His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! - Chapter 102: Chapter 102
You are reading His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker!, Chapter 102: Chapter 102. Read more chapters of His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker!.
When I arrived at the lounge, the private room was bathed in the warm glow of mood lighting, slow love songs playing softly in the background. The kind of atmosphere designed for romance—or at least its close counterfeit.
Zoe wore a smug smile as she nestled against Marcus's chest, her fingers intertwined with his as they shared a single glass of wine. The picture of intimacy, carefully arranged for maximum effect.
"Since you have nothing better to do, join everyone for drinks," Marcus commanded, leaving no room for refusal. His tone made it clear—this wasn't an invitation but another power play.
The table was loaded with vodka and whiskey—strong liquors with a harsh smell that assaulted my senses. My stomach clenched in anticipation of what was coming.
My face turned pale as I instinctively shook my head.
My stomach had always been sensitive; cold foods and alcohol made me painfully ill. Marcus knew this—he'd seen me hospitalized twice after being pressured to drink at business functions.
"If you can't even manage this simple request, I'll withdraw my funding. You can watch your company collapse," Marcus said casually, sipping his drink without looking at me. The threat hung in the air, impossible to ignore.
"I'll drink..." I clenched my fists under the table and poured myself a large glass, struggling to swallow it down. The liquid burned a fiery path down my throat.
"Keep going," Marcus ordered coldly, his eyes finally meeting mine, issuing a challenge.
Glass after glass was pushed into my hands by his friends, their eyes glittering with malice barely disguised as camaraderie.
I had no choice but to keep drinking, mechanically lifting each glass and pouring the clear liquid down my throat, fighting against my body's desperate attempts to reject it.
Eventually, my entire body began to shake uncontrollably. The burning alcohol slid down my throat and ignited in my stomach, spreading searing pain throughout my body. Each breath became a struggle.
Marcus's friends surrounded me, their gazes malicious as they taunted:
"Look at this so-called 'mighty' Olivia. Ha! Now she's just a pathetic, bedraggled little stray. You thought you were high and mighty, but look at you now! You need our Marcus to keep you afloat now that you're broke, don't you? Pathetic."
After watching the spectacle for a while, Zoe joined in with her passive-aggressive comments: "Don't go easy on that poor excuse of an Olivia. Seriously, she used to look down on us like we were dirt!"
This comment stoked the flames of the group's anger. Their voices turned venomous as they sneered,
"This stuck-up witch! Let's see if she can still act all high-and-mighty now!"
I could barely hear them anymore, their voices fading in and out like a badly tuned radio.
The pain had made me nearly delirious. My clothes were soaked through with cold sweat, as if I'd been pulled from water. Every nerve ending in my body screamed in protest.
I collapsed into the corner of the sofa, breathing rapidly and shallowly, the room spinning around me in a nauseating carousel.
Suddenly, a cold hand slipped behind my back, moving like a slimy water snake, caressing my slender waist and occasionally squeezing. The touch sent revulsion cascading through me.
The next moment, this hand slipped under my clothes, exploring deeper.
"STOP!" I used all my strength to push away the greasy man beside me and stood up, my face contorted with pain. The sudden movement made the room tilt dangerously.
I looked at Marcus's cold expression, tears brimming in my eyes, desperation in my voice:
"I've finished all these drinks. Can I go now?" Each word was a struggle to form.
There was an imperceptible stiffness in his tone as he snapped, "Get out of here right now. Don't ruin our mood!"
I struggled to maintain consciousness as I stumbled out the door, bracing myself against the wall with each step.
As I leaned against the wall, about to call a taxi, I heard bursts of laughter from the private room, accompanied by various insults.
"Letting her go so easily feels unsatisfying. Seeing her like that, she should be licking the bottoms of my shoes, haha!"
After hearing these humiliating words, I discovered I could still maintain absolute indifference. Three years of marriage to Marcus had effectively cauterized my capacity for certain emotions.
