The Humiliation

Rhys was sick of me clinging to him. At his own birthday party, in front of everyone, he made sure I knew it. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?”
That same night, I suffered a miscarriage at the party. Rhys, however, was with Isabelle’s parents. As I was being rushed into the emergency room on a gurney, I saw him pushing Isabelle’s father in a wheelchair.
I called to tell him I’d lost the baby. His response was a careless drawl. “Call a doctor. What good is telling me?”
The day he had his own car accident, he lay in a hospital bed, the corners of his eyes red as he begged me to just look at him. I smiled, a cruel, dismissive curve of my lips. “Call a doctor. What good is calling me?”
Later, when I finally stopped clinging to him, he was the one begging me to speak.

1
I was married to Rhys Sterling for three years. He was the golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, and I was just a small-town girl who got her ticket to the big city because my grandfather had saved his.
At Rhys’s birthday party, a crowd of his friends swarmed him, their laughter slick with privilege. “Bro, why’d you marry her anyway?” one of them asked.
“Yeah, man. You and Isabelle were so good together. What made you let her go?”
Rhys took a delicate sip of his champagne, his gaze lifting to flick over the person who’d asked. “It was to repay a family debt,” he said, his voice smooth and bored. “Now that she’s pregnant, I guess my duty is done.”
My marriage into the Sterling family was a transaction, an arrangement made because my grandfather had once saved Rhys’s grandfather’s life. On the night Rhys proposed, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks just for me. The gesture had moved me for a very long time.
Only later did I learn that the multi-million-dollar display was never for me.
I stood there, in a world where I didn’t belong, clutching my champagne flute so tightly my knuckles were white. In the three years I’d been married to Rhys, his entire circle had frozen me out. I was an outsider, a ghost at their banquet.
I’d heard whispers of a name—Isabelle. Rhys’s ex-girlfriend.
From the moment we were married, Rhys had been obsessed with me getting pregnant. On our wedding night, he held me with an impatient urgency, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “Summer, let’s have a baby. Soon.”
I thought he loved children. It wasn’t until today, hearing him dismiss our marriage as a debt and our child as a completed task, that I understood the truth.
“But you still set off all those fireworks for her,” someone pressed. “That show on your proposal night cost millions. Don’t try to tell us there weren’t any feelings involved.”
Rhys looked down, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “That was just because Isabelle loves fireworks.” He paused, letting the cruelty land. “And I wanted to piss her off.”
That spectacular, city-stopping display… everyone had said it was proof that the great Rhys Sterling had finally bowed to love. The media had crowned me the luckiest woman in New York. I had believed it, too. Today, Rhys taught me a brutal lesson.
The damned fireworks were never for me. They were a move in his twisted game with another woman, a way to make her jealous. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a tool, a pawn in their love story.

2
I looked down at the birthday gift in my hands. Rhys’s mother had given it to me, insisting I deliver it to him personally.
As I approached him, his friends eyed me up and down, their faces alight with the smug anticipation of a good show. Their smiles were laced with ridicule.
I thrust the gift into his hands. Rhys frowned slightly.
Remembering his mother’s instructions to make him drink less, I glanced at the glass in his hand and said casually, “Rhys, you should drink less.” I quickly added, afraid he’d misinterpret my concern, “It’s not good for you.”
Rhys watched me, a flicker of amusement in his narrow, assessing eyes. “Summer, don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?”
The people around us whispered and snickered, their laughter a low hum of mockery. They all said I was using the life-debt between our grandfathers to guilt-trip him, that my whole family was full of social climbers. They called me a small-town girl trying to play princess.
That, and Rhys’s complete and utter indifference, was a special kind of humiliation.
I lifted my chin, straightened my back, and forced a smile. “Yeah,” I said, my voice brighter than I felt. “I must be bored out of my mind to actually care about you.”
He shot me a dismissive glance just as his phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly changed. “I’m on my way.”
He was the guest of honor, the star of the show. Every person here was desperate for a moment of his time, a chance to secure an investment for their family’s business.
As Rhys rushed out, a crowd surged after him. In the shuffle and push of the throng, I lost my footing and fell. A sharp, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen as a warm gush of red spread beneath me.
As they loaded me onto a stretcher, a familiar figure caught my eye.
It was Rhys. And next to him was Isabelle.
He was pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair, who was beaming up at him. “You must be Izzy’s boyfriend! So thoughtful, rushing over the moment you heard I was in trouble.”
Rhys didn’t deny it. He and Isabelle simply exchanged a small, knowing smile.
Our paths crossed for a fleeting, brutal moment as the nurses wheeled me past them.
After the surgery, I called him. “Rhys, I had a miscarriage.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, then his voice, casual and distant. “A miscarriage, huh? Call a doctor. What good is telling me?”
A single tear slid from the corner of my eye. I closed my lids and let out a bitter, silent laugh.
Before I married Rhys, my mother had told me, “Even though your grandfather saved his, the Sterlings are a powerful family. I can’t protect you, so you have to be agreeable. Don’t fight with him. Rhys works hard, so take good care of him.”
I opened our message history. A sea of green bubbles, all from me.
[Have you eaten?]
[Remember to take your medicine.]
His replies were curt, perfunctory ‘k’s. Sometimes, he didn’t even bother with that.
I, his wife, was lying in a hospital bed after losing our child, while my husband was playing the doting son-in-law at his ex-girlfriend’s parents’ bedside.
I remembered when my own mother broke her leg, right after Rhys and I were married. He never even showed his face, just hired a nurse to look after her. But today, for Isabelle’s father, he was bowing and scraping, running errands like a devoted servant.
The difference between love and its absence is stark when you have a control group.

