Nine Choices, One Final Goodbye

My arranged marriage had a cruel condition. My husband, Rico, had to pass nine "loyalty tests" designed by his childhood obsession, Sofia. Nine times, he had to choose her over me, his wife.

On our anniversary, he made his final choice, leaving me sick and bleeding on the side of a highway in a storm.

He raced to her side simply because she called, claiming to be scared of the thunder. He’d done this before—abandoning my gallery opening for her nightmare, my grandmother’s funeral for her conveniently broken-down car. My entire life was a footnote in their story, a role Sofia later admitted she had hand-picked for me.

After four years of being a consolation prize, my heart was a block of ice. There was no more warmth left to give, no more hope left to crush. I was finally done.

So when Sofia summoned me to my own art gallery for a final act of humiliation, I was ready. I calmly watched as my husband, desperate to please her, signed the document she slid in front of him without a glance. He thought he was signing an investment. He had no idea it was the divorce agreement I’d slipped into the folder an hour before.

Chapter 1

Alessia POV:

On the night of our anniversary, my husband left me bleeding on the side of a highway for her. It was the ninth time he’d chosen her. It would be the last.

The rain was a solid wall against the windshield, the wipers fighting a losing battle. A sharp cramp twisted in my gut, making me press a hand against my stomach.

Beside me, Rico gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He hadn’t said a word since we’d left the restaurant, but the tension radiating from him was a physical thing, filling the small space of the car until I could barely breathe.

Then his phone lit up the dark car, the screen casting a pale, sickly light on his face.

Sofia.

His whole body went rigid. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He snatched the phone from the console, his thumb swiping to answer before the first ring finished.

“Fia?” His voice was low, urgent. All the coldness he’d shown me for the last hour was gone, replaced by a thick, syrupy concern that made my stomach clench again, harder this time.

Her voice came through the speaker, a high, panicked whine. “Ric, I’m scared. The thunder… it’s so loud. I can’t sleep.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m on my way.” He didn’t even hesitate. The words were automatic, a promise he’d made and kept a thousand times before.

A promise he never made to me.

He slammed on the brakes, the car skidding on the wet asphalt with a terrifying screech. We jerked to a stop on the shoulder of the empty highway, the red taillights of a passing truck bleeding through the rain-streaked windows.

“Get a cab, Ally,” he said, not looking at me. His eyes were already searching the dark road, calculating the fastest route to her.

“Rico, my stomach…” I started, the pain making my voice thin. “I don’t feel well.”

He finally turned to me, his expression impatient, annoyed. He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and shoved it into my hand. “Here. That’s more than enough. You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He gunned the engine, pulling a sharp U-turn that threw me against the passenger door.

And then he was gone, his headlights disappearing into the storm, racing towards her.

I was left alone in the roaring dark, the crumpled bills in my hand feeling like trash. The pain in my stomach was nothing compared to the cold, hollow ache in my chest.

This was the ninth time. The ninth goodbye.

It was a sick game Sofia had invented when she’d orchestrated our arranged marriage. She told Rico she needed to know his loyalty was still hers. So, she came up with nine tests. Nine moments where he would have to choose between his wife and her. Only after he proved his unwavering devotion nine times would she "set him free" to be a real husband to me.

I was a fool. A naive, hopeful idiot who actually believed him when he said he just had to get through this. That once it was over, our life would begin.

Our life was never going to begin.

This was it. The end.

I stumbled out of the car, the rain instantly soaking my hair and the thin fabric of my dress. Leaning against the cold metal, I vomited onto the gravel, the cramps finally winning. Each heave was a gut-wrenching sob for the four years I had wasted waiting for a man who would never be mine.

It was a lie. All of it. Our marriage, our home, the life I thought we were building. It was a holding pattern, a comfortable place for him to wait until Sofia decided she wanted him back.

And I realized, with a clarity that cut through the pain, that Sofia had arranged it all. My entire life was a footnote in her story with Rico. Our marriage was just a placeholder.

I thought of all the other goodbyes. The night of my first big gallery opening, when Sofia called saying she’d had a nightmare. He left. The funeral for my grandmother, when Sofia’s car conveniently broke down an hour away. He left. The time I had a fever so high I was delirious. He left, because Sofia needed help picking out a birthday gift for her mother.

My heart felt like a block of ice in my chest. There was no more warmth left to give. No more hope to crush. It was just… empty.

I had known this day would come. I had prepared for it.

In my art gallery, nestled among the investment portfolios for a new wing, was a single manila folder. It contained a proposal Sofia wanted Rico to sign, a way to tie their finances together through a "legitimate facade" of art acquisition. She was so arrogant, so sure of her control over him, that she hadn't even read the other documents in the folder.

But I had. And I had added one of my own.

A divorce agreement.

I saw her text flash on my phone an hour later, a summons. *Meet us at the gallery. Rico has a surprise for you.*

I knew what it was. She was going to make him sign the investment papers in front of me. The final act of humiliation.

Fine. Let her have her show.

When I walked in, Sofia was draped over a chair, looking like a tragic queen. Rico stood beside her, his expression a mixture of guilt and annoyance.

"Ally," Sofia said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I'm so sorry. I told him he should have stayed with you, but he insisted on coming to me."

Rico shoved the folder across the table toward me. "Sofia thinks investing in your gallery is a good way to make it up to you." He wouldn't meet my eyes. He just pointed to the last page. "Sign here."

He didn't even look at what he was signing. He just scrawled his name on the line I had marked with a small, neat 'X'.

Sofia smiled, a triumphant, venomous curve of her lips. She picked up the signed document, waving it slightly. "There. All done. You're free, Rico."

But her eyes were on me. The victory in them was sharp and cruel.

My own heart was a silent, dead thing in my chest. I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Congratulations, Sofia," I said, my voice even. "You win."

Rico looked confused. "Win what? Ally, what are you talking about?"

I didn't answer him. I took the notarized divorce agreement from the stack, folded it neatly, and placed it in my purse. Then I turned and walked out the door, leaving them both behind in the pristine white gallery that held four years of my soul.