I seemed to have completely lost my former self. My emotions and feelings had seemingly been exhausted in my marriage to Marcus, leaving behind only an empty shell going through the motions of living.
Back at the mansion, I couldn't bear the overwhelming pain and discomfort any longer. My stomach felt like it was being shredded from the inside out.
I rushed straight to the bathroom and violently vomited into the toilet, heaving until there was nothing left to expel.
Eventually, my throat burned with the taste of blood, and thin streaks of red trickled from the corners of my mouth. My body had nothing left to give.
I collapsed on the floor, looking at my pale, haggard reflection in the full-length mirror, my eyes bloodshot. Tears fell involuntarily, carving paths down my cheeks.
I remembered college days when Caleb and I attended parties together. Whenever someone approached with drinks, he would intervene, smiling warmly and saying:
"Olivia is allergic to alcohol. I'll drink her share—double portions okay?" He'd wink at me conspiratorially, his hand always finding the small of my back in a gesture of protection.
Everyone would laugh and tease, their voices tinged with envy:
"Caleb, you spoil Olivia too much!"
In the end, I would always find hot milk or freshly squeezed juice beside me instead, Caleb's quiet way of saying he saw me, he knew me, he cared.
Tears soaked into my collar, the fabric growing heavy with moisture.
Every time these memories surfaced, my heart would constrict almost to the point of suffocation. The contrast between then and now was too sharp, too painful to contemplate.
Everything had been so carefree then. With Caleb by my side, I never had to drink a drop of alcohol. I would never suffer such senseless humiliation.
But now, no one would stand up for me or protect me without hesitation. My Caleb was gone, and it's me who should be responsible for his death.
I finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching my stomach in agony. The sound echoed off the bathroom tiles, a symphony of grief with no audience.
Eventually, the physical pain numbed, and my tears ran dry. I lay exhausted on the bed and passed into unconsciousness.
Even in this state of collapse, I curled into the corner of the bed, unconsciously trembling, devoid of any sense of security. A child hiding from monsters that had already found her.
Suddenly, the bedroom door opened with a soft click that somehow sounded like thunder in the quiet house.
Zoe wore a smug smile as she nestled against Marcus's chest, her fingers intertwined with his as they shared a single glass of wine. The picture of intimacy, carefully arranged for maximum effect.
"Since you have nothing better to do, join everyone for drinks," Marcus commanded, leaving no room for refusal. His tone made it clear—this wasn't an invitation but another power play.
The table was loaded with vodka and whiskey—strong liquors with a harsh smell that assaulted my senses. My stomach clenched in anticipation of what was coming.
My face turned pale as I instinctively shook my head.
My stomach had always been sensitive; cold foods and alcohol made me painfully ill. Marcus knew this—he'd seen me hospitalized twice after being pressured to drink at business functions.
"If you can't even manage this simple request, I'll withdraw my funding. You can watch your company collapse," Marcus said casually, sipping his drink without looking at me. The threat hung in the air, impossible to ignore.
"I'll drink..." I clenched my fists under the table and poured myself a large glass, struggling to swallow it down. The liquid burned a fiery path down my throat.
"Keep going," Marcus ordered coldly, his eyes finally meeting mine, issuing a challenge.
Glass after glass was pushed into my hands by his friends, their eyes glittering with malice barely disguised as camaraderie.
I had no choice but to keep drinking, mechanically lifting each glass and pouring the clear liquid down my throat, fighting against my body's desperate attempts to reject it.
Eventually, my entire body began to shake uncontrollably. The burning alcohol slid down my throat and ignited in my stomach, spreading searing pain throughout my body. Each breath became a struggle.
Marcus's friends surrounded me, their gazes malicious as they taunted:
"Look at this so-called 'mighty' Olivia. Ha! Now she's just a pathetic, bedraggled little stray. You thought you were high and mighty, but look at you now! You need our Marcus to keep you afloat now that you're broke, don't you? Pathetic."
