Love Lost in Every Bet

1
The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my husband, Dorian, invited me to go on a reality show about divorce.
I knew hed lost another bet to his little secretary.
Theyd made ninety-nine bets in total, and every single time, hed thrown the game, letting her win.
He lost the home wed decorated together. He lost our wedding.
He even lost the child we had created.
Dorian let Stella perform the procedure herself, just to satisfy her morbid curiosity about the human body. When our seven-month-old baby was taken from me, I hemorrhaged and nearly died on the operating table.
Now, he handed me the TV contract.
"Aria, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show, a way to appease Stella."
"Besides," he added, "it'll be good for your profile. Help you get acting work again."
He'd forgotten. The last time he lost a bet to Stella, he signed me up for a ten-picture deal for a series of erotic thrillers.
"I won't let a single frame of you get out," he'd promised.
The next day, a clip of me, completely naked, went viral.
I was blacklisted by the entire industry. No director would touch me.
I calmly took the contract and signed it. Dorian, satisfied, kissed my forehead.
"Remember to choose 'stay together' in the final questionnaire. We'll get off at the final stop together."
He didn't know. We were never going to make it to the end of the line.

After I put the contract away, the phone rang. It was the funeral home.
Dorian, who had been scrolling on his phone, glanced up when he heard the muffled, official tone of the voice on the other end.
"Who died?"
I hung up and gave him a vague answer. "A distant relative."
"Oh," he said, and went back to his phone, walking out the door without a backward glance.
As always, he forgot to wait for me.
I didn't let it bother me. I followed him out. But as I reached for the car door, he stopped my hand.
He gestured to the car behind his. "Aria, you should drive yourself to the studio. I have to drop off some breakfast for Stella."
For a second, I was stunned. Then I quickly pulled my hand back.
"Okay," I said softly.
He seemed surprised I wasn't putting up a fight. For the first time in a long time, he gave me a gentle smile. "Make sure you eat something. You're too thin."
My eyes fell on the back seat of his car. There were at least ten different kinds of breakfast foods, all still steaming. He must have gotten up early to buy them all himself.
I looked away, remembering the time my stomach condition had flared up and Id begged him to get me a warm glass of soy milk.
Hed shot me an icy glare and handed me a carton of milk from the fridge. "I don't have time. Just drink this."
Then he'd rushed out the door.
Hed forgotten I was allergic to milk; the carton in the fridge was for him. He was never home anymore. It had expired weeks ago.
By the time I snapped back to reality, his car was already gone.
When I arrived at the studio, everyone stared at me. I ignored them and waited quietly. The other celebrity guests had already finished their pre-interviews, but Dorian was still nowhere to be seen.
The director urged me to call him. I took out my phone, only to realize hed blocked my number. The time before last, the prize for Stella's winning bet was that he had to delete me from all his contacts.
I put my phone away and offered the director an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I don't have his number."
The crew started whispering.
"I bet she signed up on her own. The great Dorian Chase probably doesn't even want to be here with her."
"After she made all those trashy films behind his back, sleeping with who knows how many men... he's a saint for not divorcing her. How does she even have the nerve to show up on a divorce show?"
The director was a friend of Dorian's; he knew the truth. But he just blinked, and said nothing.
I waited until nightfall. The other guests had all gone back to their hotels, but I remained in the cold, empty studio. An icy draft snaked through the window, and I couldn't stop the coughs that rattled my chest. I wiped a smear of blood from my palm just as someone walked in.
He heard me coughing and draped his jacket over my shoulders.
"Sorry I'm late. Something urgent came up at the office."
I could smell the cloying scent of tuberose on his coat.
Stella loved to bathe in tuberose water, so Dorian had built her a ten-acre tuberose greenhouse. Flowers that should have bloomed in spring now flourished in the dead of winter.
I saw the faint red rash on his neck and discreetly looked away.
Dorian was allergic to pollen. The worst time, hed gone into anaphylactic shock right in front of me. I had cried, I had begged him to stop risking his health for Stella. All I got in return was a cold stare and a sharp, "Stay out of it."
I clutched the bloody tissue in my hand and shrugged off his jacket.
I hated that smell. He knew that.
My mother had died under the tuberose tree where my father had first courted her, on the day she caught him cheating.
When we were young and in love, Dorian would always meticulously instruct the florist: no tuberose. He had sworn to me that he would never betray me.
But flowers wilt. And hearts are fickle.
The boy who had once loved me had found a girl he loved more.
The crew called us for our one-on-one interviews. Dorian was still glued to his phone, a doting smile on his face. Everyone knew better than to disturb him.
So I answered the director's pointed questions alone, a one-woman show. It wasn't hard. It was just acting. I treated it as my final performance.
For the last segment, the director handed us each a slip of paper and asked the final question: "Do you still want a divorce?"
Dorian finally looked up from his phone. By the time he took the slip, I had already dropped mine into the box. He followed suit, then joked with the director, "What's with all the mystery? We have to wait until the last day of filming to open these?"
He looked at me, his voice full of confidence. "We're not getting a divorce."
