This Damn Toxic Love

They'd known each other for ten years and had been married for three, and Arabella Wipere never thought her husband, Cornelius Douglas, was the type to cheat.

Until tonight in the club's most exclusive private room. When she walked in, Arabella couldn't stop smiling from the bottom of her heart, "Honey, happy birthday..."

Cornelius wasn't in the room.

The space was empty, except for a single woman seated at the far end of the long table.

She bore a passing resemblance to Arabella, and her red dress was similar, too, but she was more slender, more delicate—like a more polished version of her.

Arabella's eyes widened. "Mireille?"

"Arabella, you're here." Mireille Wipere showed no surprise. She stood and came forward to embrace her warmly. "It's been so long. I missed you so much while I was abroad these past few years."

"I didn't expect you to be here." Arabella hadn't processed what was happening yet. Her reply came out small and dazed.

She remembered how Mireille had slapped her twice at the airport the day she went overseas.

They hadn't spoken in three years.

"I'm here to celebrate Cornelius's birthday." Mireille smiled playfully, as if none of what happened before had ever occurred. "Did Cornelius tell you?"

Arabella looked stunned. Her heart, which had been racing with excitement just moments ago, began sinking bit by bit into a bottomless pit. "He didn't say anything..."

She thought Mireille was referring to the birthday celebration.

But then Mireille continued, "When are you two planning to get divorced?"

Arabella couldn't believe her ears. Her breathing turned sharp and rapid. "What do you mean?"

"Oh... Cornelius didn't tell you?" Mireille covered her lips, giggling. The innocent expression was no different from when they were children.

Ten years ago, she'd laughed just like this as she said, "Arabella, even though your mother was the other woman, I'll still treat you like my real older sister."

They'd always been half-sisters—same mother, different fathers.

Mireille pulled out her phone and held the screen in front of Arabella's face. It was a chat conversation. The right side showed Mireille's messages, the left showed messages with Cornelius's profile picture, labeled 'Honey'.

The chat history went on and on, daily messages, good mornings and good nights, sharing little moments of their days. Terms of endearment were scattered everywhere as if they cost nothing. And call logs—some lasting over ten hours.

"Cornelius and I have been in a long-distance relationship for over a year. Now we can finally be together. Arabella, you need to step aside." Mireille's tone was light, matter-of-fact.

Arabella couldn't speak. Her head swam with dizziness.

But Mireille's voice kept drilling into her ears, "Arabella, the engagement was always between Cornelius and me. When I went abroad for treatment, you just married him in my place."

"Look at yourself—you grew up in some small town in the countryside, you don't have a real job, you can't understand any of the topics in high society circles. Hasn't he told you? You're an embarrassment."

Arabella stumbled, collapsing into a nearby chair.

She felt like something was crushing her chest. She could barely breathe. Sharp, stabbing pains accompanied each gasp, and her vision went dark.

Mireille looked down at her from above. "You've been a housewife for three years, thinking you've taken such good care of Cornelius, but he doesn't need that at all. Everything you do, the maids at home could do just as well."

"Look at you now—you've let your figure go, your clothes are tacky, even your makeup looks terrible. How could someone like you possibly deserve Cornelius? He's a gentleman. He won't kick you out himself. But surely you're not actually planning to cling to him like this?"

Each word stabbed at Arabella's heart like a knife. Her lips moved, but she didn't know what to say in response. She could only hold back her tears with all her strength.

In three years of marriage, Cornelius had indeed never touched her. Never taken her to any social events.

He'd never spoken a harsh word to her, but if this was what he truly thought, Arabella wouldn't find it strange at all.

"If you have any self-respect left, leave on your own. Don't make this ugly for yourself. I know you're someone with dignity." Mireille clasped her hand, voice sincere. "I've always thought of you as my real older sister. I don't want to see you get thrown out, but you can't just keep holding on to what's mine, can you?"

Arabella fled.

She didn't remember how she got home. She only startled herself when she entered and caught sight of her tear-stained face in the entryway mirror.

