideon Ward, calmly patted the leg Arabella Duvall, his Fatal Obsession, had pressed against his thigh and said, “Arabella, you know Marianne isn’t like you. She takes your nonsense seriously.”
Only when she pulled her leg back did the air in the room loosen.
Then, one of his closest friends quickly tried to smooth things over. “Yeah, come on. Our Marianne isn’t like us. She can’t take jokes like that. You’d better apologize, or Gideon won’t let this slide.”
Smirking, Arabella grabbed his glass and drained it. “Why should I?”
The room froze again.
But Gideon squeezed my hand gently. “It’s a holiday. Let’s not waste it on her. Next time, I’ll make it right for you.”
Next time. Always next time.
Last Valentine’s Day, the car full of blue roses he sent me was hijacked by her and switched with lilies. I almost died from the allergy and spent three days in the ICU because of it.
He said he’d deal with her, but when I was discharged, I saw her posting photos online, bathing in petals from those very roses.
It didn't end there.
On World Children’s Day, Gideon rented out an amusement park just for me. But she cut the power, and we were stuck on the Ferris wheel for five hours.
Why was it always me who had to endure everything?
Maybe the man who once, for my sake, picked up a knife and slashed open her collarbone after she called me a whore was gone.
I gripped my glass so tightly I heard it crack.
As Gideon thought I had let it go, he told the waiter to clear the table and bring in new dishes. He even handed Arabella a fresh plate and cutlery.
She arched a brow, all casual, and asked, “Weren’t we sharing the craziest things we’ve done? I already shared mine. Who’s next?”
While people glanced at each other awkwardly, I spoke up softly. “My turn.”
Everyone exhaled, relieved, thinking the matter was finally over.
Until they saw me stand, slap her hard across the face, then pour a full glass of red wine over her head.
She froze for a second before her eyes widened and she shrieked, “Marianne! How dare you?!”
Gideon instinctively grabbed my wrist, but I tore free with a sharp jerk.
I smiled faintly and spoke over her hysteria. “This… is the craziest thing I’ve done today.”
Then I raised my phone, snapped her humiliating state, and posted it instantly.
Everyone at the table saw that her face darkened in that instant.
She clenched her teeth and screamed, “Gideon! Whatever’s between us, it’s our business. But now your wife picked the fight herself. What are you going to do about it?!”
