People say I’m trustworthy woman.
And I married the worst kind of man to exist.
A top-tier player.
One year in, he started coming home later and later.
When he looked at me, there was more impatience than warmth.
I once heard him say to someone else—
“A woman that plain? Why would I ever settle down for her?”
I almost laughed in relief.
Good.
Now I finally had a reason to ask for a divorce.<!–more–>
People like me are like that.
Always thinking about everyone else first.
1
It was past midnight.
Logan came home.
Two months gone.
Missed our wedding anniversary.
No warning.
I was half asleep when the mattress dipped and someone rolled me onto my side.
Before my face sank back into the pillow, a sharp scent hit me.
Perfume.
Bold. Loud. Burning.
It fit Logan perfectly.
Except—
this was women’s perfume.
I forced my eyes open and turned my head.
His face hovered above me.
Flawless. No bad angles.
His Adam’s apple shifted slowly.
Muscles cut hard and clean under his skin.
His eyes were dark, heated, like he meant to swallow me whole.
No wonder trashy media had voted him “Most Wanted Man” five years in a row.
Then he really looked at me.
Something flickered.
The heat dimmed.
Still, he didn’t stop.
Every place he touched felt exposed, like a spotlight snapping on.
My skin prickled.
My body wanted out.
I called softly, twice.
“Logan…”
The word came out sticky, sweet.
I hated how practiced it sounded.
I pinched my voice higher.
“You’re back early… I missed you so much.”
“I missed you so bad I didn’t even eat dinner.”
That did it.
He froze.
Then he pulled away, swung his legs off the bed, and reached for the cigarettes on the nightstand.
“Are you a kid?” he said flatly.
“You don’t know how to eat by yourself?”
Relief loosened something in my chest.
I mumbled something about missing him too much.
A ridiculous excuse.
Someone like Logan—
a man who lived knee-deep in temptation—
should’ve seen through it instantly.
But I’d played my role too well.
Three years chasing him.
Watching girlfriends rotate in and out.
Never backing off.
Logan once said I was the longest-lasting simp he’d ever met.
I let my eyes close again.
He went out to the balcony to smoke.
His voice drifted back in through the glass.
“Damn, Logan, you never come out anymore,” someone laughed on the phone.
“What, staying loyal for your wife?”
Logan snorted.
“Her?”
“That plain?”
“Why would I settle down for someone like that?”
He paused, then added casually,
“Honestly, the first time… I almost couldn’t kiss her.”
The guy on the other end burst out laughing.
Logan clicked his tongue.
“Keep it down. It’s late.”
By the time I was drifting off again, he came back inside.
Something small landed on my pillow.
A box.
I cracked one eye open.
Diamond earrings.
Pretty.
If I hadn’t seen the necklace from the same collection—
the one that cost ten times more—
I wouldn’t have known these were just the free add-on.
I didn’t feel angry.
If anything, there was a quiet sense of anticipation rising in my chest.
A year.
After marrying me, Logan had acted like he’d really changed.
Like he’d settled.
But now—
He was almost at his limit.
And so was I.
2
I’m a trustworthy woman.
But I’m also shallow as hell.
I’m painfully average-looking—and I like beautiful men.
The idea of some ugly guy sweating on top of me?
I’d rather die.
So I worked.
Hard.
From the start, I knew the rules of the game.
No looks. No family background.
Guys like Logan weren’t meant for someone like me.
My test scores were decent.
Not enough.
Elite schools everywhere.
Everyone else was disposable.
So I kept going.
Master’s wasn’t enough.
I did a PhD.
I kept my head down.
Said yes to everything.
Smiled when I was supposed to.
That face—plain, obedient—got me into a top research institute.
For a while, I thought that was it.
Then I saw Logan for the first time.
Not even close.
I drank with superiors.
Worked after midnight.
Wrote papers for their kids on weekends.
By my early thirties, I had a title most people twice my age never reached.
That’s when I was finally… qualified.
To chase Logan.
People tried to set me up during that time.
I went.
Every single one.
And every time, I walked away more determined.
After each blind date, I’d go find Logan.
Just to rinse my eyes.
Once, at two in the morning, he needed a driver.
