He Begged Me to Stay After I Stopped Loving Him

Because the one that got away had declared, I won't be a homewrecker!

My husband, who had never once spent the night at home, finally came back.

Morton Harding did the unthinkable: he celebrated my birthday with me. He picked me up from work every day. He even stayed up all night nursing me through a fever.

And for our third wedding anniversary, he actually cooked me an entire dinner himself.

When he set the anniversary gift in front of me, the heart that had loved him for seven years finally stopped beating.

I slid the divorce papers I'd prepared long ago across the table.

"Morton, let's end this."

The careless smile on Morton Harding's face crumbled the moment he saw the papers.

"Viola Payne, have I been too good to you lately? Is that what's making you push your luck?"

I shook my head. My voice came out so calm it sounded foreign even to me.

"I'm just tired. I want to set you free to be with Zara."

That name landed like a needle straight through his chest.

His expression shifted, unreadable. I couldn't tell if it was relief or anger.

"Fine. Don't come crawling back."

He threw down the words like a gauntlet, grabbed his jacket off the couch, and walked out without looking back.

I watched him go. Not a single ache. Not a trace of longing.

I cleared the untouched dishes from the table as if nothing had happened, slow and methodical.

I hadn't eaten all day. I was starving.

But every dish on the table contained seafood. I was allergic. I couldn't touch any of it.

My gaze fell on the pair of earrings Morton had tossed carelessly onto the table. I let out a bitter laugh.

His so-called anniversary gift was nothing but a freebie thrown in when he'd bought Zara Fox a necklace.

But none of this was the real reason. It was simply the last straw.

I had spent seven years chasing Morton Harding like a lovesick fool.

In college, when I found out his family had nothing, I funded him anonymously.

Then Zara Fox impersonated me and started dating him in my place.

Morton believed her first, and no matter how I tried to explain, he was convinced I was lying.

After graduation, Morton's mother was in a car accident.

Zara dumped him and left the country.

I was the one who paid for the surgery. Every last dollar.

Out of gratitude, Morton married me.

I thought that living together as husband and wife would make him accept me. Maybe even love me.

To support his career, I bankrolled his company, pulled strings, opened every door I could.

No matter how much I gave, all I ever got in return was indifference.

At a college reunion before the new year, Zara showed up.

Morton's eyes went red the moment he saw her.

He blocked drinks for Zara. He served food onto Zara's plate. He drove Zara home.

As if the wife sitting right beside him didn't exist.

A knock at the door dragged me out of my thoughts.

I opened it to find Zara Fox standing there, her face the picture of wounded innocence.

"Viola, you've got it all wrong about Morton. There's really nothing between us."

She reached for my hand. I stepped back.

She lost her balance and crumpled to the floor with all the subtlety of a soap opera actress.

Morton, who had followed her up, saw the whole thing.

Without a word, he charged at me and shoved me hard.

My arm slammed into the sharp corner of the entryway cabinet, tearing a long gash down my skin.

Morton didn't spare me a single glance. He bent down, scooped Zara into his arms, and carried her out.

Zara rested her head against his shoulder and blinked at me over it, slow and deliberate. Taunting.

I was dabbing antiseptic on the wound when Morton came back.

His eyes caught the streak of blood on my arm. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, and his voice softened by a fraction.

"Sorry. I lost my temper. Let me help you with that."

"No need," I said flatly. "I can handle it myself."

The cotton swab in Morton's hand froze in midair. His expression darkened.

"Then again, you started it, didn't you? Zara came here to smooth things over so we wouldn't fight, and this is how you treat her? How petty can you be?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "I told you I never touched her. She was putting on an act. Do you believe me?"

Morton froze for a second, then let out a derisive laugh. "I trust Zara's character."

The answer I'd expected. I tugged at the corner of my mouth and went back to applying ointment to my bruises.

My indifference made Morton feel ignored, and his temper flared instantly.

"Viola, what gives you the right to give me attitude? Haven't I done enough for you lately?"

I looked at his self-righteous expression and almost laughed.

Three years of marriage, and he had never shown me an ounce of warmth.

