She Rolled The Dice On Our Marriage And He Let Her Win Chapter 04

She Rolled The Dice On Our Marriage And He Let Her Win Chapter 04

The procedure was long. And it hurt.

When the anesthesia wore off, the pain came back in waves, sharp enough to hollow me out from the inside.

I stayed at the clinic for one day.

Then I ignored the nurse’s warnings and insisted on being discharged.

I had to leave soon. I had to make sure I never saw him again.

It turned out that when love rotted to the very end, it didn’t feel like heartbreak anymore.

It felt like nausea.

I carried the shattered pieces of my mother’s locket with me and waited until I was sure Callum wouldn’t be home. Then I went back to the Rourke estate to collect my documents.

Bria was in the living room, putting together a puzzle.

As I walked past, Bria looked up and called my name. For once, she smiled at me, sweet enough to make my skin prickle.

I looked down.

The puzzle was a custom illustration of me, Bria, and Callum. I had given it to her once, back when I was still trying to make her like me.

It was already complete.

Suddenly, Bria reached out, pulled out the piece with my face on it, and snapped it in half.

“You really thought I was stupid?”

Her smile vanished. She stood and grabbed my face hard.

“The divorce is final. So why are you still showing up here like you belong?”

I stared at her, stunned and blank.

Bria laughed.

“What? Are you wondering why I lied to all of you?”

She turned, pulled a medical record from a drawer, and threw it in my face.

The report listed Bria’s condition as anxiety, nothing more. No regression. No childlike mental state. And under emergency contact, printed clearly in black and white, was Callum Rourke’s name.

A tear dropped onto those letters. Something inside me finally went rotten beyond repair.

So it had been a lie from the beginning.

And I had spent years making excuses for Callum. I told myself he was drowning in guilt. I told myself Bria was just damaged and pitiful.

In the end, I had been the only fool in that house.

“I just love watching you look like that,” Bria said. “So pathetic. So broken. And too scared to say anything.”

“So what if you were Callum’s wife? For me, he’ll do anything.”

Her smile was cruel now. There was nothing childlike about her at all.

She stood there, smug and waiting for me to collapse. Waiting for me to sob and fall apart.

But I only picked up the paper, folded it neatly, and put it back where it had been.

I said nothing.

At that moment, I finally understood what my grandfather had warned me about years ago.

Callum and I had fallen in love in a place where people mistook fear for fate and survival for devotion. We had kissed under falling bombs, and I had spent five years treating that moment like proof that nothing between us could ever break.

I was wrong.

Maybe five years was enough.

Enough to repay him for saving my life.

Enough to bury that kiss where it belonged.

So I left.

On the way out, I replied to the message Callum had sent asking if he should come with me to my prenatal appointment.

Me: [No need. I terminated the pregnancy.]

Then I deleted every account, broke my SIM card, and threw it away.

As I boarded the flight to Westmere Bay, I murmured, “Callum Rourke, I’ll never see you again.”

—

When Callum saw Maren’s message, he only frowned.

She was angry. Angry enough to throw the cruelest words she could find at him.

But he didn’t believe it. Everyone knew how much Maren wanted a child.

He had already contacted the best antique jewelry restorer he could find. Once the locket was fixed, he would buy her flowers and coax her a little. Maren would calm down.

After all, she loved him. She was easy to soothe.

But since she was throwing a tantrum like this, he decided to let her cool off for a few days.

Two days later, Callum still hadn’t received an apology from Maren.

Instead, he found a medical record.

Bria Wren.

Not sick?

He stared at the paper in disbelief.

Something had stained the emergency contact section, blurring part of it, but he could still barely make out his own name.

A slow unease rose in his chest.

Only then did he finally call Maren.

The automated voice on the other end was cold and empty.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”