I went without thinking.
He asked me, casually—
“You really like me that much?”
There was a drunk beauty slumped in the passenger seat of his convertible.
Bare shoulder. Glossy lips.
I nodded. Hard.
No hesitation.
I don’t have a thing for ugly men.
“I love you, Logan.”
Loving beauty is human nature.
People misuse that phrase all the time.
He laughed.
Wind messed up his hair, revealing those long eyes, thick lashes.
Unfairly pretty.
I briefly wondered if he’d had work done.
Didn’t care.
His fingers—pink knuckles—held a thin menthol cigarette.
Ash fell as he laughed.
“Tessa,” he said, still smiling.
“You’re the first person who’s made me laugh in a while.”
Yeah.
Even my name is boring.
That night, he finally started responding.
Before, it was zero out of ten invites.
Now, on a good mood day, maybe one.
Sometimes he’d even eat the food I brought.
And eventually—
We got together.
Not because I moved him.
Not because love changed him.
He was just tired.
And his family wanted him married.
I was educated.
Clean background.
Respectable job.
Someone who’d keep a home running.
Everyone in his family loved me.
Everyone except him.
I didn’t care why.
I only knew one thing—
I would never wake up next to an ugly husband.
Never give birth to an ugly child.
The day we went public on Instagram, I felt vindicated.
Everyone who said I was delusional—
Slapped.
At the wedding, I could barely breathe.
That face—like God spent extra time on it.
Muscles barely hidden under his shirt.
When the officiant told us to kiss, I accidentally brushed his chest.
If I could tie him up—
I nearly lost feeling in my legs.
Logan noticed nothing.
Of course not.
I’m harmless.
The kiss was all technique.
Zero emotion.
Didn’t matter.
I could make myself happy.
That night, I was floating.
My heart felt soaked through, heavy and full.
The only flaw—
He didn’t care if I enjoyed it.
Probably because I was the least attractive woman he’d ever slept with.
Streetlights outside looked like fake stars.
A cheap replacement for a lost sky.
I watched him sleep.
Sharp brows.
High nose.
Perfect mouth.
Damn. He was beautiful.
Better than celebrities.
Other than not loving me—
No flaws.
Nobody’s perfect.
As long as he didn’t get disfigured, I was good.
People like me?
Loyal to a fault.
3
But was what I felt for Logan really love?
What is love, anyway?
Freud said love comes from incompleteness.
Jung said falling in love is recognizing yourself in another.
Maybe Logan was just the version of me I wanted to become.
Which meant—
I was whole now.
The next morning, Logan was still asleep.
His phone lit up.
Messages. Notifications.
Influencer names. Pretty profile pics.
I didn’t open anything.
Just plugged his dying phone into the charger.
As I stepped over him, his hand snapped around my ankle.
Eyes still closed, he pulled me down onto him.
“Help me out,” he muttered.
Voice rough. Low. Dangerous.
A year ago, I’d have jumped him.
Now—
“I can’t,” I said, easing away.
“Big meeting today. I’ll be late.”
His expression darkened.
At the door, I added—
“I’ll be gone for three days. Take care of yourself.”
I texted him too.
Then paused.
He’d muted me a while ago.
So I messaged one of his friends instead.
I’ll be away for three days. Please keep an eye on Logan 🙂
I got to work on time.
Stayed late.
My boss even told me to relax—
the trip had been postponed.
“I’ll leave after this,” I said.
It was 10:30 p.m. when I finally logged off.
On my phone—
The security app showed a woman at my door.
Logan opened it wearing only sweatpants.
She hesitated.
Shy.
He looked her over.
Then stepped aside.
I almost floored the gas.
Easy.
He wouldn’t be done that fast.
11:00 p.m.
I reached home.
My hands shook.
I mistyped the passcode once.
The door opened.
Lace underwear.
Shredded stockings.
The mess hit hard.
Then the bedroom door flew open.
A naked woman was shoved out.
“Logan,” she pleaded.
“I flew here for you—don’t kick me out so fast. I can do whatever you like…”
A bra flew out to her.
“I sent you the airfare,” Logan said lazily.
“Get out.”
She wasn’t done.