Yet because Zara had tossed out a few hollow words about wanting us to get along, he'd graced me with a rare stretch of civility.

Zara and I shared the same birthday. He would spend the day celebrating with her first, then bring home whatever was left of their cake and toss it my way.

He picked me up from work every day, but only because it gave him an excuse to catch a glimpse of Zara at the front desk.

When I was sick with a fever, he did stay by my side all night. His eyes never left his phone, though. He didn't even notice when I collapsed on the bathroom floor.

My silence made Morton think I was reflecting on my behavior.

His tone turned condescending, as if he were bestowing a favor.

"Go apologize to Zara tomorrow, and I'll let the whole thing go."

"As long as you behave yourself, I promise I'll treat you better from now on."

Before, I might have caved. I might have swallowed my pride and apologized, all because I loved him.

But now, I couldn't even stand to look at him.

The next evening after work, Morton sent me a text telling me to meet him at the restaurant across the street.

My first instinct was to refuse. Then I thought better of it. It was time to have a real conversation about the divorce.

I walked into the private dining room and found Morton and Zara sitting side by side at the table, chatting like old friends.

I turned to leave.

Zara rushed over and blocked my path. "Viola, if the sight of me bothers you that much, I'll go..."

The words sounded generous enough, but she made no move to leave.

Morton slammed his chopsticks down. "I told you to come here and apologize to Zara, not to throw a tantrum!"

Zara softened her voice, playing peacemaker. "It's fine if I'm the one who gets hurt. All that matters is that you two are happy together."

I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to provoke me so my outburst would make her look like the reasonable one.

This time, she was going to be disappointed.

I spoke casually, almost lazily. "Well, if I'm going to apologize, just saying the words doesn't feel sincere enough."

"So as a gesture of goodwill, I'll give you Morton."

A flicker of surprise crossed Zara's eyes, quickly swallowed by barely concealed delight.

Morton shot to his feet, slamming his palm on the table. "Viola, what the hell are you talking about?"

I held his gaze, every syllable crisp and deliberate.

"I mean it."

"Morton, I don't want you anymore."

I moved out of the house.

Money wasn't an issue. I owned several luxury properties across the city.

I hung up on Morton's ninety-ninth call. His messages flooded in immediately.

"Haven't you thrown enough of a fit? My patience has a limit!"

"Viola, if you don't come back, we're really done!"

"Viola, where are you? Come home. Let's talk."

Now he wanted to talk? Too late.

I didn't bother replying. I blocked his number.

That night, I stayed late at the office.

When I finally headed down to the parking garage to get my car, I heard a commotion nearby and looked over instinctively.

It was Zara, struggling with a strange man.

He was rough, dragging her toward a utility closet.

I despised Zara. But I couldn't stand by and watch this happen.

I strode over, held up my phone, and shouted, "Stop! I've already called the police!"

The color drained from the man's face. He bolted.

She had barely rounded the corner when she ran headlong into Morton, rushing toward them from the other direction.

The man cursed under his breath and vanished into the shadows.

Morton went straight to Zara's side, his eyes brimming with undisguised concern.

"What happened? Who was that man just now?"

Zara's gaze darted away, and she looked at me with a timid, frightened expression.

"I... I just got here and found Viola hiding in the garage with that man... having some kind of secret rendezvous..."

"He probably got spooked when he saw you and ran off."

I stared at her in disbelief. I'd just saved her, and she was twisting the whole thing around, repaying my kindness with a knife in the back.

But Morton believed every word. He was convinced I'd been cheating on him.

He wouldn't let me explain. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the car, practically shaking with fury.

Back at the house, Morton flung me onto the couch.

The room spun as he pinned me down beneath him.

His jaw was clenched so tight the words came out through gritted teeth. "No wonder you've been avoiding me lately. You've got someone else on the side."

I fought against his grip. "I don't!"

"Zara saw it with her own eyes. You're still going to lie to my face?"

His eyes were bloodshot, and buried somewhere in those depths was a flash of hurt I couldn't quite understand.

