"Let's postpone our wedding." My fiancé's voice hit like a death sentence.
Cold. Distant. Final.
It was nothing like the soft whine from an hour ago, begging to move up our wedding night.
Nothing like the heated man who said the soft swell of my lower belly turned him on.
Nothing like when he worshipped my slick skin with those very same lips of his.
Was he still drunk?
I didn't think so.
I had felt the lingering vodka when our tongues tangled moments after the door clicked shut. But he wasn't that drunk.
My breath hitched.
The sight of his back as he pulled on his shirt sent a sudden, slick moisture to my eyes.
I welled up, just in case. Just in case I'd heard him wrong.
I tried to sit up, clutching the blanket against my naked stupidity.
A sweet, sickening ache throbbed in my lower belly—a raw reminder of how passionately I'd given up my virginity.
"Roman, darling, I must have misheard you. What—"
"You heard me right, Viona. You won't have a wedding the day after tomorrow. The bride has changed."
My throat burned like I had swallowed sand. He cut me off. Didn't even let me voice my confusion.
I half-expected him to turn, flash that playful smile, and say it was all a stupid joke.
That hope died. Useless.
He calmly buckled his belt, turning with an unnerving ease.
His jaw was locked, his face a hard mask. He looked at me with eyes I couldn't read.
Regret? Pity? Pity was more likely.
I figured my lazy-smiled grandma in the photo across the bed would agree: I was pathetic.
"The bride has changed? Don't tell me—"
"Yes. I decided to marry Vivian." He looked down, avoiding my eyes.
The well of tears broke.
Unintentional streams poured out, fueled by the rage that boiled inside the second he said the name of my sister. My twin sister.
"Are you insane? We were done with that! How could you—" The sobs choked the words back down my throat.
"Viona…" His voice softened. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Vivian only has a year left. It's her last wish. She'll be gone soon. Can't you just step aside for one year? Wait for me for a year?"
Step aside? Wait for you?
"What after a year?" I yelped.
"I'll marry you after we send her peacefully. I'll take care of you then."
The image of my sister dying shattered me. But if I refused to yield, would that make me the villain?
"But you were the one who rejected her! You said you couldn't do it! You… you swore you chose me!" I stammered through the sobs.
"I did. And I'm still choosing you. But Vivian is family to both of us. I think we'd both regret it forever if we didn't fulfill her last wish."
"THEN WHY?" I screamed, all restraint gone. "Why… Why tonight? Why did you come and—"
...wreck my happiness like this? I couldn't voice the full agony.
Why was he cruel enough to discard me like this, right after he flew me so high and made me feel like I owned his soul?
Two months ago, my terminally ill twin had come back from overseas treatment and proposed to him as her last wish.
We were born with the same thyroid hormone disorder. But as we grew, hers worsened.
Our family was devastated by the news.
My heart bled for her.
I had almost told him I would give him up.
But he was the one who refused her. He chose me. He said he wouldn't let my sacrifice be for nothing. So why? Why now? Why after—
My fingers dug into the blanket, clutching it tighter, pulling it up to ensure my body was hidden.
I remembered I should be wearing clothes, but they were nowhere in sight.
He noticed, bending to pick up my sleepwear gown from the floor by his feet.
I snatched it roughly, pulled it on, and turned my back to him.
"It's a promise. A promise that I will come back. A promise that you won't leave me. It proves that even if I marry her on paper, my heart is still with you. It's my way to protect you. To protect us."
My eyes snapped. My fists clenched, trembling.
Did he think those words were some ridiculous siren song meant to make me smile like a fool?
"So you want me as your mistress? You want both of us?" I glared, my voice spiking. "And you had to use me first just to mark your territory? What am I to you? An appetizer?"
"Viona…" His usual sweet plea sounded like a death knell.
I stood up, backing away from the bed as he tried to reach for me.
I would rather die than let him touch me.
I felt filthy. Trash. Broken.
The ring of his phone saved him from my next curse. He picked it up.
"Yes, Mother?" His face went stiff. His eyes bulged.
"In our hospital?" He frowned. I could guess why.
"I'll be right there." He hung up, then looked at me with that pleading look.
I turned my head away, choking on my sobs.
I knew that look.
He had given me that same gaze when his doctor residency exhausted him.
Pleading. Coaxing. Needy.
The one who always demanded my presence at the rural hospital for his internship, forcing me to take time off from law school.
Accompanying him. Cooking for him. Serving him with all my heart. For the past three years.
The look that made me incapable of saying no.
But I never cared. It was fine. I loved him. Long before our families arranged the marriage.
He was my first love. My only love since middle school.
Now, how dare he use that look for this? Had all the school stress finally broken his mind?
"Vio—"
"I dare you to walk out that door! Once you cross that threshold, we are over. I will not wait for you." I glared and declared.
"I know you don't mean that. She's your sister, after all. I'm sorry. She needs me now. And you can't live without me, don't you? Let's be honest, who would even touch you if not me? Shouldn't you be grateful for that?" he asserted, his smile thin.
"Grateful? You talk like you did me a favor."
"Am I not? You tasted me before my bride. Isn't that a blessing for you? Don't behave like a victim. I did it because you wanted it. You must be proud because you are the first to claim me."
Yes, I was. Minutes ago, I was proud to finally tie his soul to mine. But did he think I was a puppet with no feelings?
"What did you see of me all this time, Roman?"
"My bride to be that I need to keep, protect, and love. And what we just did is a mark that you will never leave me, my token of love. Even if you wanted to, you cannot. Who would take a sick, used woman? If you intend to leave me, I will tell your parents what happened tonight. Let's see if you can bear their anger more than your shame." He said, like he had rehearsed every word. I barely recognized him. He walked toward the door.
CRASH!
The music box shattered against the door Roman was opening.
I had thrown it without thinking.
My chest heaved with pure fury. A line of blood appeared on his cheek, sliced by the fragments of the wooden box.
He froze in shock, looking at me like I was a monster.
"Are you insane?" He yelled.
"I am sorry. I know I do mean that. You are my ex-fiancé, after all. You think I cannot live without you? I. Don't. Need. You." I bit my trembling lip until I tasted blood.
Still, foolishly, I hoped he would fall to his knees, beg for forgiveness, and tell me he was just confused, or forced by pity for my sister.
Or that someone else made him say those hurtful words.
No, this could not be true. He was not himself.
There had to be something more. He didn't really mean that.
But the door slammed shut. He was gone.