Chapter 7 The Marriage That Never Was

When Darren saw her smile, the darkness clouding his face instantly lifted. "Jeanne, don't worry. You're the only one I love. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly that day. Whatever you want, just tell me—I'll do it. Just… don't stay mad at me anymore, okay?" He leaned closer, his voice soft and pleading, like he might cry.

In the past, Jeanne would've melted at that tone, her anger dissolving under his coaxing. But now, the man before her felt like a stranger. Inside, she was still—cold and still, like ice sealed over deep water.

Jeanne looked at the desperation in his eyes and curved her lips faintly. "Alright. Have Alyssa marry someone else then."

The smile froze on Darren's face. His mouth twitched for a long time before he forced a strained grin. "Jeanne, don't joke like that." He reached out to touch her face, but she turned her head away. "She's my sister. You're really jealous of that? Pick another request, please. Anything else—you name it, and I'll do it."

Jeanne's smile widened. She knew it—whenever Alyssa was involved, all his promises turned to ash. They looked strong on the surface, but one touch and they fell apart. "I was joking," she replied coolly, the smile fading. "Do whatever you want. You don't need to tell me about it."

Seeing that she was no longer clinging to the topic, Darren sighed in relief. His usual easy grin returned as he patted her head. "I knew you'd understand. I'll go take care of a few things—get some rest, alright?"

As soon as his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, the last trace of expression drained from Jeanne's face. So that was why he had stayed by her side these past few days—why he'd been so attentive and gentle. It wasn't guilt. It wasn't love. He had only been afraid she'd cause trouble before he could clear the way for Alyssa.

A hollow laugh slipped past her lips. She reached under the pillow, pulled out her phone, and called her good friend. "Amber, did you finish drafting my divorce papers?"

Silence filled the line—long enough that Jeanne thought the signal had dropped—before Amber's strained voice came through. "Jeanne… you and Darren were never married. The marriage certificate you sent me—it's fake."

Jeanne froze. A faint ringing filled her ears. Her fingers tightened around the phone, trembling. "What… did you just say?"

"It's true," Amber answered softly, cautious, almost apologetic. "I asked someone to check. You're listed as single. Darren's divorced. His ex-wife is Alyssa—they finalized it two months ago. The seal on your marriage certificate was forged. The document was… a replica, the kind sold in cheap stationery shops. You and Darren were never legally married." Amber's voice broke on the last few words.

Jeanne went numb. That wedding—so grand that the whole city had envied her—had been nothing but a lie from the very start.

Her hands shook as she opened the screenshot Amber sent. The pale glow from the screen lit her equally pale face. Line after line of cold text pierced her eyes like poisoned needles, each one stabbing deeper until they blurred with pain.

Her heart, shattered so many times before, had only just been patched together—and now, with one blow, it was pulverized to dust. She realized, with sick horror, that she had been a mistress for ten years.

Ten whole years.

From 17 to 27—the brightest years of her life, all wasted on a man who had never truly made her his. How ridiculous.

The searing pain in her legs mixed with the suffocating weight in her chest until she couldn't hold herself together any longer. The hospital room filled with her sobs—raw, broken, tearing at the air until even the people in the next bed wiped their eyes.

…

At last, she dragged herself out of bed, fury burning through her tears. Grabbing the crutch beside her, she hobbled toward Darren's office, every step heavier than the last.

When Darren saw her at the door, his face lit up in surprise. Then, noticing her trembling leg and ghostly pallor, he frowned and rushed toward her, concern softening his voice. "Jeanne, what are you doing up? Doesn't your leg hurt?"

He reached out to steady her, but she slapped his hand away and thrust the phone toward him. Her eyes were glassy, full of grief. "Darren Walsh, I regret ever meeting you."

The words made him flinch. However, when he glanced at the phone screen, all the color drained from his face. He snatched it up, scrolling rapidly through the messages. His expression darkened with every swipe until he stopped on the chat where Jeanne had told Amber she wanted a divorce.

"You want a divorce?" His head jerked up, the panic in his eyes twisting into something darker. "You're leaving me?"

Jeanne's tears fell, streaking her cheeks with anger. "Yes! You terrify me, Darren. I want nothing to do with you ever again!"

She snatched her phone back and, with shaking fingers, dialed Theo's number. But before the call could connect, Darren seized the phone and smashed it to the ground. The sharp crack of breaking glass split the air.

Jeanne looked up, stunned, meeting Darren's bloodshot eyes. The tenderness that once lived there was gone, replaced by something wild and possessive. His voice was cold and feral. "You're not leaving me."

A shudder ran through her body, but she still turned to go. She managed only two steps before a sharp sting pierced the back of her neck. Her vision went dark—and everything vanished.