3
After the procedure, I packed my bags and went home. The moment my mother saw my ghostly pale face, her eyes reddened. “Summer, honey, what happened to you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
I was holding it all together, but the moment I saw my mom, the dam broke. Yet, in her arms, I found the strength to stop.
I choked back my tears. “Mom, I want to divorce Rhys.”
My mother had always been afraid I wasn’t being treated well. She would constantly cook Rhys’s favorite dishes and have them delivered to the Sterling estate. I told her to stop, but she’d do it secretly anyway. I thought she genuinely liked him, until I found her diary. She thought that if she was a little nicer to Rhys, he might be a little nicer to her daughter.
She stroked my forehead. “Okay,” she said, her voice firm. “We’ll get a divorce. We’re not afraid of them.”
From outside the room, I heard Rhys on the phone, arguing with his grandfather. “What do you want for your birthday?” the old man asked.
Rhys let out a cold laugh. “I want a divorce, so I can marry Isabelle. Would you allow that?”
His grandfather’s roar was audible even through the door. “Nonsense!”
I waited for him to hang up before pushing the door open.
Rhys looked at me, his eyes cold. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”
“Not long.” I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Rhys, I have a birthday present for you.”
He looked amused. “What could you possibly give me? A cheap, hand-knit scarf?”
I placed a single white document on the table in front of him. I shrugged. “Of course, I’m giving you your freedom. What, you don’t like your present?”
When he saw the bold letters—DIVORCE AGREEMENT—his expression hardened, his eyes turning dark and cold.
Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets, and a harsh, grating laugh escaped him. “Summer, does your family really want to let go of the Sterling money tree? Even if you’re willing, is your mother?”
He assumed my mother’s kindness was just her sucking up to him. Rhys had been surrounded by love and adoration his whole life; he had no need for more. In his eyes, my mother’s efforts were just a calculated ploy to secure my position in his family.
It was laughable, really. I looked him straight in the eye. “Rhys, are you even worthy?”
I left the papers on the table and walked out. A few minutes later, I saw Isabelle’s new post. It was a picture of Rhys’s back, with the caption: [A third wheel is still a third wheel.]
It was quickly followed by a screenshot of a years-old chat between them.
Rhys had texted Isabelle: [There will be fireworks over the city tonight. If you call me and tell me you want to come back, I’ll call off the wedding.]
I didn’t know how she had the audacity to imply I was the other woman. She was the one who took a payout from Rhys’s mother to study abroad. I didn’t even get together with Rhys until a year after they had broken up.

