The night was ink-black, the bedroom lit only by a bedside lamp. She curled in the man’s arms, her hair clinging to his chest, breathing steady—like a dream that had finally found peace. But the door cracked open, soundlessly. Heels still on, suit still buttoned, he stood in the shadows, a photograph pinched between his fingers: her laughing against another man’s shoulder, sunlight spilling over them both. On the back, in my handwriting: *Congratulations on your marriage*. I stared at her for three minutes. Long enough to memorize the faint crease between her brows even in sleep. Long enough to confirm that every anonymous threat letter sent to her home over the past three years—she’d kept them all, tucked beneath the lowest drawer of her vanity. I hadn’t burned them. In fact… I was almost glad. Her lashes fluttered. She woke. “You…” I raised a finger to my lips, softly shushing her. Then, from my pocket, I pulled out a ring—identical to the wedding band on her finger. "You promised you'd only wear the one I gave you," I whispered, my voice like a blade dragged across bone. "But now you're wearing his." She jerked backward, only to be caught and shielded by the man beneath her. He sat up, bare-chested, muscles taut. "Who the hell are you?" I didn’t answer. Just slowly unbuttoned my cuff, let it drop to the floor. "I’m the bastard she knelt in the rain ten years ago, begging not to leave." "I’m the ex-boyfriend who missed seventeen calls the day she miscarried." "I’m the madman who stood on the street corner the day she walked down the aisle—into someone else’s arms." I paused. Then smiled. "Now, I’ve come to collect what’s owed." The moment he lunged, I was ready. Twisted, struck—elbow to the face—he collapsed with a grunt. She screamed, reaching for the phone. I closed the distance in one step, knee pressing down on her legs, and gently placed the ring into her mouth. "Keep it there," I murmured. "You once said, if I ever found myself again, you’d walk away with me." "Well, I’m back—career, identity, freedom. All rebuilt." "What about you?" "You were the first to give yourself… to someone else." Tears spilled down her cheeks, lips trembling. "It’s not what you think… we were already—" "Shut up." My eyes burned. "You don’t get to explain." Behind me, the man staggered up, swinging a lamp. I dodged, kicked hard into his gut—he slammed against the wall, sliding down, coughing blood. Then she screamed, raw and desperate: "He has heart disease! You’ll kill him!" I froze. Turned. There she was, tears streaking her face, arms wrapped tight around that broken man—like a mother shielding her cub. And suddenly, I laughed. Pulled a document from my coat. Slapped it onto the nightstand. A divorce agreement. Signed by me three months ago. She never knew. "I’m not here to take you back." I looked at her, voice frayed. "I’m here to set you free." Then I turned to the bleeding man on the floor, speaking each word like a curse: "But the ten years she stole from me—you’ll pay them back." "Starting tonight, every time she laughs, I break one of your fingers." "If she ever loves another—" I leaned close, whispering into his ear: "I’ll make sure you live long enough to watch her marry him." Before I left, I gave her one last look. That single glance—ten years of youth—reduced to ash. The door clicked shut. Inside, only gasps and sobs remained. And I? I stepped into the dark, pulling out my phone. "Hello, police? There's been an assault… The address is…" Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer. I knew they couldn’t save her. But this time— I wanted her to see, with her own eyes, how I would utterly destroy her happiness. The story has only just begun.