He stood up and started to drag my suitcase toward the hotel. But just as we reached the entrance, his phone rang. A smile immediately spread across his face, and he stepped aside to take the call.
I struggled to haul the heavy suitcase up the steps by myself. When he came back, I instinctively handed him his pajamas.
He just shook his head. "Lost another bet to Stella," he said with a light laugh. "She says we can't sleep in the same bed for the next seven days."
My hand froze in mid-air.
The old me would have started a screaming match.
But now, I barely had the strength to breathe. I had no energy left for fighting.
I pulled my hand back and lay down on the bed. "Do what you want. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."
Dorian's attention was already back on his phone. He didn't even hear me.
The next morning, there was a pink hair tie on his wrist. A lipstick stain on his collar confirmed he had left in the middle of the night. He unconsciously toyed with the hair tie, and I couldn't help but remember a few years ago, when it was trendy to have your boyfriend wear your hair tie. Id slipped mine onto Dorian's wrist.
Hed pulled it off and thrown it in the trash right in front of me. "You're almost thirty," he'd scoffed, not even trying to hide his disgust. "Stop playing these childish games."
I stared at the hair tie. I could just make out a tiny, embroidered 'S'. It was a glaring reminder.
He didn't remember that Stella was a year older than me.
But for her, he was more than happy to play childish games.
"I got breakfast. Let's eat."
It was the first time in our entire marriage that Dorian had ever bought me breakfast, even if it was just an excuse to cover for his nightly absence. Bringing Stella breakfast, however, had long been his routine.
He handed me a glass of milk.
I had told him so many times. He never remembered that I couldn't drink it. But a single, offhand comment from Stella about her preferences was meticulously recorded in the notes on his phone. I'd seen it once by accident: a long, detailed list.
I reached for a soup dumpling, but he slapped my hand away. A dark red mark instantly appeared on my skin.
He pushed a bowl of congee towards me. "This is for you."
I suddenly remembered a post I'd seen on Stella's social media earlier.
Ugh, I'm craving hot, steamy soup dumplings so bad, the caption read, followed by a crying emoji.
It all made sense.
"We have an outdoor shoot today," I reminded him.
But he had already picked up the insulated food container and was walking out the door.
Snow had started to fall outside. I laughed a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
When it came to Stella, nothing stood in his way. Not wind, not rain, not snow.
I remembered when I was on location for a film and got caught in a landslide. I called him in a panic. Hed just called me dramatic and hung up. The disaster relief supplies he sent for me ended up in the wrong province.
I almost died in that landslide. He was at an amusement park with Stella.
The difference between love and not-love was so stark.
And I only saw it clearly when I was on the verge of death.
I forced the congee into my mouth. It was already cold. The soup dumplings, however, were still steaming. He must have held them close to his chest to keep them warm.
I knew this because I, too, had once stood in the falling snow, clutching a container of warm soup dumplings, waiting for him outside his dorm.
He was loving someone else in the exact same way I had once loved him. It made my devotion feel pathetic and absurd.
The director informed me that Dorian would be absent from filming for the next four days. I was to continue with the other three couples.
For four days, I was a ghost, a silent figure captured on camera. No one wanted to talk to the infamous porn star.
And every day, Stella's social media was a whirlwind of activity.
Dorian took her skiing in the Arctic Circle.
They went on vacation to Bali.
They went to see the Northern Lights in a Christmas village.
The pain in my body made it hard to think, but after a while, it dawned on me.
The places they were going it was the honeymoon itinerary Dorian and I had planned together, so long ago.
My finger hovered over the screen. A drop of blood from my nose fell onto their picture together under the aurora, then another, and another. I fumbled for a tissue, and in my haste to wipe it away, I accidentally 'liked' the photo.
A moment later, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. It was him.
His voice was tense. "Aria, it's Stella's birthday. That's why I took her on this trip."
I wiped away the last of the blood. "It's fine," I croaked.
His voice softened. "Aria, after this show is over, my hundred bets with Stella will be finished."
"When I get back, I'll make it up to you. We'll celebrate our anniversary properly."
Just then, I heard a girl's voice in the background. "Dorian, hurry! The fireworks are about to start!"
He hung up abruptly.
A calendar notification popped up on my screen. Tomorrow was the tenth anniversary of the day we got together.
And I only had a few days left.
My time with Dorian had taken up nearly half my life.
The next day, for the first time in forever, Dorian didn't break his promise. He showed up on set, on time. I wore the pale yellow dress Id worn on our first date, but I had taken off the wedding ring I had worn for so long. It hadn't fit for a while, but I could never bring myself to remove it. Until now.
When I stepped out of my room, Dorian stared at me for a long time, then smiled and came to take my hand.
"Aria, you're too thin. You need to eat more."
Just like when we were young, when he would place the few pieces of meat from his bowl into mine and gently stroke my hair.
"Eat up, Aria."
For a moment, I was moved. Then, Stella's voice cut through the air.
"Aria, you're a celebrity for goodness sake. What are you wearing? You're embarrassing Dorian." She looked me up and down and snorted.
