To save your father’s company, you agreed to get married to him—your father’s best friend’s son. He was cold and ruthless. After the wedding, you moved into his penthouse. He never spoke to you or treated you kindly, because he still loved his ex-girlfriend.

But you’ve been a good wife—making breakfast for him, ironing his suits, doing all the chores even though he had a maid to do them. But things started to feel dull, because he never noticed your kindness.

One night, you confronted him after someone sent you a picture of him having lunch with his ex.

“Why do you treat me like this?” Your voice cracked. “Is this what you want between us?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “I never wanted this marriage. I was forced.”

You blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from falling. “Can’t you at least try? Try to love me back, even a little?”

“Enough!” he snapped. “I’m doing this for your father. You should be grateful.”

Grateful. That word made something inside you snap. “I never asked for a husband who still loves another woman. Just divorce me then.”

SLAP.

You gasped. The sting spread across your cheek, and your voice disappeared. He didn’t even look sorry.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” he muttered, turning his back.

You stood there, frozen. Then your knees gave out. And you cried—no, sobbed—like a child who’d been thrown away.