The Regret of That Year

On our wedding anniversary, I unexpectedly found a pair of provocative lingerie in my wife's car. Seething with anger, I drove directly to her law firm. As I approached the lounge, I overheard her conversation with her colleagues.

Ms. Shaw always seems so buttoned-up, I never expected her to be so wild in private, a male voice teased.

Another person chimed in, "Didn't you know? Ms. Shaw and her childhood friend signed an agreement. As long as he's not married, she has to help him with his 'needs'."

"Poor Noah Vance, he still thinks Ms. Shaw is frigid," someone laughed.

My wife took a sip of coffee, her tone casual. "It's fine. He's been going on dates recently. Once he gets married, I'll make up everything I owe him."

"Noah's going to have a rough time after that, hahaha" Everyone burst into laughter.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, barely stifling a sob.

1 Walking down the street, utterly distraught, I couldn't even remember how I got home. I smashed our wedding photo, staring blankly at the shattered fragments scattered across the floor. I don't know how much time passed before Amelia Shaw's voice came from behind me. "Noah, what are you doing?"

She walked closer, her brows furrowed as she looked at the broken glass. "I know I've been busy with work lately and haven't had time for you." She continued, "But didn't I say I'd make it up to you properly in a few days? Do you have to be like this?"

I crouched on the floor, picking up the pieces of the wedding photo one by one. My finger was cut by a sharp edge of glass. A bead of blood welled up, dripping onto the white tile floor like a tiny red flower. I stared at the drop of blood for a few seconds, feeling no pain. My heart had shattered long before my finger.

Amelia stood behind me, sighing. She pulled a tissue from the coffee table and offered it to me. "Alright, stop picking it up." I didn't take it. She then rummaged through a drawer, found a bandage, and bent down to put it on my finger. "I know I've neglected you lately; that's my fault." Her voice was soft, and her slender fingers wrapped around mine. "Once this busy period is over, I'll take you to the Scottish Highlands, okay?" She asked, "Haven't you always wanted to see the snow?"

I looked at her, her expression earnest as she tried to soothe me. I wanted to laugh. And I wanted to cry. Three hours ago, I had heard her colleagues joking in the lounge. "Everyone knows about Ms. Shaw's agreement with her childhood friend. As long as he's not married, Ms. Shaw has to take care of his 'needs'." And now, she was still putting on an act for me.

"Noah, Noah, are you listening?" I nodded. "Yeah, Scottish Highlands." My voice was so flat it sounded alien even to me. Amelia probably thought I had calmed down and reached out to help me off the floor.

Just then, the bedroom door opened. Harold Borle emerged from inside, wearing only a silk robe and rubbing his eyes. His hair was disheveled, his clothes unkempt. There were several glaring red marks on his neck and collarbone. Harold paused slightly when he saw us in the living room. Then he quickly pulled at the lapel of his robe, covering the marks on his neck. But his expression showed no panic at all. In fact, a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. "Amelia? Noah?" He tilted his head, his voice soft and sweet. "When did you two get back?"

Amelia's face changed. She glanced at me. Then she quickly walked over to Harold, whispering something to him. I couldn't hear what she said. But I saw Harold pout, tugging at her sleeve, and whispered back, sounding wronged, "But I was asleep." He added, "It's all your fault for wearing me out." As he said this, he deliberately glanced in my direction. My temples throbbed. Blood seeped from the edges of the bandage, dripping down between my fingers. I heard my breathing grow heavier and heavier. That phrase echoed repeatedly in my mind: "Poor Noah, he still thinks Ms. Shaw is frigid."

Frigid. I had been married to Amelia for five years. On our wedding night, she said she was too tired and told me to go to bed early. Every night after that, she was either working late, or entertaining clients, or simply slept in the study. I thought she was naturally low on desire. I was considerate of her, never bringing it up myself. To avoid putting any pressure on her, I even kept myself fully dressed at home. And what was the result? She wasn't frigid. She just didn't want to touch me. All her energy and passion were reserved for the man in front of me.

I took one step forward. Then another. Harold Borle was still pretending to be innocent behind Amelia. I rushed forward and slapped him hard across the face. The sound was crisp and loud, echoing in the spacious living room. Harold shrieked, clutching his face as he stumbled backward. Amelia's reaction was faster than I expected. She spun around, shielding Harold completely behind her. Then she turned back to me. Her gaze was so cold it sent chills through me from head to toe. "Noah, what the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded, "Harold was just staying the night; did you really need to hit him?"

I stared intently at her back, shielding Harold. Five years. She had never once protected me with such a stance. "Staying the night?" My voice trembled. "Amelia Shaw, look at his neck. And then look at whose clothes he's wearing." Amelia's frown deepened, her gaze avoiding mine. "What nonsense are you talking about?" Harold peeked out from behind her, his eyes red-rimmed, biting his lip in a pathetic display of hurt. "Amelia, darling you misunderstood" Harold huddled in Amelia's arms, his body trembling slightly. He raised his hand, pressing it against his slightly red and swollen cheek. Tears began to stream down. "Amelia, it hurts so much" He whimpered, "If Noah can't stand me, I'll leave right now I don't want you two to argue because of me"

His tear-streaked, pitiful act successfully provoked Amelia. Before I could react, she suddenly grabbed my wrist. I felt a tremendous force, and my body was brutally flung backward. My lower back slammed hard against the corner of a cabinet behind me. Intense pain instantly swept through my entire body. I gasped, my legs gave out, and I nearly crumpled to the ground. I gritted my teeth, desperately holding on, refusing to fall.

Amelia clenched her fists, her voice cold. "Apologize to Harold Borle." I looked up in disbelief, my eyes bloodshot. Apologize? Why should I? I practically screamed. "Never!" I yelled. "Why should I apologize to a pathetic excuse for a man who slept with someone else's wife?"