4
The divorce dragged on. During that time, Rhys paraded Isabelle around at every high-profile event. The entire city now knew the epic love story of Rhys Sterling and Isabelle Thorne. And I was cast as the villain, the shameless social climber who used an old family debt to trap him.
The rumors nearly sent Rhys’s grandfather to the hospital. He immediately summoned both of us back to the family estate.
The old man was lying in bed. The moment he saw Rhys, he grabbed the glass from his nightstand and hurled it at him. “You ungrateful brat! You have a wife, do you understand that? Who gave you permission to run around with that… that floozy?”
Rhys’s gaze drifted over to me, a cruel smile touching his lips. “Isn’t the woman who schemed her way into the Sterling family and charmed you the real floozy here?”
I shot him a look. If his grandfather hadn’t been there, I would have punched him in the face.
Old Mr. Sterling’s face flushed with anger. He pointed a trembling finger at the door and told Rhys to get out. “Summer, you stay.”
A cold stare from my side. Rhys’s voice was a low warning. “Don’t say anything stupid.”
I clenched my fists.
After he left, his grandfather took my hand. “My dear, you’ve been wronged. It was my fault for insisting on this marriage. I could see that you liked the boy, but I never imagined he would be so foolish.”
It was true, I had liked Rhys once. But that affection had been systematically destroyed by his blatant favoritism, time and time again.
When I was in elementary school, the Sterling family went through a financial crisis, and Rhys was sent to live with my family in our small town. The first time I saw him, he was this clean, pale city boy. He was so beautiful. All the other kids in the village were tanned and weathered from the sun, not delicate and perfect like him.
He was supposed to sleep in the same room as me. He looked at me with disdain. “I’m not sleeping with her.”
A spanking from his grandfather shut him up.
After the adults left, he drew a line down the middle of the bed. No one was to cross it.
He wet the bed that night. When he woke up, I was trying to stifle my giggles.
His face was a thundercloud. “Don’t laugh. And don’t you dare tell anyone.”
Later, I told my mom I had wet the bed.
I was always so careful around him, never daring to meet his eyes. He was just too beautiful, like a porcelain doll. My hands were rough, my face was dark from the sun.
In a small village, news travels fast. The other kids started teasing me, calling me his little child bride.
When Rhys heard it, his young brow furrowed in anger. “She is not my wife. I don’t have a wife that ugly and stupid.”
He stayed for one summer. Before he left, his face was still a mask of cold indifference. “If you ever come to the city, look me up. I’ll show you around.”
The next time we met, I was eighteen. My mother got sick, and I was sent to live with the Sterlings, a guest in their house.
His friends would tease him. “Hey Rhys, isn’t that your little bride from the countryside?”
Rhys would shoot me a cold, sideways glance. “No. Don’t talk nonsense. She’s not my type.”
“What is your type, bro? I can set you up.”
His eyes, full of a strange disgust, would lock on me. “Anyone but her.”
My face would burn with shame. I couldn’t look at him.
One of his friends laughed. “Well, she’s my type. How about you introduce me?”
Rhys sneered. “Be my guest.”
Later, he got a girlfriend, Isabelle. Every time our eyes met, I felt a hot wave of shame, as if I were coveting someone else’s man. So I kept my distance.
Until I was twenty-two. Isabelle dumped Rhys for money, and the Sterling family decided he should marry me.
But the thing is, Rhys was the one who proposed to me. I never forced him, never even confessed my feelings.
I took a deep breath and looked at his grandfather. “Grandpa, I want to divorce him.”
The old man sighed. “Alright.”

5
As I was leaving, his grandfather insisted that Rhys take me out for the night. He said if, after this one night, I was still disappointed in him, he would grant us the divorce without another word.
Rhys was annoyed, clearly not wanting to be saddled with me. He drove recklessly, flooring it all the way to a raucous nightclub. His friends immediately surrounded us.
“Summer,” he began, his voice laced with contempt. “If you want to go find a boy toy, be my guest. I’ll even pay for it. Just stop clinging to me all the time. It’s annoying.”
His words were like tiny needles pricking my heart.
I smiled brightly and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Okay! Give me the money. I want one who’s handsome, 6’2”, with an eight-pack.”
He seemed taken aback by my cheerful agreement. After all, I used to follow him around like a shadow, nagging him not to drink so much when his ulcer acted up, telling him not to smoke. He always complained I was too controlling. My easy acceptance now seemed to stun him into silence.
He always accused my mother and me of being gold-diggers, but in all these years, we never took a single penny from the Sterling family that wasn’t earned.
A man holding a drink approached me. He had a fox-like beauty, sharp and captivating.
Rhys called out to him, then glanced at me. “Leo, you’re here. Perfect. She’s all yours. I’m leaving.”
After Rhys walked away, I looked at the man in front of me and turned to leave as well.
He grabbed my wrist, leaning in close. “Today is September 28th.”
I looked at him, confused.
“Nine times twenty is one-eighty. Plus eight… one-eighty-eight. My height, in centimeters.”
Suddenly, he was even closer, his voice a low murmur only I could hear. “I also have an eight-pack. I fit your criteria. Want to see?”
My heart stuttered as our eyes met. His smile was dangerously alluring. There was something so familiar about his gaze, but I couldn’t place it.
I pushed him away, taking a step back with an awkward laugh. “No, thank you.”
He just raised an eyebrow at me as I hurried away.
As I reached the entrance, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Ms. Summer Anderson? Your mother has been admitted to New York General. We need you to come and sign the consent forms for surgery.”
Panic seized me. I frantically tried to hail a cab, but the club was in a remote area, frequented by the rich kids who drove their own cars. No taxis were in sight.
After ten minutes of fruitless waiting, I swallowed my pride and called Rhys. My voice was tight with urgency. “Rhys. Can you give me a ride to the city?”
It was Isabelle who answered. A sweet, triumphant smile was audible in her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Rhys just had to defend my honor and drank a little too much. He’s in no condition to drive.”
The line went dead. Despair washed over me.
A black G-Wagon pulled up in front of me. “Get in.”
It was the handsome man from the bar.
My voice trembled. “Can you take me to New York General? Please, thank you.”
I didn’t have time to think twice. I jumped in. The whole way there, my mind was a blank canvas of fear. Twenty years ago, it was my grandfather. Ten years ago, my father. Today, my mother. Every time I got a call from a hospital, a cold dread filled me.
When we arrived, my legs were like jelly. I ran inside, signing papers in a daze.
As they wheeled my mother into the ICU, I collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, covered in a cold sweat.
Rhys called. “Where are you? Did you really go off with your new boy toy?”
I ignored him and hung up.
Staring at the closed doors of the ICU, a profound sense of helplessness consumed me. This was the third time. The last two times I sat outside these doors, I said goodbye to my grandfather, and then to my father.
When my grandfather passed, I was too young to understand the adults’ grief. When my father died, I was old enough to understand everything. I cried and screamed, begging him not to leave me.
Now, I was shaking with fear.
If my mother left, I would be completely alone in this world.