She'd worn muted colors for three years. Today was the first time she'd bought an elegant wine-red dress, but it couldn't compare at all to Mireille's vivid red, sexy bodycon dress.

She was already rusty at makeup after not doing it for so long, and now her tears had streaked the foundation across her face in ugly tracks.

She lifted her hand and wiped at it. Her fingertips brushed over puffy undereye bags, bloodshot from exhaustion.

Even she couldn't stand to look at herself.

Arabella tore the dress off in a frenzy and went into the bathroom, wanting to wash away the humiliating makeup.

She suddenly remembered—she'd left the gift she bought for Cornelius in the private room. That Patek Philippe had cost her entire three years of savings. She wondered if he would even like it.

But none of that mattered anymore.

When she'd first been acknowledged by the Wipere family, she attended her first high society dinner. Awkward as an ugly duckling, she'd accidentally eaten a decorative garnish, thinking it was an appetizer.

Muffled laughter rippled around the table. Just as she wanted to find a hole to crawl into, Cornelius did the exact same thing she had done.

The mockery stopped abruptly. Everyone quietly followed suit.

In that moment, Arabella had fallen in love with Cornelius helplessly.

But Cornelius was one of Silverlight City's most prestigious elite, a business genius, heir to a massive corporate empire. How could she possibly deserve him? She could only hide her love silently in her heart.

Until he fell into a coma after an accident and didn't wake for months. The Douglas family remembered the marriage arrangement and wanted Mireille to marry him, hoping she could bring him good fortune.

But Mireille's old illness had relapsed. She had to go abroad for treatment. So the marriage fell to Arabella instead.

Unexpectedly, under her care, Cornelius woke up. He gradually recovered his health and returned to lead the company.

And then Mireille came back.

Arabella stood under the showerhead, letting the warm water wash the tears from her face.

For these three years as Mrs. Douglas, she'd been living a stolen life. Someone as dazzling as Cornelius never belonged to her in the first place.

That kind gesture at the dinner table was only because he was a well-mannered person. It had nothing to do with her being special to him.

It was time to wake from this dream.

When she came out of the shower, Cornelius had actually come home.

His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and his shirt revealed the firm lines of muscle beneath.

His chiseled features were flawless. His slightly lowered brows gave him a cold edge, and his eyes were deep and icy, radiating an oppressive presence.

Arabella stood by the stairs, instinctively glancing behind him.

She hadn't expected him to come home so early after celebrating his birthday with Mireille.

She'd thought her tears had dried up in the shower, but now her eyes began burning again. She could only try her hardest to hold it in.

Usually, when he came home, she would greet him right away, help him hang up his clothes.

But today she didn't move. Didn't speak.

Cornelius glanced at her. There was little doubt in his eyes—mostly just his usual coldness, his face devoid of emotion.

No matter how she was, he was always indifferent.

His gaze quickly withdrew. When it came to her, he never looked twice.

"Happy birthday." Just as he was about to walk past her up the stairs, Arabella spoke quietly, her voice trembling.

His steps didn't stop, but he sensed the sadness in her tone. His eyes swept over her again, brows furrowing slightly with impatience.

Every time she held back tears, he showed this exact expression.

"Upset again? I didn't mean to come home late. There was urgent work at the company." His tone was cold, though his words came slightly slower—this was his version of comfort.

"No." Arabella's throat felt unbearably tight. Even as she tried to control it, her voice broke with the sound of crying.

She just found herself pathetic. The truth was already laid bare before her, yet he was still willing to make up an excuse to save her face, not pierce through this fragile pretense.

Cornelius let out a long breath, full of helplessness and irritation. It landed like a slap across her face.

He had manners. He wouldn't kick her out himself. But she couldn't keep clinging to him like this, making him see her as a burden.

That would be too shameless.

Just as he was about to reach the top of the stairs, she spoke up hastily, her voice rough and rushed.

"Um, I... I'm ready. I can leave with nothing. When should we go and handle the paperwork?"