“If you don’t feel it with me, I have a friend—she’s gorgeous. She’s at a club nearby—”
He glanced at the photo.
Then looked up.
Saw me.
Silence.
4
As she left, she was still saying—
“I sent the address! Come quick!”
Logan slammed the door.
Turned to me.
“You’re back early.”
“Did you eat?”
“What do you want? I’ll order something.”
Too calm.
Too normal.
He talked more than usual.
I didn’t answer.
He reached for the cigarette drawer.
Empty.
I remembered—
Once, he’d quit smoking for a girlfriend who hated the smell.
She moved abroad.
They broke up peacefully.
If they hadn’t—
There wouldn’t be a me.
He never quit for anyone again.
Certainly not for me.
But I didn’t want secondhand smoke either.
So I’d been throwing his cigarettes out.
He frowned, irritated.
Then pulled me in and kissed me.
I didn’t close my eyes.
He looked like a man marching toward execution.
I pushed him away.
His face darkened.
He’d never been rejected.
Especially not by someone like me.
I asked quietly—
“Who was that woman?”
“You tell me.”
Impatience flashed in his eyes.
“Tessa, have I spoiled you too much?”
“You chased me.”
“You knew who I was.”
“You accepted this.”
“So what are you making a fuss about now?”
Tears slid down my face.
“I accepted dating.”
“Breaking up.”
“Repeating that cycle.”
“But I never said I could accept my husband cheating.”
My tears fell.
His hand shook.
For a moment, something cracked.
Then—
“So what?” he said.
“If you can’t accept it, divorce me.”
He said it lightly.
Like every breakup before.
Certain I’d beg.
Cry.
Cling.
The streetlight outside flickered.
Like stars.
But stars vanish at dawn.
Even Cinderella had midnight.
At least she was beautiful.
I looked at him.
Softly—
“Okay.”
He froze.
I didn’t stop.
“Logan. Let’s get divorced.”
His face twisted.
For a second, I thought he might hit me.
Then he laughed.
“Tessa, you’ve got nerve.”
“Don’t come crawling back like a dog.”
“I dumped you.”
He left while calling someone.
Speaker on.
“Send the address again. I’m coming.”
Music.
Laughter.
“My friend likes you too—we can do all three—”
The door slammed.
Our wedding photo rattled.
A beautiful groom.
A bride made pretty with expensive editing.
She looked at him like love.
He looked at the camera.
Detached. Impatient.
They never matched.
Good.
I exhaled.
Finally relaxed.
There was one last thing I’d lied about.
My trip wasn’t three days.
It was three years.
5
Outside the courthouse.
I waited from nine in the morning
until five in the afternoon.
Logan never showed.
I’d pictured him storming in after getting my message, arm around some gorgeous woman, ready to divorce me on the spot.
I’d even taken an extra day off work.
Whatever.
We could finish it after I got back from my trip.
Honestly, being married—with a “stable” family—was good for evaluations and promotions anyway.
I didn’t try contacting Logan again.
Instead, I posted a few emo-style Instagram stories.
Visible only to him and his friends.
The day before I left, one of his buddies messaged me.
You and Logan aren’t from the same world.
Then he sent a video.
In it, Logan lounged on a couch, holding a bottle one-handed.
Liquor slid down his throat, soaking into his shirt.
Women on both sides of him.
The kind people turn their heads for on the street.
The point was obvious—
to show me how wild, how untouchable he still was.
Then someone shouted off-camera—
“Alina’s back! She flew in last week!”
Logan didn’t react.
But I knew him.
His fingers tightened around the bottle.
So that was it.
He hadn’t rushed back early for our anniversary.
He’d come back for her.
Alina.
A name straight out of a novel.
The ex who went abroad.
The one he’d actually wanted to marry.
The woman who could’ve made him settle down for real.
The video shotted badly.
Only in the last thirty seconds did she appear.
She stood at the doorway, radiant, confident.
Walked straight toward Logan amid the cheers.
Cut.
I stared at the screen for a moment.
Then grabbed my keys.
Outside the club, I spotted Logan’s car instantly.
Audi RS7.
Perfect timing.
He stepped out, cigarette in hand.