"Viola, I'd finally made up my mind to make this marriage work. Why would you do this to me?"

Before I could answer, he crushed his mouth against mine in a kiss that was more punishment than passion.

I froze. For a moment, I forgot to push him away.

Three years of marriage, and Morton had never once touched me willingly.

On our wedding night, I'd come out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and slipped my arms around him from behind. He'd flinched away in disgust and told me to keep my distance.

Later, I tried wearing lingerie and sliding under his covers. He didn't even glance at me. He just rolled over, putting his back to me, and fell asleep.

No matter how hard I tried to please him, he was unmoved. A stone wall would have been warmer.

It wasn't until last year, at a gala where he'd drunk himself blind, that he mistook me for Zara.

That night, he pressed me into the mattress and didn't stop until dawn.

The memory of my clothes being torn hit me like a slap.

By the time I came back to my senses, I'd already struck Morton hard across the face.

He went rigid. The shock in his eyes curdled into white-hot rage.

"You think I wanted to touch you? If you hadn't spent the last three years following me around like a dog, I wouldn't even stomach looking at you!"

"In my heart, you're not worth Zara's little finger!"

He kicked over the coffee table and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

That night, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

At first, Zara just sent messages to taunt me.

Morton got drunk and won't leave my place. What can I do?

You've been chasing him like a lovesick puppy for years, and you still can't make him love you? I'm embarrassed for you.

He can't get over me. Guess you just don't have what it takes. You couldn't compete with me in college, and nothing's changed.

When I didn't respond, she sent photos. Morton, shirtless, asleep in her bed beside her.

What a sad excuse for a wife. Can't even keep your own man satisfied.

I looked at those shameless photos and those poisonous words, and I felt nothing. Not a ripple. Not a sting. Just stillness, like the surface of a lake after the last stone has already been thrown.

That night, for the first time in a long while, I slept soundly.

The next morning, it was a phone call that jolted me awake.

My coworker's voice was frantic. "Viola, someone's poaching your clients! Get to the office, now!"

Confused, I rushed in and found the lobby buried in roses.

Zara was nestled against Morton's chest like a helpless little bird, her smile dripping with satisfaction.

Morton glanced at me, then deliberately wrapped his arm around Zara's waist.

His voice was laced with exaggerated tenderness.

"Zara, whatever you want, it's yours. As long as it makes you happy."

Zara pressed her palms to his chest in a show of bashful protest. "Stop it. Everyone's watching."

The onlookers whispered among themselves, their eyes drifting toward me one by one.

Some people looked sympathetic. Others were clearly enjoying the show.

"Isn't Mr. Harding her husband? Flirting with another woman right in front of his wife? That's bold."

"Please. Viola doesn't even seem to care. Why should we?"

"I heard Miss Fox and Mr. Harding were the real couple all along. Viola schemed to drive her away, then trapped him into marrying her."

"Well, no wonder she got cheated on. Karma."

Watching me get torn apart by the court of public opinion, Morton strolled toward me with a satisfied look on his face.

"Viola, if you just swallow your pride right now, I might consider giving you another chance."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly would you like me to do?"

Morton stood there like he'd already won. "Get on your knees and beg me not to leave you."

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

The sheer arrogance. Standing there like a king on a throne, as if he'd forgotten that everything he had came from me.

"Morton, I think it's best if my lawyer handles the rest of this conversation."

I'd already contacted an attorney the night before to file for divorce. Between the messages and photos Zara had sent me, I had more than enough to prove his infidelity during the marriage. He'd walk away with nothing.

Morton hadn't even processed what I'd said before Zara launched into her performance.

She grabbed my arm, her voice dripping with desperate sincerity. "Please, stop fighting over me. I promise I won't contact Morton anymore. Just don't be angry..."

The accusations from the crowd grew louder.

I was done with her lies. Done with the act.

I was about to expose her right there in front of everyone when a furious shout erupted from behind me.

"You! You ruined my deal last night. I'll kill you!"

I turned around.

It was the man from the parking garage, the one who'd been struggling with Zara the night before.

He had a knife in his hand, and he was charging straight at me.