At eighteen, I walked in on my sister Shauna and my fiancé Winfred getting hot and heavy by the piano.Shauna ran off and refused to marry him, so I was forced to take her place. For three years, I played the perfect wife — but he never got over her. When Shauna came back injured, I asked for a divorce. My parents didn't even try to hide their favoritism — they made me stand in the rain all night, tore up my plane ticket, and screamed at me in public for "seducing" my own brother-in-law. Winfred talked about marrying Shauna while telling me "divorce is just a formality." So I left with nothing but scars. Three years later, I came back — as the wife of Carlos Terrell, a genius billionaire researcher. Winfred was drowning in regret, showering me with desperate love declarations. Shauna showed her true colors — she tried to run me over with a car.And Carlos? The man diagnosed with "emotional deficit disorder" proved his love with a room full of paintings and ten years of secret data on his feelings for me. His love was never an act — it was carved into his bones. He saved my life. And he saved my faith in love.