After watching the spectacle for a while, Zoe joined in with her passive-aggressive comments: "Don't go easy on that poor excuse of an Olivia. Seriously, she used to look down on us like we were dirt!"
This comment stoked the flames of the group's anger. Their voices turned venomous as they sneered,
"This stuck-up witch! Let's see if she can still act all high-and-mighty now!"
I could barely hear them anymore, their voices fading in and out like a badly tuned radio.
The pain had made me nearly delirious. My clothes were soaked through with cold sweat, as if I'd been pulled from water. Every nerve ending in my body screamed in protest.
I collapsed into the corner of the sofa, breathing rapidly and shallowly, the room spinning around me in a nauseating carousel.
Suddenly, a cold hand slipped behind my back, moving like a slimy water snake, caressing my slender waist and occasionally squeezing. The touch sent revulsion cascading through me.
The next moment, this hand slipped under my clothes, exploring deeper.
"STOP!" I used all my strength to push away the greasy man beside me and stood up, my face contorted with pain. The sudden movement made the room tilt dangerously.
I looked at Marcus's cold expression, tears brimming in my eyes, desperation in my voice:
"I've finished all these drinks. Can I go now?" Each word was a struggle to form.
There was an imperceptible stiffness in his tone as he snapped, "Get out of here right now. Don't ruin our mood!"
I struggled to maintain consciousness as I stumbled out the door, bracing myself against the wall with each step.
As I leaned against the wall, about to call a taxi, I heard bursts of laughter from the private room, accompanied by various insults.
"Letting her go so easily feels unsatisfying. Seeing her like that, she should be licking the bottoms of my shoes, haha!"
After hearing these humiliating words, I discovered I could still maintain absolute indifference. Three years of marriage to Marcus had effectively cauterized my capacity for certain emotions.
I seemed to have completely lost my former self. My emotions and feelings had seemingly been exhausted in my marriage to Marcus, leaving behind only an empty shell going through the motions of living.
Back at the mansion, I couldn't bear the overwhelming pain and discomfort any longer. My stomach felt like it was being shredded from the inside out.
I rushed straight to the bathroom and violently vomited into the toilet, heaving until there was nothing left to expel.
Eventually, my throat burned with the taste of blood, and thin streaks of red trickled from the corners of my mouth. My body had nothing left to give.
I collapsed on the floor, looking at my pale, haggard reflection in the full-length mirror, my eyes bloodshot. Tears fell involuntarily, carving paths down my cheeks.
I remembered college days when Caleb and I attended parties together. Whenever someone approached with drinks, he would intervene, smiling warmly and saying:
"Olivia is allergic to alcohol. I'll drink her share—double portions okay?" He'd wink at me conspiratorially, his hand always finding the small of my back in a gesture of protection.
Everyone would laugh and tease, their voices tinged with envy:
"Caleb, you spoil Olivia too much!"
In the end, I would always find hot milk or freshly squeezed juice beside me instead, Caleb's quiet way of saying he saw me, he knew me, he cared.
Tears soaked into my collar, the fabric growing heavy with moisture.
Every time these memories surfaced, my heart would constrict almost to the point of suffocation. The contrast between then and now was too sharp, too painful to contemplate.
Everything had been so carefree then. With Caleb by my side, I never had to drink a drop of alcohol. I would never suffer such senseless humiliation.
But now, no one would stand up for me or protect me without hesitation. My Caleb was gone, and it's me who should be responsible for his death.
I finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching my stomach in agony. The sound echoed off the bathroom tiles, a symphony of grief with no audience.
Eventually, the physical pain numbed, and my tears ran dry. I lay exhausted on the bed and passed into unconsciousness.
Even in this state of collapse, I curled into the corner of the bed, unconsciously trembling, devoid of any sense of security. A child hiding from monsters that had already found her.
Suddenly, the bedroom door opened with a soft click that somehow sounded like thunder in the quiet house.
End of His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! Chapter 102. Continue reading Chapter 103 or return to His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! book page.