The moment I finished speaking, a flicker of anger crossed Amelias eyes. Her face was ashen. "Noah, I know you've never liked Harold Borle." She took a step forward. "But there's nothing going on between us." Her thin lips parted, her gaze evasive. "Do you really have to use such vile words to insult him?" "Nothing going on?" "Amelia Shaw, do you think I'm an idiot?" I almost laughed aloud.

I turned and walked into the walk-in closet, dragged out a suitcase, and started throwing clothes into it. My hands were shaking, and the items were stuffed in haphazardly. Amelia followed me to the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. "Think carefully," her voice came from behind me, icy cold. "Once you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back." My hand paused. Then I zipped up the suitcase and stood up. "Couldn't ask for anything better."

Harold Borle's soft sobs echoed from the living room. As I dragged the suitcase past them, I heard Harold whisper, "Amelia, darling, go after Noah. It's all my fault" Amelia didn't move. I knew she wouldn't follow.

It was raining outside. A heavy rain. I hadn't brought an umbrella. The wheels of the suitcase rolled through puddles, soaking my pant legs. I didn't start crying until I walked out of the complex gates. Not for Amelia, but for these five years of my life. So foolish. Truly so foolish.

The next morning, I went to the law firm to collect my personal belongings. I had worked as Amelia's assistant for three years. Calling myself an assistant was a stretch; it was more like doing odd jobs. Serving tea and water, organizing files, greeting clients. The partners treated me as if I were invisible, openly mocking my marriage behind my back. And I, like an idiot, thought they were just being polite to me.

The underground garage was quiet. I clutched a bag containing certificates and personal documents, looking down for my car keys. The sound of leather shoes echoed from afar. Clack, clack, clack. I looked up. Harold Borle stood leaning against my car, wearing a white shirt. He looked at me, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Noah, already leaving?" He tilted his head. "What a shame Married for five years, and you probably never even saw all of your wife, did you?" I tightened my grip on the document bag, walked around him towards the driver's seat. But he followed, his leather shoes clicking, and leaned close to my ear. "Let me tell you, Amelia is wild in bed." He whispered, "It always lasts for hours." He paused, then adopted a look of feigned realization. "Oh, my bad, you wouldn't know."

My hands were shaking. "If that's all you have to say," I said, my voice strained. "Please, leave." I opened the car door expressionlessly. Harold Borle suddenly rushed over, snatched the document bag from my hands, and dumped its contents into a puddle nearby. "What are you doing?!" I rushed to pick them up. The documents were already soaked in dirty water, the ink bleeding.

"Smack!" "Smack!" Two sharp sounds came from behind me. I spun around. Harold Borle was forcefully slapping his own face. Once, twice. Hitting himself with extreme brutality. Within seconds, his cheeks were red and swollen. Then he directly collapsed to the ground, letting out a heart-wrenching scream. "Help Stop hitting me Noah, please stop hitting me" Hurried footsteps approached from a distance. Amelia Shaw rushed from the garage entrance. She had originally been walking. Hearing Harold Borle's screams, she immediately ran over, frantic.

Harold Borle scrambled into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder. "Amelia, darling I just came to tell Noah not to leave" He whimpered, "But he not only hit me he said he was going to kill me" Amelia looked down at Harold Borle's swollen face, and her entire demeanor changed. She strode over to me and snatched the car keys from my hand. "Noah." Her voice was devoid of any warmth. "I thought a night to cool off would make you think straight." She sneered. "I never imagined you could be so vicious." "Amelia, he hit himself" "Enough!" Her scream echoed through the garage. I clamped my mouth shut. The remaining words stuck in my throat, unable to be swallowed. She wouldn't believe me. Never would.

"Kneel." Amelia stood before me, her face expressionless as she spoke the word. "Apologize to Harold Borle. Apologize until he forgives you." My entire body froze. Kneel? She told me to kneel? "Amelia, he slapped himself! Check the surveillance" "The surveillance cameras on this floor of the garage are broken," Harold Borle suddenly blurted out from behind her. I turned to look at him, my fingers unconsciously clenching. He had deliberately chosen this spot. He had known there were no cameras here all along.

"Amelia, darling" Harold Borle began again. He softened his body, slowly sliding downwards. "My head feels a bit dizzy Noah's hitting me it seemed pretty bad" Amelia immediately rushed over, carefully supporting him. After a quick look, Amelia's face became extremely grim. She turned and walked towards me. One hand grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. "Smack." A slap landed on my face. My head buzzed.

A second. A third. My lip was cut, and the taste of blood spread in my mouth. "Ame" "Shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses right now!" She kept hitting me. I don't know how many slaps it took, but my knees gave out first, and I fell to the ground. Amelia stepped back, looking down at me as I knelt. "Those slaps are a lesson for you." She warned. "If I ever find out you try to hurt Harold Borle again" She crouched down, bringing her face close to mine. "Don't test my patience." She stood up, walked to Harold Borle, and bent down to help him up. Harold Borle leaned on her shoulder, mouthing a silent message to me. "Serves you right."

The engine started. The tires crunched over the puddles on the ground. Mud splashed all over my face and clothes. I knelt on the ground, my clothes covered in blood, water, and mud. The documents were scattered everywhere, completely ruined. The underground garage was empty, the lights stark and pale. I tried to get up. My arms were useless. I tried twice but couldn't stand, falling back down. My vision began to blur. It was exhaustion. Or perhaps my heart had died, and my body simply refused to move. Through the haze, blinding headlights flashed. A black Maybach silently pulled up in front of me. The car door opened. A pair of hands lifted me from the ground. I smelled a faint, woody perfume. So clean. Utterly out of place in this dirty environment. Before I completely lost consciousness, I heard an unfamiliar woman's voice.