Left at the Altar, Stolen by the Enemy - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

"Wendy, I only did this for Cynthia's sake. Henry is heartless, calculating, and completely blind to her suffering. How could I just stand there and watch her walk into that disaster? Marrying her was just a temporary solution. Once things settle down, I'll end it."
He had his excuse ready.
"Mr. Hill, I have no intention of being the other woman. Get out."
The moment he left me at our engagement party, it was over between us.
Ethan's expression darkened. "Wendy, can you stop thinking only about yourself? Cynthia was worried you'd be devastated, so she asked me to check on you. And this is how you repay her kindness? If you'd just be reasonable, I could still come by on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But Cynthia and I are married now—she should be my priority."
A bitter taste filled my mouth. Eight years of love, reduced to being his dirty little secret.
"Ethan, we're through."
His face twisted in anger. "Wendy, are you seriously throwing away everything we had over a piece of paper? You let me into your bed for eight years without one—why the sudden drama? If it weren't for you begging me not to leave, do you think I'd even bother with you now? At your age, playing these childish games? Pathetic."
My hands trembled with rage.
He had been the one who chased me relentlessly, the one who drunkenly sobbed into my arms, begging me to ease his pain.
Now, after marrying Cynthia and making me the laughingstock of our entire social circle, he had the nerve to call me selfish?
"Ethan, it's over. From now on, you live your life, and I'll live mine. We're done."
Fury flashed in his eyes. He snatched the bag of seashells—our keepsakes—and hurled it to the ground, shattering them into pieces.
"Wendy, who the hell do you think would want you now? Everyone knows you've been mine for eight years. You're used goods. What man would take a washed-up spinster like you?"
The tension was suffocating—until the bathroom door creaked open.
Cynthia stepped out, wrapped in nothing but a towel, barefoot.
My breath caught.
At the engagement party, Ethan had bolted after a single phone call. And for days, I'd been forced to watch their sickeningly sweet posts online.
Now, standing here, I wasn't sure what hurt more—the betrayal, the humiliation, or the sheer audacity.
This house—our house—had been bought together, a symbol of our love. He'd called it our sanctuary, filled with promises of forever.
"Wendy, don't be mad at Ethan. He was just trying to help me. If you're going to blame anyone, blame me. I'm the one who's… in the way."
She reached for my hand.
I jerked back—but before I could even touch her, she let out a gasp and collapsed to the floor.
Ethan moved faster than I could react. His palm cracked against my cheek, sending me sprawling.
Pain exploded through my hand as shattered seashells dug deep into my palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the floor.
"Are you okay, Cynthia?"
He turned on me, his eyes filled with disgust.
"If anything happens to her, I swear I'll make you pay."
Without another glance, he scooped Cynthia into his arms and stormed out, leaving me alone in the wreckage of our past.
I forced myself up, my vision blurring as I took in the room.
Our bed—the sheets crumpled, a torn stocking dangling over the edge, used tissues littering the floor. The air reeked of sweat and something far more nauseating.
I stumbled out, tears burning down my face.
It was all filthy. Even the walls felt tainted.
The shards in my palm were too deep, too many. Gritting my teeth, I hailed a cab to the hospital.