When He Realized the Truth, I Was Already Gone

Yasmine's POV

"You have less than a month, Mrs. Blackwood. Without the experimental medication, the brain deterioration will be rapid and agonizing."

Happy birthday to me. I had thirty days to live.

I dumped Zachary Blackwood back when he was entirely penniless. Four years ago, he returned as a ruthless billionaire and dragged me to the altar. He didn't marry me for love. He married me for revenge.

Everyone in our circle knew I was the untouchable wife. They also knew Zachary brought a new woman home almost every night, desperate to make me the ultimate laughingstock.

I never cried. I never screamed. I simply locked my bedroom door.

My utter indifference drove him absolutely insane.

But that day, my indifference couldn't save me from the blinding pain in my skull. The pain medication cost a fortune, and I needed his money to buy myself a few more weeks of dignity.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors of Blackwood Enterprises.

"Zachary said he loves my new hair color!" a high-pitched voice echoed through the lobby.

I froze. It was Natasha Cross.

She was Zachary's newest obsession. A twenty-year-old newly signed internet influencer, she was currently dripping in designer brands that Zachary had paid for. She was holding court by the reception desk, flaunting a diamond necklace to a group of wide-eyed employees.

"He even cleared his afternoon schedule just for me," Natasha bragged, tossing her hair. "He treats me way better than he treats his wife."

I walked straight toward her. The lobby instantly fell dead silent.

Natasha turned, her smug smile faltering for a split second before her eyes raked over my plain coat and pale, makeup-free face.

"Oh. You must be Yasmine," Natasha smirked, crossing her arms.

I stared at her. A cold shiver ran down my spine.

It wasn't her arrogance that shocked me. It was her face.

Beneath the heavy makeup, her arched brows and defiant eyes were a near-perfect replica of my own face from four years ago. Zachary hadn't just found a new toy. He had found a younger, healthier version of the woman who broke his heart.

"People actually say I look like you," Natasha sneered, stepping uncomfortably close. "I really don't see it. You look exhausted. Honestly, you look ancient."

A senior assistant standing nearby suddenly turned pale. She violently tugged on Natasha's sleeve.

"Natasha, stop it," the assistant whispered, her voice shaking. "Mr. Blackwood will fire anyone who disrespects his wife in this building. You know his strict orders!"

Natasha violently yanked her arm away. "Are you kidding me? He doesn't give a damn about her! Look at her! She's a pathetic shell!"

The assistant took a terrified step back.

It was ironic. Zachary spent every waking moment trying to humiliate me with his endless parade of mistresses, yet he ruthlessly protected my name behind my back. It was a twisted, suffocating contradiction.

"Are you done?" I asked, my voice completely flat.

Natasha glared at me. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you are done throwing your little tantrum," I repeated, holding her gaze without blinking. "I have a meeting with my husband. Get out of my way."

"Your husband?" Natasha laughed, a sharp, grating sound. "He touches me every single night, Yasmine! You're just a useless title! You are a complete joke to him!"

"Then you should be furious, Natasha."

She stopped laughing. "Excuse me?"

"If he loves you so desperately," I said, stepping into her personal space, "why are you the one standing in the lobby, desperately bragging to receptionists?"

Natasha's face flushed a deep, angry crimson. "Shut up!"

"If I am just a useless title, why hasn't he divorced me?" I tilted my head, my tone dripping with icy pity. "You are just his temporary distraction."

"I am carrying his heart!" Natasha shrieked, her hands balling into tight fists. "He tells me I'm the only one who matters!"

"Then prove it." I gestured toward the executive elevator. "Go upstairs right now. Cry to him. Beg him to sign the divorce papers."

Natasha stared at me, completely speechless.

"I am begging you, Natasha. Convince him to divorce me," I whispered, my voice dropping so only she could hear. "Set us both free. Take him."

"You... you're insane," she stammered, stepping back.

"No," I replied smoothly. "I am just incredibly bored of this game."

I bypassed her trembling figure and pressed the elevator button.

She was young, foolish, and violently jealous. She expected me to fight her for a man I gave up on years ago. She had no idea that my war wasn't with her. My war was with the tumor rapidly destroying my brain.

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside, leaving Natasha fuming in the lobby.

I pressed the button for the top floor. My head throbbed with a sudden, agonizing spike of pain. I gripped the metal rail, my knuckles turning white, desperately fighting the urge to collapse.

I only had thirty days left.