"Who is it Beck?" His voice stirred sothing in .
Three years, eight months, eleven days. I waited for him, and now, finally when I was able to see him, not a word ca out of .
"A weirdo, I guess." The woman in front of stated with disdain as her eyes road from my head to toe.
"She seems like a fan or sothing." She continued as her gaze fell on the cake and bouquet of red roses.
The clicking of the door echoed through the lobby as the sound of footsteps started to close the distance between us. His figure started to get clearer with every passing second.
My eyes couldn’t help but find the differences from the last ti I saw him in real.
He grew a beard and a moustache probably for the role he was curretly doing. His hair was wet from the fresh shower. So drops dripping over his forehead.
For once, I felt my heart beating similarly when I first saw him.
The anger and betrayal which was searing underneath started to slowly cool down when his ice cold voice pierced through the silence.
"You?" His one eyebrow arched as he was not very pleased to see . In that mont, I shivered under his hollow yet piercing gaze.
I felt conscious of myself as I caressed my arms, trying not to look at him.
"I... just ca.." while I tried not to stutter, I kept fidgeting my fingers, "You know...I just ca to check on you." My voice turned lower to a re whisper as I completed my sentence.
"Check on him? Like, you guys know each other?" The woman’s amused voice filled the lobby as she kept bouncing her focus between him and .
When none of us spoke, she again opened her mouth to say sothing.
"You.." she was stopped mid-sentence when Daive pushed her into the room, as he locked the door behind him.
The force made a loud bang, making almost gasp, but it did not affect him a bit.
As he turned to face , his expression turned cold. I could sense the tension radiating off him. He clenched his jaws like always whenever he tries to control his emotions.
He gripped my arm as he asked the question while almost dragging to a dark corner.
"What are you doing here?" His question felt like a slap, and it stung pretty hard. What did he an by what was I doing here? The audacity he has when I was the one who caught him with a woman.
The thought hit like a realization, as my eyes stung, making my vision blurry. I jerked my hand off his grip and took a step back. My breaths were heavy and almost at the verge of crying hysterically.
I folded my hands as I gritted out, pouring every single last drop of pain and anger, "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you this question?"
He already seed shocked by my sudden act of pulling myself when he arched his brow at my question. He tried to take a step ahead when I held my palm, "Stop right there."
My voice was low but serious enough to retreat back.
He, too, folded his hands, showing off his muscled and veiny arms. He was a few inches taller than I would have been, covered with high heels, but his build made him almost scary.
If it were any other day, I would have eked out, but not today. I took a deep breath, trying not to make a scene.
When I opened my eyes, his cold expressions welcod , but I did not waver.
Instead, I ca straight to the point, "Who was that woman? And why were you two..."
I could not make myself say those words, so instead I used the modest terms. "In the sa room?"
"Becka is the female lead of my film. A woman got a viral fever, so she had to take the whole room up, and Becka had to adjust with ." His voice was monotone as if he were reading a script.
I could not help but scoff at his statent, "Is this your excuse? Really?" I stopped for a mont, waiting for his reply. The least he could feel guilty, but the sky would fall if he did that.
Instead, this arrogant, cruel husband of mine stared at like he did nothing wrong. A pure victim act, but I would not fall for it. If he were an eight-year-old award-winning actor, I would be his wife.
I tried to remain calm, trying not to give the reaction he was expecting. All the mories started to play like a film.
From the ti when we first t at his grandparents’ house to this mont. Every single mont we shared, or that’s what I thought, started to show the truth.
All the ti when he avoided , left after our wedding, and not even once tried to contact .
Everything started to point to one conclusion. He does not love or even like . Since the day our marriage was arranged, I ignored his signals of no interest.
I always excused him and his actions, but today. From now on, I will never let him or anyone stomp on my self-respect ever again. As I concluded it, my mind went at peace. I looked down at my ring.
The heirloom of his family. A ring that has an ornate vintage design with a large central diamond flanked by smaller stones. It was passed down from his great-grandmother, who rebelled against her family to marry his great-grandfather.
It had a legacy which I cannot take down to the next generation. My heart sank as I pulled that ring from my finger. I took a final look at it as I internally apologized to it for not continuing this thing.
I inhaled a deep breath and let my gaze settle on the man standing in front of . His gaze was still scrutinizing my every move. I took his hand in mine and gave the ring.
"I don’t think I can continue this."
I almost cracked through but I controlled my voice as I continued, " You deserve soone better than ."
"What do you an?"
"I...Divorce. I need a divorce." I finally announced.
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