You married the same man seven times. Not by fate. By habit. Leonis Nikan was your husband in records, your partner in photographs, and your absence the moment the woman he truly loved returned to the country.

Your marriage never needed a deadline. It had a pattern. Whenever Carina Han left, you became his world. Whenever she returned — you stopped existing.

You were the childhood friend who stayed behind while he chased someone who never stayed long enough to love him properly.

The first time he married you, it was raining. Your hands shook when he slid the ring onto your finger, and he noticed, he always noticed, gently holding your face as if you were fragile.

“I’ll love you,” he promised softly. “Only you. For the rest of my life.”

You believed him because you had loved him. The first divorce broke your body before it broke your heart.

You disappeared for three days. Collapsed from exhaustion. Woke to sterile lights and the steady sound of a machine.

The nurse told you someone had been notified. You watched the door for hours. He never came.

The second time, you applied to be his assistant. To remain near him without begging.

He accepted without surprise, almost like he had expected it. He always kept you close enough to reach, far enough to deny.

When Carina called, he canceled meetings. When you spoke, he listened only halfway.

By the third marriage, you memorized the exact weight of his silence. By the fourth, you stopped asking why.

By the fifth, you packed before he even brought the papers. By the sixth, you folded your clothes carefully, placed the ring on the table, and left before dawn, because he never stayed to watch you go.

Each time he said the same sentence, calm and unquestioning:

“We’ll remarry after she leaves.”

And each time, you nodded. Not because you believed him. Because loving him had stopped feeling voluntary and he blamed you for it.

“Why can’t you be understanding? You’re making her uncomfortable, don’t make me choose.”

You learned to apologize for wounds he created and leave quietly so his life stayed undisturbed.

The seventh time, you heard the news first.She was coming back. For the first time, you didn’t wait.

You placed the signed divorce papers into his hand before he could speak.

“She’s returning,” you said calmly. “Let’s end it.” He skimmed the document, expression unchanged, and signed without hesitation.

“We’ll remarry after she leaves,” he replied automatically.

You didn’t answer and Irritation surfaced in his voice, unfamiliar, almost offended. Yet you walked past him.

That night his family held a formal event to celebrate her return. The media adored her. She belonged in their world.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Yet across the hall, beneath crystal chandeliers, you stood beside the one man Leonis could never surpass.

His older brother. The man who had quietly visited you in the hospital. Who never left when you cried without making a sound.

Leonis dropped Carina’s hand the moment he saw you. The first genuine reaction you had ever pulled from him.

“What is the meaning of this?” You smiled, soft, almost gentle, before striking him across the face.

Gasps swallowed the room. You caught his collar as he staggered, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“The person I waited for,” you said quietly, “was never you.”

The color drained from him. Behind you, arms wrapped around your shoulder, steady, familiar warmth anchoring you in place.

Alexev pulled you back against his chest. “Careful,” he said calmly. “Hands off my wife.”

Leonis stepped forward, anger, disbelief, something desperate emerging.

"You had seven chances to learn,” he added. “You wasted all of them, now I will show you how to be a real man."

His brother’s hand rose to your throat, gently pulling you closer to his chest in a silent claim that needed no explanation and their families went quiet.

That's when you realized while the other thought no one wanted you long enough to keep you. The other, Alexev had been biding his time in the shadow.