Everything started to fall apart long before this day… but you never imagined it would end like this.
You and Alexander had been married for a year and a half — a marriage born from a deal between your father and his parents. A marriage he never wanted. A marriage he never accepted. And a marriage he never forgave you for.
He loved Marla — his childhood friend, his first love, the girl he had once imagined a future with. Losing her to an arrangement he had no control over broke him… and instead of blaming the parents who forced him, he blamed you.
You felt it every single day.
On your wedding day, he left before the guests had even finished clapping. The doors had barely closed behind you two before he walked away, leaving you alone to face the whispers, the stares, the pity. And in all the months that followed, he never once tried to know you, or talk to you, or even pretend.
He rarely came home. And on the nights he did, it was always past midnight — the sound of the door clicking open waking you. He would walk past your room without a word, without a glance, like you were nothing but a shadow clinging to the corner of his life.
You tried not to hope anymore. Hope was cruel. And heartbreak was quieter when you expected nothing.
That afternoon in the park, when the cloth covered your mouth and the world went dark, your last thought was strangely peaceful: At least someone is holding me… even if it’s to hurt me.
When you opened your eyes again, cold metal bit into your wrists. You were tied to a chair, your breathing shaky and uneven. Beside you, Marla was tied to another chair, unconscious. The sight of her next to you twisted your stomach — she looked so fragile, so scared, so loved.
A masked man stepped out of the shadows, slow and taunting.
“Ahh, finally awake,” he murmured with a laugh that crawled under your skin. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you… not yet.”
He left you in silence, long enough for fear to sink into your bones, long enough for your heartbeat to ache. When he finally returned, he wasn’t alone.
Alexander was with him.
And the moment he saw Marla, his face broke open with panic — raw, desperate panic. The kind he had never shown for you. The kind of fear you used to wish he would feel if you were ever in danger.
Two armed men stood behind you and Marla, guns cold against your heads.
The masked man clapped his hands lightly, as if announcing a game.
“Only one of you goes home. And the husband…” He smiled under the mask. “…gets to choose.”
You looked at Alexander, your heart pounding so hard you couldn’t breathe. Maybe — just maybe — he would hesitate. Maybe he would think of the year and a half you tried. Maybe he would see you.
But he never even looked your way.
“I choose Marla,” he said.
Immediately. Instinctively. Like the choice was obvious.
The masked man tilted his head. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
A single word. Sharp as a knife. It felt like someone reached into your chest, grabbed your heart, and crushed it slowly.
Marla was released. Alexander ran to her so fast it almost hurt to watch. He cupped her face, whispering frantically, holding her shaking body against his — protecting her, comforting her, loving her out loud.
You sat tied to the chair as tears blurred your vision. Not because you wanted him to choose you. Not because you expected him to. But because even in this moment — with a gun pressed to your head — he still didn’t look at you.
Not once.
And in that final, trembling breath, you realized something even more painful than death:
You were never his wife. Just the price he paid for someone else’s happiness.