Five Years as My Wife's Lapdog

Cyrus' POV

Everyone knew that the person Marissa Caldwell loved most was Damian Davenhurst. The two had grown up together, sharing the same interests, the same dreams, and the kind of connection that made everyone around them assume they were destined to be together.

And then there was me, Cyrus Halden. I was a poor kid who had been raised with financial support from the Caldwell family. To them, I was nothing more than a charity case who owed them everything.

I was fiercely loyal to the Caldwells, and I had been hopelessly in love with Marissa for as long as I could remember. So, when Marissa's mother, Elena Bennett, ordered her to marry me, I never questioned it.

By then, the Davenhurst family had gone bankrupt, and Damian had been exposed as an illegitimate child. Elena had come to despise him because of it, so in her eyes, I was the obvious choice. I was loyal to the Caldwell family, I loved her daughter, and I could help Marissa protect the family's interests.

But to everyone else, it looked like I'd taken advantage of Damian's downfall and stolen the woman he loved. I became the villain who had driven a wedge between Marissa and Damian, and everyone hated me for it.

Marissa may have married me, but she never once treated me like her husband. On the very first day of our marriage, she looked at me with cold contempt and said, "Cyrus, if you're shameless enough to throw yourself at me, then understand this: I will never love you."

Five years passed, and the rumors about Marissa's love life never stopped. One day, she'd be openly flirting with some handsome young employee at the company. Next, she'd be taking a cruise with some male model built like a damn tank.

She seemed to take pleasure in humiliating me, stripping away whatever dignity I had left and grinding it beneath her heel. And no matter how much it hurt, I stayed by her side, still foolish enough to believe that being her husband might someday mean something to her.

…

I found Marissa while she was partying with her friends aboard a private yacht. The sea breeze was cool against my skin, carrying the salty scent of the ocean mixed with the faint aroma of red wine.

Marissa was sprawled lazily across a couch, one hand resting against her forehead, her eyes half-closed as she soaked in the afternoon sun. A freshly lit cigarette dangled between the fingers of her other hand.

As I approached, I caught the sound of her friends talking about me.

"Marissa, you've really got it made. Even after getting married, you don't have to play the part of some dutiful wife. You can still eat, drink, and have fun whenever you want."

"Ha! You're kidding. Cyrus isn't even worthy of being Marissa's husband. He's nothing more than a dog the Caldwell family raised."

"Exactly. He's basically Marissa's personal lapdog. She calls, he comes running. She tells him to leave, and he disappears."

I instinctively looked toward Marissa, waiting for her to say something. But she only smiled, completely carefree, without so much as a flicker of anger.

A dull ache spread through my chest and climbed into my throat. I pressed my lips together, forcing down the bitterness before letting out a faint, self-mocking smile.

I knew Marissa's temper better than anyone. She was fiery by nature and fiercely protective of the people she cared about. Damian had been born prematurely and had always been in poor health, so she couldn't stand anyone speaking badly about him.

Once, she overheard someone calling him a sickly weakling behind his back. Without a second thought, she kicked the person straight into the river.

Then she pointed at him and coldly warned, "If I ever hear you talking about Damian behind his back again, I'll kick you into that river every single time."

That was Marissa. If she cared about someone, she would defend them without hesitation.

But I had never been one of those people. If anything, her silence was as good as permission for her friends to humiliate me. She sat there and let them tear apart what little dignity I had left, without ever once telling them to stop.

I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. After a moment, I slowly forced my fingers to relax.

I took a deep breath, swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat, and walked over to Marissa.

When she saw me, she casually flicked the ash from her cigarette and glanced up at me.

"What are you doing here?"