Dorian just playfully tapped her on the forehead. "Stella's joining us for the jungle expedition today," he announced.
Stella lifted her chin proudly. "What expedition? I'm your producer and director now! You'd better be on your best behavior, or I'll make sure the cameraman gets all your worst angles."
Dorian just laughed and agreed to everything.
When we got in the car, Stella slid into the driver's seat. She shot me a provocative smile. "Sorry, Aria. I get carsick. You'll have to sit in the back."
I said nothing and climbed in.
They chattered on about their trip, and I closed my eyes, trying to rest. But I could see him glancing at me in the rearview mirror, again and again.
Stella noticed. Suddenly, she cried out, "Ouch!"
Dorian slammed on the brakes. "Stella, what's wrong?"
"My stomach!" she gasped, clutching her abdomen. "It hurts so much!"
He turned to me. "Get out of the car. I'm taking Stella to the hospital."
I looked out at the snow-covered wilderness. Dorian had followed Stella's directions and turned onto a different road. The rest of the crew was no longer behind us.
"Take me back with you."
"We can't do that!" Stella cried. "We can't let Aria miss the shoot because of me!" She grimaced, her face contorted in pain.
Dorian, seemingly lost to reason, dragged me out of the car. "The crew will be here any minute. You wait here. Stella's not strong. She can't handle this cold."
As the car sped away, I could barely stand. The snow fell harder and harder. I waited for three hours. The pile of bloody tissues next to me grew. I was on the verge of collapsing from hypothermia when a familiar figure came running towards me.
"Aria!"
I woke up in the production's medical van. Stella was muttering beside me. "I'm so stupid, I can't believe I gave you the wrong directions. Aria won't be mad at me, will she?"
Dorian held her close. "Of course not," he cooed.
The doctor standing nearby looked like she wanted to say something, but I shook my head at her.
After only an hour's rest, the director told us to resume filming. This time, the crew drove us directly into the jungle. Stella insisted on coming along.
The snow was ankle-deep. I instinctively looked at Dorian. He used to carry me on his back when it snowed, so my shoes wouldn't get wet.
Now, without a moment's hesitation, he lifted Stella onto his back.
After a while, he realized I'd fallen behind. He saw my pale face and stammered, "Stella she's not feeling well."
I didn't answer. I just trudged forward.
We walked in silence. As we neared our destination, Stella announced she wanted to build a fire. Dorian carefully set her down and went to gather firewood.
Stella glanced at the cameraman behind her, then leaned in close to me.
"Aria, did Dorian tell you he wouldn't divorce you?"
"He was lying. On every single slip of paper, he wrote 'divorce'."
"Do you know why?" she whispered, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. She stroked her flat stomach. "Because I'm pregnant with his child. He wants the whole world to witness your divorce, so he can marry me in a lavish ceremony."
For some reason, my heart, which had been numb for so long, started to pound.
She continued, her voice a cruel hiss. "He never cared about that bastard in your belly. Otherwise, why would he have let you get rid of it? Tsk, tsk, you should have seen it. It was all purple when it came out..."
A mouthful of blood erupted from my lips. Before anyone could react, I lunged at her, my hands closing around her throat.
"You bitch! You took my baby from me! Give me back my baby!"
In the struggle, a hand cracked across my face, and I was thrown backward.
"Dorian, help me!" Stella screamed. "Aria's trying to kill me! Oh god, I'm bleeding! Are we going to lose the baby?"
I tumbled down the steep slope.
When I looked up, Dorian was standing over me, his face a mask of fury.
"Aria, if anything happens to Stella or this child, I will never forgive you."
He lifted Stella into his arms and turned to leave. "Let her stay down there and think about what she's done," he commanded. "No one is allowed to help her up."
The director hesitated. "Dorian, it's freezing. There are wolves in these woods..."
"She had the guts to attack a pregnant woman," Dorian cut him off coldly. "You think she's afraid of a few wolves? Pull your crew out now. Anyone who tries to help her, I'll pull all funding."
A wave of metallic sweetness filled my mouth, and I coughed up more blood.
"Dorian," I called out to the furious man.
He paused for a second, but he didn't turn back.
He didn't hear my final whisper. "Happy tenth anniversary, Dorian."
The snow began to cover me. It was good. I wouldn't feel pain anymore
The next morning, Dorian drove alone to the final destination of the reality show's journey. There, the final result would be broadcast live to the entire nation. If both parties got out of their cars, it meant they were choosing to stay together.
As a hearse passed him on the road, a sense of unease crept into his heart. He had told his assistant to bring me back last night, but I was nowhere to be seen when he woke up. He just assumed I had left early.
He waited at the final stop for a long time. When a car finally pulled up, he rushed forward, his face full of joy. But when he saw who got out, he froze.
At the same time, his assistant ran towards him, his face pale with panic. "Sir, something's happened!"
And on the car radio, a pre-recorded message began to play.
A woman's voice, soft and gentle. "To my dearest fans, by the time you hear this, I will have already left this world"

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