Yesterday, she kissed my lips, vowing solemnly, "Kristian, starting tomorrow, I’ll be your Mrs. Hamilton. Please take care of me for the rest of our lives! I promise, I’ll never let you suffer a single grievance."
The Celine in my memories was nothing like the cruel, violent, and unfaithful woman I saw today.
I curled up in the darkness, my body cold, my consciousness sinking into an abyss.
If this is love, then I would rather have never met her.
The squeaking of rats jolted me awake, cold sweat dripping down my body.
When they saw me stir, they cautiously backed away, but didn’t flee, as if they knew I was too weak to even shoo them away.
The iron door creaked open, and a burly man tossed a bowl of spoiled food into the room.
"Eat. Don’t starve to death. Ms. Alba said you still have to pay off your debt."
I let out a hoarse, desperate whimper, shaking my head with all my might.
I didn’t gamble!
I didn’t owe anyone anything!
The man furrowed his brow impatiently:
"Trying to play some trick again?"
I shakily extended my mangled fingers, dipping them into the water stains on the ground. With great effort, I scrawled an uneven message on the cement floor.
[I am Celine Alba’s husband.]