After my husband rented me to someone else for the white moonlight, I didn’t want him anymore.
My fiancé was dirt poor. So poor I had to fashion my wedding dress from a mosquito net, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I
During our rare vacation, when we’d finally saved enough for a trip, Blake left me in the car while I was sleeping and walked away.
Men stuck on the highway took turns, one after another, in the car, but I was completely unaware.
When we finally got to the Airbnb, he, usually so reserved and controlled, started playing increasingly twisted games.
It wasn’t until he was showering that I saw him sharing photos and videos of me in the car, and in the public restroom near the rest area, in a group chat.
Disbelief choked me. I wanted to confront him, but another message popped up in the chat.
“Just ten thousand for Young Master Blake’s fiancée? I’ll pay thirty thousand upfront!”
“Young Master Blake really knows how to play! Pretending to be poor for all these years, just to get revenge for Scarlett Zhao. Finally, he’s playing for high stakes!”
Before I could even process why my fiancé was being called “Young Master Blake, the man in the shower instantly replied:
“Scarlett Zhao only went into the woods with those guys back then to save me. I just want to get revenge for her.”
Tears streamed down my face, hitting the screen. It hit me like a lightning bolt.
I was the one who went into the woods with those ten men to save him back then…
- 1.
The chat continued to buzz.
“Ten thousand a pop, tsk tsk. Young Master Blake must have made hundreds of thousands these past few days, right?”
“You really think Young Master Blake needs money? Did you see Scarlett Zhao’s Ins post? Young Master Blake just gifted her a three–hundred–million villa yesterday!”
I vaguely heard a cheerful chuckle from the bathroom. “I was supposed to take Scarlett to France for the May Day holiday, but couldn’t make it, so I just got her a small gift as compensation. It’s fine. At least this island trip let me get revenge for what happened to her back then.”
The group members showered him with praise, but one person, seemingly unable to stomach it, asked:
“But Young Master Blake, you’ve been pretending to be poor for so many years, and only Harper Su stuck by you. Last time it was your birthday, she even sold blood to buy you a gift. Aren’t you going a bit too far treating her like this…?”
It felt like someone had violently squeezed my heart, and my breath hitched.
A moment later, Blake replied with an eye–roll emoji and a few sentences:
“If it weren’t for her, Scarlett wouldn’t have gone through that, having to leave the country to escape the backlash.”
“If it weren’t for her, Scarlett and I would have been together ages ago. Everything Harper’s going through is her own damn fault.
“Harper needs to experience a hundred times the pain Scarlett did. Tonight’s guests won’t be charged. Come on in, everyone who wants a piece of her.
Amidst the cheers of dozens of people in the group, Blake sent the Airbnb’s location and our room number.
“Once she drinks the milk, she’ll be out cold. Just take it easy on her.”
I wanted to rush in, snatch his phone, and stop him, but my body trembled uncontrollably, my limbs completely unresponsive.
5.25 PM dd
<
Hearing Blake about to walk out of the bathroom, I mustered my last bit of strength, marked all the tablet messages as unread, and then collapsed onto the bed, wracked with pain.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
Blake rushed over. Seeing my eyes red–rimmed and tears streaming down, he looked surprised. “Why are you suddenly having an episode?”
He knew I had bipolar disorder. Sometimes I’d be tormented by intense depression, wanting to leave this world. Other times, I’d become abnormally manic, practically wanting to grab a knife and kill everyone.
When an episode hit, my observations became even sharper.
For the first time, I saw it: under Blake’s mask of concern, a flicker of well–hidden disgust in his eyes.
Blake’s gaze fell on the tablet, and he probed thoughtfully, “Did you see something?”
My throat felt like it was choked with rocks and sand. I couldn’t utter a single word, only shaking my head silently.
Blake checked the tablet, confirming the messages were unread before he turned and hugged me with feigned tenderness. “I’m sorry. Have we been doing too much these past few days? Is it too much for you?”
“It’s all my fault for being useless, for not being able to take you to a doctor… The medication for bipolar disorder is too expensive. I’m sorry, baby…
A man who could give a three–hundred–million villa as a “small gift” was now telling me he couldn’t afford even a few dozen dollars for
medication.
My stomach churned. His embrace made me sick. I struggled to break free from his arms.
He hesitated for a moment, a hint of struggle on his face.
I almost thought, if only Blake, you still cared about me, even just a little, if only you’d abandon your plan…
In the end.
I watched him get up and pour a glass of milk. “Drink some milk and get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Since the May Day holiday, Blake had prepared a glass of milk for me every day.
It wasn’t until I saw the messages in the group chat that I understood why I’d slept soundly for four or five hours on the highway, why I slept so deeply every night at the Airbnb, only to wake up with shameful marks all over my body the next morning.
I thought Blake had finally opened up, developed a taste for me, but I never expected…
The thought of those hundreds of photos with all sorts of different men made me sink deeper into despair.
Even with me in this state, having an episode, he still intended to let those men come and take their revenge on me?
My hands trembled as I slapped the glass of milk, sending it flying. Blake’s face instantly flashed with a flicker of annoyance.
But when he saw me, pale as a ghost and slumped on the floor, wildly hitting my head with my hands, he said nothing, just let out an almost imperceptible sigh and turned to leave.
I stared blankly, letting the waves of depression and self–loathing wash over me.
I don’t know how much time passed, but suddenly, there was a faint click of the doorknob from outside.
Were Blake’s “friends” finally here?
One, two, or… how many?