6
I was only wearing a thin dress, and the night air was cold.
A coat was draped over my shoulders. I looked up and met his eyes, but said nothing.
A nurse called me over to pay the bill. I stared at the number, my mind reeling. So many zeros.
The nurse glanced up at me. “Don’t bother counting. It’s two hundred thousand. And with your mother’s condition, the costs are only going to go up. Every time we turn on a machine, it’s tens of thousands. You need to be prepared.”
I mentally tallied up every dollar I had saved from years of work. I was still twenty thousand short.
I called Mr. Sterling, my voice thick with unshed tears.
A moment later, a million dollars was deposited into my account.
After paying the bill, I felt utterly drained.
This stranger, Leo, sat with me all night. He had rushed back at some point, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, carrying two containers of hot porridge. “Eat something. It’ll warm you up.”
I ate numbly. I was starving, but I had no appetite.
He didn’t touch the other container. When I asked why he wasn’t eating, he just pointed to the ICU doors. “I’m waiting for your mom to wake up.”
When they finally wheeled my mother out, I jumped up so fast I nearly fell. The man beside me steadied me with a firm hand. I whispered a thank you.
The next day, the Sterlings arrived in full force, including the old man.
When Rhys saw Leo, he froze.
While I was busy running home to pack some things for my mom, it was Leo who stayed by her side, taking care of her.
He was feeding her porridge, his movements gentle and practiced. Rhys stepped forward, reaching for the bowl. “I’ll do it.”
Leo pulled the bowl back. “No need.”
In the hospital room, Leo politely greeted the Sterling family as if he were the husband, while Rhys stood awkwardly to the side, looking like an intruder.
After the family left, only Rhys remained. He and Leo were about the same height, and standing together, they created an oppressive atmosphere. “Leo, this is my mother-in-law. You can go now.”
Leo let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Mr. Sterling, you must have a short memory. You’re the one who asked me to take care of her.”
Rhys’s face hardened. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of my own wife. You can leave.”
The light in the bar had been too dim to see him clearly, and on the frantic drive to the hospital, my mind had been consumed with worry for my mother. But looking at him now, he seemed incredibly familiar. “Leo, thank you. You should go. You’ve done more than enough these past few days.”
After he left, I looked at Rhys, my voice calm. “Let’s get a divorce. I don’t want a single penny of the Sterling money.”
Rhys was silent for a long moment. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. We can talk about the divorce later. I’m going to go take care of Mom.”
He started to walk past me, but I grabbed his arm. “My mother doesn’t want to see you right now. Go home.”
Suddenly, the squeak of a wheelchair approached. Isabelle’s father called out to Rhys. “Look, it’s my Izzy’s boyfriend, here to see me!”
I gave Rhys a cold smile. “Go take care of your future father-in-law. My mother doesn’t need you.”
A look of panic flashed across his face.
I immediately shut the door, leaving him on the other side.
He came to the hospital every day. I refused to speak to him. I used to be the one who chattered endlessly, following him around like a lost puppy. I was the one who stopped him from drinking, worried about his health, who forbade him from street racing.
“Summer, please say something. I’m not seeing Isabelle anymore. I was only helping her father because of our past.”
Whenever I saw him, my face became a mask of cold indifference, the same look he used to give me. But somehow, he couldn’t stand it. I had endured that look for years.
“Summer, please don’t look at me like that. It hurts. I won’t drink anymore. I won’t go to clubs. And I will never see Isabelle again.”
No, please drink, I thought. Drink until your stomach bleeds.
I didn’t say a single word to him until the day my mother was discharged. During that time, Isabelle and her father had even come looking for him at the hospital. In front of me, Rhys had told Isabelle’s father that there was nothing between them. Isabelle, unwilling to give up, kept coming back. Rhys just told her, coldly, to leave and never return.

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