A Decade of Misplaced Devotion

Stella's hesitation vanished in an instant.

"I know you've always been jealous of Laurent, which is why you kicked him so hard," she said resentfully. "But why do this at our wedding? Are you trying to humiliate me? I need you to apologize to him now!"

I let out a bitter laugh, then strode over to Laurent and slapped him across the face. "There! How's that for a sincere apology?"

"What is wrong with you?" Stella roared.

In a flash, the bodyguards tackled me, forcing me to grovel like a dog at Laurent's feet.

Looming above me, he grabbed a bottle of champagne and poured it over my head. Not only did Stella not stop him, but she smashed the empty bottle against my skull.

Sharp pain radiated through my entire body, but she wasn't done. Her icy voice echoed in my ears. "We'll get married once you grovel and beg Laurent for forgiveness."

She looped her arm through Laurent's and started to walk away.

I glared at them, growling, "If you care about him that much, you don't deserve to be my wife!"

She stopped in her tracks.

...

The rims of Laurent's eyes reddened, and he whimpered, "Did I cause trouble for you again? I shouldn't have even shown up today. Go finish the wedding with Mr. Rowe. I'll be fine on my own."

His acting was painfully obvious, yet it melted Stella's heart.

She turned back to me, her eyes blazing with disgust. "Is this another one of your petty jealousy games? Fine! If you think I'm not worthy, go marry that Husky instead!"

She linked arms with Laurent even more tightly and stormed out of the wedding venue without looking back.

The guests' stares, mocking or pitying, burned into me. I clenched my fists, swallowing the humiliation. "Sorry, folks. The wedding is off. Leave as you please."

I had just closed the door to the lounge when my body gave out, and I fainted.

When I regained consciousness, the sharp scent of disinfectant assailed my nostrils. The hospital room's heater was blasting, but it couldn't warm my frozen heart.

I had adored Stella for a solid ten years and had given her everything I had.

Until yesterday, I'd believed that I'd finally won her heart. But the farce had been a resounding slap in the face, waking me up and finally killing my feelings for her.

I hit the call button by the bed. The door opened, but the one coming in wasn't a doctor or a nurse. It was Stella, but her hair was a mess.

Her lips were swollen, and fresh hickeys dotted her neck.

Her frown eased a bit when she saw I was awake. But then she lit into me, sulking, "You look fine. Guess Laurent was right; this is just another pity ploy. Seriously, how can a grown man be so petty? You tanked our wedding. Have you come to your senses yet? Ready to apologize to Laurent?"

I stared at her, stone-cold silent.

Once, I would have swallowed my pride and groveled to Laurent just to appease her. In fact, I had listened to her and done such things before.

On my birthday, when Laurent deliberately smashed my cake in front of everyone, I had to apologize to him.

During a meeting, when he deleted the pitch deck I'd pulled all-nighters to create, I had to apologize to him.

Even when I was laid up in the hospital and he tripped on the steps, I had to say sorry.

The most ridiculous part? My constant compromise had earned me nothing but the title of being petty.