Chapter 1 Drunk Confession

Molly’s POV

“Kitty, I love you.”

Those were the words that shattered my world.

My husband whispered them in a drunken haze last night. Words that should have been sweet, tender, loving. But my name isn’t Kitty.

For a moment, I froze beneath him, my body stiffening as the fog of passion cleared from my mind. My arms, which had been wrapped around him moments ago, hung limply by my side. Wesley had never called me that before. In fact, he barely called me anything these days.

He hardly came home after our honeymoon, always claiming to be working late. Sometimes, I’d see him once a month. Twice if I was lucky. And every time he returned, I’d cling to that small hope — maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he’d remember I was his wife.

Last night, I’d been desperate for closeness. It had been over a year since we’d made love, since I’d felt him want me, even for a fleeting second. So, when he came home tipsy and unexpectedly reached for me, I didn’t hesitate. I let him. I wanted to believe it meant something.

But then… that name. Kitty.

The sound of it burned in my ears, slicing through the fragile illusion I’d built around my heart.

My pulse raced, my throat tightened. “Who… who is Kitty?” I asked, voice trembling. But Wesley didn’t answer. His breathing evened out, soft snores replacing the slurred endearments.

He’d fallen asleep, peacefully, blissfully unaware, while my world fractured in silence beside him.

Tears blurred my vision. I wanted to shake him, scream at him, anything. But all I could do was lie there, listening to his breathing while my heart broke quietly in the dark.

I didn’t sleep a minute that night. I stared at the ceiling until dawn, replaying every moment of our marriage, searching for the signs I had ignored. When morning came, he was fresh and radiant, as if nothing had happened.

In his tailored suit, hair slicked back, smelling of mint and expensive cologne.

“Morning, babe,” he greeted casually, tightening his tie. “Sorry I was drunk last night. Got carried away celebrating the company’s success.”

He smiled that perfect, practiced smile. The one that used to make my knees weak. But today, all it did was twist a knife deeper into my chest. He didn’t remember. Or worse, he pretended not to.

“Who is Kitty?” I asked softly.

His smile wavered. For the briefest second, guilt flashed across his eyes. There and gone before I could catch it.

“Excuse me?” His voice was smooth, too smooth. “You must’ve misheard me, babe. Maybe I called you my Kitty. You’re so pure and sweet, after all.” He chuckled lightly, turning away.

I forced a small smile. My cheeks burned, but not from shyness. From humiliation. Something in my gut told me he was lying.

Still, I said nothing. Because what else could I say? I had no one. No friends, no family left. Wesley was all I had. Or at least, that’s what I’d convinced myself after my parents died and my world caved in.

I swallowed the bitterness and tried to sound casual. “Wesley, when will the mansion be ready? We can’t live with your parents forever.”

That mansion, our home, as he’d promised, was supposed to be my dream come true. Instead, I’d spent the past two years trapped under the same roof as his overbearing family. They criticized everything, my cooking, my silence, even the way I breathed.

Wesley’s reply was the same as always. “Soon, babe. Just a few more finishing touches. You’ll love it.”

He leaned in for a kiss, but I turned my face away. His lips brushed my cheek instead. His eyes widened slightly at my rejection, as if the thought had never crossed his mind that I could refuse him anything.

“Then at least hire some domestic help,” I said tiredly. “I’m exhausted every day.”

He smirked, adjusting his cufflinks. “You don’t like managing the company, so what would you even do with free time? Besides, I’m late. Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The silence left in his wake was suffocating.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway. The man I once adored, the man I gave everything to, had become a stranger. This wasn’t the life I dreamed of. This was the punishment I didn’t know I’d earned.

But what hurt most was the bitter irony, because everything Wesley owned was mine. My money, my inheritance, my company. I had handed it all to him willingly, blinded by love.

The day we finally moved into the mansion was our second anniversary. Five months of waiting, hoping, enduring his family’s cruelty, and then he called that morning.

“Babe, I’m sending the driver. I can’t make it, still setting things up,” he said. His voice was cheerful, careless, distant.

When I arrived, I nearly forgot my resentment. The mansion was breathtaking. A modern palace gleaming under the sun. Marble pillars, sprawling gardens, golden chandeliers visible even from outside. It was everything I had ever dreamed of.

Guests gathered in elegant clusters, sipping champagne, gossiping softly.

“That’s Mrs. Thompson,” one woman whispered. “So lucky, right? Her husband practically worships her.”

I wanted to laugh at the irony. If only they knew.

Wesley finally appeared, all charm and perfection. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, brushing a kiss against my cheek before I could move away. “Do you like it?”

“I haven’t seen the inside yet,” I answered honestly.

He grinned and placed a hand on my lower back. I shivered under the weight of his touch. To the onlookers, we were a picture of bliss. But inside, I was trembling with unease.

We cut the ribbon together, cameras flashing, applause echoing. Then the doors swung open, and the illusion shattered.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

The voice of a small boy rang through the air. My heart stopped. A little boy, no older than four, ran across the polished floor straight into Wesley’s arms. The child’s face was unmistakable. He was a mirror image of my husband.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Whispers rose like a wave. My legs trembled as the blood drained from my face.

And then I saw them, the photos. Framed across the marble walls were pictures of Wesley and a woman, smiling, kissing, holding hands, playing with that same boy. Intimate, domestic, loving. My vision blurred as the world spun.

“Kitty,” Wesley breathed, horror and panic flickering across his face. “What are you doing here? Why did you put these pictures up?”

I turned toward the voice that haunted me for months, the name that ruined my nights, and froze.

Standing before me, in a glittering red dress and the smuggest smile I had ever seen, was my sister.

“Kiara,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “It’s you.”

Her smirk deepened. “It’s about time she found out, Wes. You said you’d tell her once the mansion was ready. Well, here we are.” She handed him a stack of papers, divorce papers, without flinching.

My heart clenched so hard I thought it might stop.

The humiliation, the betrayal, the pain, all of it crashed over me like a wave. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

Four years ago, Kiara had already stolen everything from me. My career, my reputation, my life. I had been a rising singer then, full of hope. Until a scandal destroyed me overnight. Photos of me and my producer spread everywhere, twisted lies turning me into a homewrecker.

I lost everything — my fame, my fans, my dignity. And then, as if fate hadn’t been cruel enough, Wesley appeared like a savior. He married me, promised to protect me, love me. I believed him. God, how stupid I was.

Now, standing in that mansion, surrounded by lies and luxury, I realized the truth. I had never been his choice. I was his shield. His convenience. His fool.

“Wesley,” I choked out, my voice raw. “How could you? You knew everything. You knew what she did to me, and still—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, his tone heavy but detached. “I tried, Molly. I really did. But I don’t feel attracted to you. It’s over.”

Something inside me snapped. I smiled. Bitterly, shakily. It wasn’t joy. It was the kind of smile that comes when pain has nowhere left to go.

“Fine,” I whispered, removing my wedding ring. “You want freedom? Take it. But I’m taking my company back.”

The ring clattered onto the marble floor, echoing like a gunshot through the silent room.