His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! - Chapter 108: Chapter 108
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Zoe's taunting voice rang in my ears as she dangled a delicate ceramic figurine, twirling it between her fingers like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill.
"No! Give it back!" I lunged forward desperately, reaching for the only thing I truly cared about in this house.
But I was too late.
Zoe suddenly released her grip, letting the ceramic figurine slip from her palm and shatter violently on the ground into scattered pieces. The sound of breaking ceramic was deafening in the quiet yard.
My body instantly froze.
I stared wide-eyed, tears immediately spilling over, burning hot against my cold cheeks.
I sank slowly to my knees beside the shattered ceramic, painstakingly picking up each jagged shard as if I could somehow piece it back together through sheer force of will.
The sharp edges cut into my palms, but I seemed not to feel the pain, clutching these bloodstained fragments tightly. Blood mixed with rain on the grass, turning it a sickly rust color.
I truly couldn't take any more blows.
This ceramic figurine was the last memento I had of Caleb.
When I was forced into the arranged marriage, my parents burned everything we shared to make me give up hope—photos, letters, gifts, even the sweatshirt he'd given me on a chilly fall evening.
Only this I had managed to save—and now it too was gone forever, reduced to sharp-edged fragments that cut as deeply as my grief.
I still vividly remembered how Caleb had stayed up countless nights to make this sculpture, his hands covered in clay, his face focused in concentration. Then he had excitedly brought it to me, his voice full of joy:
"Olivia, I made a ceramic figure based on you and glazed it. Quick, see if it looks like you!"
It had been a cartoonish version of me with exaggerated features—huge eyes, a button nose, and a smile that took up half my face. It wasn't a masterpiece by any stretch, but it had been made with such love that I'd treasured it like fine art.
These memories unleashed a flood of complex emotions—love, loss, rage, and a bone-deep exhaustion with being everyone's punching bag.
Looking at Zoe's smug face, I finally snapped and slapped her across the face with all the strength I could muster. The sound cracked through the air like a whip.
"You're insane!" Marcus came running from the mansion, unhesitatingly pushing me to the ground, roaring with anger. My head hit the concrete path with a dull thud.
"A useless sculpture broke—so what? What gives you the right to hit Zoe? We're already divorced. Your room is now Zoe's dressing room. What's wrong with throwing out this trash?"
I didn't say a word. I just looked at the two of them coldly, as they played off each other like actors in a well-rehearsed drama.
The undisguised hatred in my eyes made Marcus a little uneasy.
It was the first time he had seen such a fierce expression and demeanor on my face. It was as if I had become a completely different person—someone who might actually fight back instead of meekly accepting abuse.
He suddenly felt uncomfortable and, looking at the mess on the ground, said:
"Since you just got out of the hospital, I'll let this go this time."
But I never spoke another word. I just carefully placed the fragments in my pocket and left the mansion without looking back, my spine straight despite the weight on my shoulders.
Watching my thin yet determined silhouette, Marcus felt a strange dissatisfaction gnawing at him.
He angrily kicked the items on the ground, a weird fire of rage and jealousy rising within him.
A man who had been dead for years—what was so special about him? Such a cheap trinket being treated like a treasure—how ridiculous!
"Marcus, why do you keep spacing out?" Zoe shook his arm with displeasure, still rubbing her reddened cheek from my slap.
Marcus snapped back to reality, pushing those inappropriate thoughts aside.
He casually called over two servants, impatiently ordering:
"Clean this up and throw it all away. It's an eyesore."
With that, he irritably returned to the bedroom, locking the door behind him with unnecessary force.
The servants exchanged bewildered glances, confused and muttering among themselves:
"But Mr. Sullivan specifically instructed us not to throw these things away before..."
They looked at each other, shrugged, and began gathering my belongings into trash bags.
The court's judgment finally came out a week later. I got up very early on purpose and even put on makeup, which I hadn't done for a long time.
These years of living without dignity had caused unbearable suffering. Now that freedom was finally coming, my heart felt an unprecedented calm.
I even felt a trace of barely containable joy bubbling up inside me. For the first time in years, I had something to look forward to—a life of my own choosing.
Out of the blue, a message popped up on my phone:
[I've got the divorce decree. Come pick it up yourself.]
I'd chosen the personal delivery option, but I guess Marcus couldn't wait for someone to fetch it from the courthouse. His impatience to be rid of me was almost flattering.
I didn't give it much thought.
After all, this would be my last trip back to that nightmare-haunted place. One final visit, and then I could close this chapter forever.
