Matters of the Heart

The year my boyfriend was at his poorest, I broke up with him.
Years later, he returned, powerful and successful, and used every means at his disposal to marry me.
Everyone said I was the one that got away, that I was his most beloved wife.
Then he started bringing different women home every night, shattering my heart and turning me into the laughingstock of our social circle.
But I never cried, never threw a fit. I lived quietly in the study, never disturbing his affairs.
It drove him mad. He would kiss me fiercely, his voice a low growl against my lips. "Don't you feel anything? Aren't you jealous?"
He didn't know I was sick.
And with every day of his twisted revenge, I was silently counting down the days I had left to live.

1
In the third year of my marriage to Vicent Blackwood, he took a beautiful young college girl as his mistress.
Her name was Betty. She had an innocent, lovely face—exactly Vicent’s type. He kept her for over half a year. Other than me, she was the woman who had stayed by his side the longest.
My friends warned me to be careful. They said it looked like Vicent was genuinely falling for her.
I met Betty for the first time on my birthday.
My nose had been bleeding since morning. I went to the hospital for a check-up, and the doctor told me I would be lucky to see next spring.
I nodded softly. "It's okay," I whispered. I wasn't afraid of dying, just of the pain. I'd heard there was an expensive medication that could make the end more comfortable.
The money in my bank account wasn't enough, so I went to Vicent’s company to find him.
It just so happened that Betty was there too. She’d just graduated and was working as his personal assistant.
Vicent was in a meeting. I sat outside to wait.
Betty kept staring at me, whispering to her colleagues. "That's the boss's wife? She looks so… washed out. Thin as a rail, like she's half-dead."
"They all say I look like her, but where? I'm so much prettier."
My reflection shimmered on the polished glass wall. A pale face with no makeup, swallowed by a puffy winter coat. I didn't look good. And I was, in fact, half-dead.
A colleague tugged on Betty’s arm. "That's because she's not wearing any makeup," she hissed. "If she got dolled up, ten of you couldn't hold a candle to her. And don't think you can provoke her just because the boss spoils you. You have no idea how much he loves her. If you make her unhappy, he’ll destroy you."

2
Hearing that Vicent supposedly loved me, Betty just pouted and rolled her eyes.
She brought me a cup of tea, her voice sweet and feathery. "Ava, sweetie, I can't believe he's making you wait this long. It's so strange. Whenever I used to visit, no matter how busy he was, he would always drop everything to see me. He said I was the most important thing."
She smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. "I guess I just assumed he was that considerate with everyone…"
She looked so much like me when I was younger.
I thought about it. Vicent really was different with Betty. He’d had countless lovers, using them as tools in his bitter game against me, bringing a new one home each night to test my reaction. But he never kept them for long. A day or two, maybe a couple of weeks, and he would grow bored.
Only Betty was different. He set her up in a beautiful apartment, took her to dinner, went shopping with her, saw movies with her. They were like any other ordinary, loving couple. He gave her money, but he also gave her something that looked like love.
I looked at Betty and offered a gentle smile. "If you're so important," I asked softly, "why does he let you be the dirty little secret?"
"You should convince him to divorce me and make you an honest woman."
Betty's face fell. Humiliation twisted into anger. "The one he doesn't love is the homewrecker!" she spat, her voice low. "You're the one who's redundant!"
"You just got lucky because you met him a few years before I did. But look at you now. You're old and ugly. What do you have left to fight me with?"
Her colleague, probably fearing my reaction, rushed over and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away.
But it didn't matter. I was fine.
I had made a promise to myself a long time ago. I would not get angry over Vicent. I would not feel sorrow over Vicent. And I certainly would not fight another woman over him.
He wasn't worth it.

3
Yanked by her colleague, Betty lost her balance. She stumbled and fell, the teacup shattering in her hand. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into her palm, and blood pooled on the floor.
Through the glass wall of the conference room, Vicent saw her.
In front of everyone, he slammed his files on the table, threw the door open, and rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms.
"Who the hell did this?" he roared, his voice like ice.
The well-meaning colleague shrank back, her face pale with terror.
A cold smile touched my lips. "I did," I said. "And she deserved it."
Betty stared at me through her tears. "Yes, I deserved it!" she cried out. "I deserved it for falling for a man I shouldn't have! For being called a mistress, a homewrecker!"
"But, Vicent," she sobbed, "as long as you love me, I'll stay by your side forever. No one can ever tear us apart!"
She was so lovely, even as she wept. Her absurd words sounded brave and defiant coming from her lips. Vicent actually chuckled. He gently wiped her tears away. "There, there," he cooed. "You've cried your makeup all over."
He really was different with her.
I lowered my eyes, too tired to watch. "I want five hundred thousand for my birthday this year," I said to Vicent.
It was laughable. We were husband and wife, but we didn't even have each other's phone numbers. The only time I ever sought him out was to ask for money. Before we married, we made a deal: he wanted me, and I wanted his money.
Vicent had always hated me for being a gold digger. But in the past, no matter how much I asked for, he would give it to me, and then some.
This time was different. He looked at me, his smile chillingly slow. "You want money? Fine."
"But first, Ava," he said, drawing out each word, "swallow that precious pride of yours and tell Betty you're sorry."
He was trying to buy my dignity, to buy an apology for Betty. For the first time, he was using money to humiliate me for another woman.
My fists slowly clenched. A soft laugh escaped my lips. I fought back a sudden, sharp wave of pain and turned to leave.
I didn't want the money anymore.
A thought crossed my mind. I wonder, Vicent. What look would be on your face if you knew this money could have bought me a little more time? If you knew how much I suffered before I died?

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