My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 06

My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 06

A new message popped up.

[Ms. Wright, Old Mr. Wright has sent me to pick you up and bring you back to Wright Manor. I’ll be there in an hour.]

The sender ID read only: Mr. Clark.

Ethan caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “Manor? What manor?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I slowly removed the silver band I’d worn for eight years and placed it back into the jewelry box, right in front of him.

“Nothing.” “Just that someone’s finally coming to take me back where I belong.”

The phone on the nightstand buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t a message—it was a video call.

The screen flashed three words: Mira Bennett.

Ethan instinctively moved to reject it, but then he answered—right in front of me.

On the screen, Mira sat in an airport VIP lounge, blinking with feigned innocence.

“Ethan, what took you so long? Weren’t we supposed to pick out duty-free lipstick shades together?”

She paused, as if just noticing me, and covered her mouth.

“Oh, Serena’s here too? Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“I just rely on Ethan so much—he takes care of everything, and I can’t do a thing without him.”

I watched the screen expressionless.

Ethan didn’t hang up. He didn’t scold her either.

Just muttered, “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Encouraged, Mira kept going with a sweet smile.

“Oh, and Ethan, that shirt you left at my place—I packed it for you.”

“And your stomach meds. I brought those too. You have a bad stomach, doesn’t Serena ever remind you?”

She emphasized the word “Serena” with a pointed edge.

Ethan’s face stiffened.

“Mira, hang up now.”

“Don’t.” Mira pouted. “You said you’d take me to that private seafood place tonight. I’m already hungry.”

She turned to me with pretend innocence.

“Serena doesn’t mind, right? You’re always so understanding.”

The air grew heavy.

I thought I’d be furious. I thought I’d lose it. But when the moment came, all I felt was numbness. A man who truly cared about you would never let another woman walk all over you.

I reached over and ended the call for him.

“Ethan,” I said, “you two are perfect for each other.”

His face went dark.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“One plays dumb, the other enables it. A match made in heaven.”

He flinched, his gaze cooling.

“Do you have to make it sound so ugly?”

“Ugly?” I looked at him and laughed. “Want to hear something even uglier?”

“Like how you’re nothing but a dog that finally got his share of meat and is now trampling the one who starved with him into the mud?”

Smack.

The sound cut through the air.

My cheek burned as I went still for a moment. He’d hit me.

In eight years, he’d never raised a hand to me before.

He seemed to freeze too, his hand suspended in midair, a flicker of something crossing his eyes. “Serena, you went too far first.”

“I was just trying to wake you up.”

I slowly turned back, running my tongue along my numb cheek. It was absurd.

When you’re completely done with someone, you don’t even cry when they hit you.

“Fine.”

I pulled my suitcase and started walking again. He grabbed my arm.

“Stop.”

“The project deck. I need it by 8 PM tonight.”

“It’s company property,” he said coldly. “Don’t bring personal issues into work.”

I laughed.

“Personal issues?”

“You brought your mistress into our home, slapped me, and now you want me to send you the project deck?”

“Ethan, you just set a new record for shamelessness.”

The word “mistress” set him off completely. His face darkened.

“Say that again, I dare you.”

At the same time, my phone buzzed again.

A photo from an unknown number.

Mira, wearing my pajamas, sitting on my bed—our bed—and flashing a peace sign at the camera. The caption read: [Serena, your pajamas smell so good.]

I stared at the photo, my fingers tightening.

Another message popped up.

[And the bed is really soft too.]

In that moment, even my last shred of dignity went out the window.

I looked up at him, my voice barely a whisper.

“Get out of my way.”

He started, “You—”

I yanked my arm free and, for the first time, lost it completely—swept the jewelry box off the nightstand and slammed it to the floor.

The box cracked open. The silver band rolled out, clinking softly against the floor.

I stared at it for a moment, then bent down and picked it up.

“You always thought I couldn’t live without you, didn’t you?”

“Then watch this.”

I clenched it in my fist and walked toward the window.