"No! Give it back!" I lunged forward desperately, reaching for the only thing I truly cared about in this house.
But I was too late.
Zoe suddenly released her grip, letting the ceramic figurine slip from her palm and shatter violently on the ground into scattered pieces. The sound of breaking ceramic was deafening in the quiet yard.
My body instantly froze.
I stared wide-eyed, tears immediately spilling over, burning hot against my cold cheeks.
I sank slowly to my knees beside the shattered ceramic, painstakingly picking up each jagged shard as if I could somehow piece it back together through sheer force of will.
The sharp edges cut into my palms, but I seemed not to feel the pain, clutching these bloodstained fragments tightly. Blood mixed with rain on the grass, turning it a sickly rust color.
I truly couldn't take any more blows.
This ceramic figurine was the last memento I had of Caleb.
When I was forced into the arranged marriage, my parents burned everything we shared to make me give up hope—photos, letters, gifts, even the sweatshirt he'd given me on a chilly fall evening.
Only this I had managed to save—and now it too was gone forever, reduced to sharp-edged fragments that cut as deeply as my grief.
I still vividly remembered how Caleb had stayed up countless nights to make this sculpture, his hands covered in clay, his face focused in concentration. Then he had excitedly brought it to me, his voice full of joy:
"Olivia, I made a ceramic figure based on you and glazed it. Quick, see if it looks like you!"
It had been a cartoonish version of me with exaggerated features—huge eyes, a button nose, and a smile that took up half my face. It wasn't a masterpiece by any stretch, but it had been made with such love that I'd treasured it like fine art.
These memories unleashed a flood of complex emotions—love, loss, rage, and a bone-deep exhaustion with being everyone's punching bag.
Looking at Zoe's smug face, I finally snapped and slapped her across the face with all the strength I could muster. The sound cracked through the air like a whip.
"You're insane!" Marcus came running from the mansion, unhesitatingly pushing me to the ground, roaring with anger. My head hit the concrete path with a dull thud.
"A useless sculpture broke—so what? What gives you the right to hit Zoe? We're already divorced. Your room is now Zoe's dressing room. What's wrong with throwing out this trash?"
I didn't say a word. I just looked at the two of them coldly, as they played off each other like actors in a well-rehearsed drama.
The undisguised hatred in my eyes made Marcus a little uneasy.
It was the first time he had seen such a fierce expression and demeanor on my face. It was as if I had become a completely different person—someone who might actually fight back instead of meekly accepting abuse.
He suddenly felt uncomfortable and, looking at the mess on the ground, said:
"Since you just got out of the hospital, I'll let this go this time."
But I never spoke another word. I just carefully placed the fragments in my pocket and left the mansion without looking back, my spine straight despite the weight on my shoulders.
Watching my thin yet determined silhouette, Marcus felt a strange dissatisfaction gnawing at him.
He angrily kicked the items on the ground, a weird fire of rage and jealousy rising within him.
A man who had been dead for years—what was so special about him? Such a cheap trinket being treated like a treasure—how ridiculous!
"Marcus, why do you keep spacing out?" Zoe shook his arm with displeasure, still rubbing her reddened cheek from my slap.
Marcus snapped back to reality, pushing those inappropriate thoughts aside.
He casually called over two servants, impatiently ordering:
"Clean this up and throw it all away. It's an eyesore."
With that, he irritably returned to the bedroom, locking the door behind him with unnecessary force.
The servants exchanged bewildered glances, confused and muttering among themselves:
"But Mr. Sullivan specifically instructed us not to throw these things away before..."
They looked at each other, shrugged, and began gathering my belongings into trash bags.
The court's judgment finally came out a week later. I got up very early on purpose and even put on makeup, which I hadn't done for a long time.
These years of living without dignity had caused unbearable suffering. Now that freedom was finally coming, my heart felt an unprecedented calm.
I even felt a trace of barely containable joy bubbling up inside me. For the first time in years, I had something to look forward to—a life of my own choosing.
Out of the blue, a message popped up on my phone:
[I've got the divorce decree. Come pick it up yourself.]
I'd chosen the personal delivery option, but I guess Marcus couldn't wait for someone to fetch it from the courthouse. His impatience to be rid of me was almost flattering.
I didn't give it much thought.
After all, this would be my last trip back to that nightmare-haunted place. One final visit, and then I could close this chapter forever.
End of His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! Chapter 108. Continue reading Chapter 109 or return to His "True Love" Was Fake... So Was My Corpse, Sucker! book page.