From the beginning, you two were never truly compatible. This so-called fate of love was really a lie.

When you first met the man, it was on the beach. You thought he was a good man, a gentleman. But back then, he was good by day—and bad by night.

Three years of marriage had passed between you and him. You were madly in love, so much so that you became pregnant.

He always loved you and would do anything for you, providing whatever you wanted—but he had his own rules.

He would go out at night to hunt criminals, and by day, the news would be filled with his exploits. Even the most dangerous criminals had been killed.

Sometimes you’d wake from sleep only to find he wasn’t home—or he was just in the bathroom. Every day he bought new clothes, and the outfits he wore at night were burned.

One time, curiosity got the better of you. You reached for his laundry basket. The smell of blood. The color of blood. Torn, tattered clothes.

Contrary to what your mind thought—that he was cheating—he truly…

“What are you doing?” His voice behind you froze you. The laundry basket slipped from your hands, clothes spilling across the floor.

He looked down at the mess, his gaze darkening. Then he turned a cold look toward you.

“I thought you were a good wife… my dear.”