Long legs.
Casual lean against the car.
Wind lifting his slightly curled hair, sharp jawline exposed.
People slowed to look.
None of them mattered to him.
Until—
Alina came out.
She smiled, awkward but practiced.
“Logan, hey. Not even a hello?”
He didn’t answer.
But when she got close, he crushed the cigarette out.
“I heard you got married,” she said lightly.
“To a woman who chased you forever?”
“None of your business.”
She didn’t back off.
“Do you love her?”
He laughed under his breath.
Didn’t answer.
Silence stretched. Thick. Sticky.
She studied his face slowly.
He let her.
Finally, she turned to leave.
“I’m not someone who regrets things,” she said.
“But sometimes I wonder… if I hadn’t left.”
Cars passed. Noise swallowed her words.
I knew he heard every single one.
He spoke suddenly.
“I never loved her.”
…
I stopped recording.
I’d come hoping to catch something useful.
Leverage.
Turns out—
I’d overestimated my importance.
Logan hadn’t skipped court because he didn’t want a divorce.
He just hadn’t seen the message.
The night wind carried his scent.
My eyes burned without warning.
Three years of chasing.
One year of winning.
I used to think we’d grow old together.
That when he aged, the gap between us would shrink.
That no one would say we didn’t match.
We’d had moments.
Grocery shopping.
Watching TV.
…Okay. Not that many.
To say I felt nothing would be a lie.
People like me always end up getting hurt.
Good thing it wasn’t deep.
Hands in my pockets, I walked away.
Left the reunited ex-lovers behind—
locked in a kiss they couldn’t help.
That night, I left the divorce papers on the table.
And boarded my flight.
6
From the night Tessa asked for a divorce, Logan hadn’t gone home once.
A month passed.
Friends’ places.
Clubs.
And sometimes—
Alina.
She sat beside him now.
Caught his gaze. Smiled.
A diamond necklace rested against her long, pale neck.
He remembered that set.
Necklace and earrings.
The day he heard Alina was coming back, he’d been in a jewelry store.
Buying an anniversary gift.
He hadn’t planned to.
He’d grown bored of holidays years ago.
Early relationships, maybe.
Later on—never.
Anniversary, though?
First time.
On that trip, he’d gotten Tessa’s message.
Happy anniversary, babe.
She’d sent a photo.
A scarf she was knitting.
Handmade.
Old-fashioned.
Strangely new.
That’s why he walked into the store.
When he saw the necklace, he thought of Alina.
She was a model too.
Her neck—perfect. Like a swan.
He never expected to marry a swan.
Yet he’d ended up with—
A duckling.
He smiled faintly.
Then fate, apparently amused, stepped in.
A call.
Alina was coming back.
Single.
While his friend kept talking, Logan told the clerk to wrap the necklace.
“It’s our bestselling piece,” she said.
“And the earrings are complimentary.”
Alina didn’t have pierced ears.
Tessa did.
So yes.
It was for Tessa.
On the phone, his friend joked,
“You buying that for Alina?”
“Of course not.”
Why would he give gifts to a woman who dumped him?
That’d be pathetic.
And yet—
The necklace now rested on Alina’s skin.
She didn’t need to do anything.
Just sit there.
She was his exception.
They matched—mind and body.
His phone buzzed.
For a split second, he thought of Tessa.
Then remembered—
He’d muted her a long time ago.
He tossed the phone aside.
Alina sneezed and leaned into him.
“Spring already, but it’s still cold,” she said.
“I should’ve brought a scarf.”
A scarf.
He stood.
“I’ve got one. I’ll grab it.”
Friends groaned.
“Get a room!”
“Since when is Logan this thoughtful?”
Alina smiled shyly.
Satisfied.
She didn’t know he was driving home.
The wind roared.
Someone yelled at him for cutting lanes.
At the door, he checked the time.
Tessa should be asleep.
He didn’t bother being quiet.
The door slammed louder than usual.
Shoes on, straight to the bedroom.
“Where’s the scarf you made?”
Silence.
He flipped on the light.
No one.
On the nightstand—a small box.
Inside, the diamond earrings.
In the living room—
The divorce papers.
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