Chapter 2

Five minutes passed before the two separated, with a smudge of sweat on their lips.

The air froze the moment I pushed the door open and came in.

Vanessa shrugged and said to Ethan in a sarcastic tone:

"Ethan, your jealous wife is back. Aren't you going to go and appease her? Don't make it seem like we've really done something to wrong her."

Ethan pulled me into the living room and asked in a low voice:

"Claire, why did you come back without waiting for me to pick you up?"

"Marriage is a big deal, and my buddies just wanted me to have fun. They were worried that you might be shy and reserved, and that you might accidentally upset them, so Vanessa played those games for you. There was no other reason."

I looked at his face, which showed absolutely no sign of guilt:

"You send me away on our wedding night, the bride, and then have him French kissing and giving other women hickeys in the bridal suite. You call that playing games?"

"Ethan, do you think I'm an idiot?"

Before he could speak, Vanessa had already changed her clothes and came out.

He handed me a red silk slip dress:

"Here you go. Ethan and I were just playing a game of taking off our clothes. He almost stripped me naked, and I didn't bring any pajamas, so I borrowed these to wear."

That was something I carefully chose for my wedding night.

Unfortunately, the romantic tenderness I imagined didn't materialize; instead, I felt utterly disgusted.

I threw the nightgown directly into the trash can.

Vanessa's expression darkened slightly:

"Mrs. Shaw, what do you mean?"

I spoke sarcastically:

"Ethan's parents died long ago. Who are you, some wandering ghost, to presume to impersonate his family?"

"My meaning is very clear. Of course, I think you're dirty, the mistress. Get out of my house right now."

Anger flashed in Vanessa's eyes, then she sneered:

"Ethan, since your fiancée doesn't welcome me, let's go somewhere else."

"Go with your best friend or stay with your fiancée, it's your choice. But I'm telling you this: if you choose her, we're done contacting each other."

She led the rest of the group and left first.

Ethan irritably ran his fingers through his hair:

"Claire, everyone came here so kindly for the wedding after-party, and you had to get jealous and make a scene, embarrassing everyone?!"

“Vanessa and I grew up together, and in my eyes she’s like a boy. We really are just best friends, otherwise you wouldn’t be the bride today.”

I'm fed up with him always using the so-called "best friend" as an excuse.

She slapped him across the face.

"Then you can get out with her!"

Ethan's special ringtone kept ringing, as if urging him on.

For five years, only Vanessa's number has been set as his special ringtone.

I've asked him why before, and he always says it doesn't matter:

"Sigh, I spoiled that girl when she was little. If I miss her call, she'll probably make a huge fuss."

But I often can't get in touch with him.

Sure enough, Ethan replied to a few messages first, and then looked at me.

He puffed out his cheeks, and with a cold laugh, uttered:

“Vanessa is right, you’re just a spoilsport, no wonder even your best friend is annoyed with you.”

Ethan grabbed his coat and left without looking back.

Not wanting to go back to the disgusting master bedroom, I curled up on the sofa and shed bitter tears.

I had thought my best friend Chloe had really cut her wrists, so I rushed out to find her in the rain, forgetting to bring an umbrella.

I probably caught a chill and developed a high fever late at night, so much so that I didn't even have the strength to get up.

I forced myself to take my temperature, and it was 39.5 degrees Celsius.

But they hadn't had time to buy fever reducers for the wedding room.

I called Ethan.

I called more than a dozen times, but no one answered.