My Wife Said Only Death Could Set Me Free

When my fiancée, Lyra Foster, lost everything—her family and her status—I had no choice but to act like a betrayer. I broke off our engagement and treated her like she was worthless.

In just a few years, she turned her company into a publicly traded corporation with her impressive skills. When she reached the top, she did everything she could to marry me. From then on, we became the couple everyone envied.

But everything changed in the third year of our marriage.

She brought me to cloud nine, only to throw me into a pit of despair herself. She cheated on me, and it was all planned.

The men around her changed again and again, and I served each one without showing a hint of jealousy. I thought she would appreciate my restraint, but instead, she scratched my face with her nails. "You can't even be jealous?"

***

The setting sun hung low in the sky, seemingly a red disc against the bare branches.

I pulled my gaze away from the sparrows chirping outside and focused on a wrinkled diagnostic report. I had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Treatment might give me a few more years.

But I wouldn't take it. I felt completely worn out and wanted to divorce Lyra. Maybe I could take a break and make up for the years I had lost.

Suddenly, a knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts, and I instinctively shoved the report into a drawer.

Luka Armstrong stood in the doorway, tall and confident, his shirt collar lazily undone. He didn't even try to hide the marks of earlier escapades.

Everyone knew he was Lyra's boy toy, a small-time actor who had recently gained some fame from a short drama series.

He had a knack for understanding Lyra's preferences, so he rose quickly.

"Lyra said you can go see her now," Luka said, his gaze filled with disdain.

"Got it," I replied, picking up the carefully shelled peanuts and heading to her room.

Lyra was standing by the window. She had a cigarette in her hand and gazed at the sunset with a gloomy expression. My brows furrowed but quickly smoothed when I realized.

She hated me trying to control her and had long forgotten that I hated the smell of smoke.

My father died from lung cancer caused by too much smoking, and I had been by his side through the whole ordeal—from battling cancer to his death. It was a terrifying experience.

Since then, I had started to hate the smell of smoke and didn't want anyone around me to smoke.

Lyra knew this. Even when she came home smelling of cigarettes from social gatherings, she would immediately shower to wash it off.

"Weren't you just looking for me urgently? What's going on now?"

Her cool voice snapped me back to reality. As she turned, she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. Then, as if she thought I might misunderstand, she explained, "Luka doesn't like me smoking; if he catches the smell, he'll throw a fit."

Honestly, I thought I'd be indifferent, but for some reason, my feelings were all mixed up. In the end, I just replied with a slight nod. Surprisingly, Lyra's expression didn't soften; instead, it showed a hint of displeasure.

She shot me a glance before her gaze fell on the peanuts I held. It was like I had flipped a switch. Her gloomy face brightened a little and her laughter was sweeter.

"Luka just said he wanted peanuts today. Since you've already shelled them, go give them to him." She paused and added sympathetically, "His agent doesn't let him eat anything; it's such a suffering."

I nodded and took the peanuts to Luka.

When I came back, my hands were empty, and the rash that had been barely noticeable was now obvious.

At the sight of this, Lyra frowned. She gripped my hand with red-polished nails and asked, "What's going on?"

"It's nothing, just a peanut allergy," I replied.

Lyra paused for a moment, then chuckled sarcastically, "Isaac Smith, you're quite the actor, aren't you? I never realized you had talent for that."

I wasn't acting. I had always been allergic to peanuts, but since they were her favorite, I never mentioned it to avoid worrying her.

Before, she wasn't supposed to know; now, she didn't need to know.

Anyway, our relationship was already at an end, so these details seemed unimportant. I didn't feel the need to explain and simply pulled my hand away.

Maybe the force I pulled my hand away aggravated the rash. It now looked even more alarming.

Lyra's face grew colder. "What are you trying to pull now?"

"Let's get divorced," I said, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders, "Lyra, our marriage should end."

Since we got married, I had rarely talked with her so seriously. I usually reserved that tone for important matters. And this time, our divorcement was indeed important.

"Are you sure?" Lyra's sharp nails dug into my face, her voice glum. "Do you know what divorce means?"

Her nails were long, and now all five fingers were pressing into my skin, making my eyes water from the pain. If I weren't so weak, I could have pushed her away with one hand.

But after battling this illness for so long, I was just an empty shell. Now, I didn't even have the strength to lift my hand. I shook my head desperately, trying to break free from her grip.

I wasn't afraid of the pain itself; I was afraid of the pain Lyra gave.

Lyra then flung me aside forcefully. I lost my balance and fell to the ground, coughing uncontrollably like I was on the brink of death.

She glanced at me coldly, her disdain clear. "Isaac Smith, if you're thinking divorce, forget it—forever."

Her grip left me dazed and my mind went blank for a moment. I struggled to get up and asked, confused, "Why do we have to torture each other like this?"

She didn't love me anymore, so why couldn't we part peacefully?

"How dare you ask that?" She slapped my face hard, seeming to enjoy my submissive posture. "When I lost everything, you didn't think twice before breaking off our engagement and abandoning me. You have no idea how much I loved you back then."

She continued, "But now it's different, Isaac. I've risen above, and for the rest of your life, you'll be beneath me. Sure, we can divorce. If you die, I can set you free from this marriage."

Her words made me shiver uncontrollably, the scene as vivid as if I were there. All the harsh things I had done now happened to me. I was paying for my actions.

When I stepped out of the doorway that was supposed to be our wedding room, Luka was still outside, waiting.

Seeing the scratch on my face, he sighed and said, "Bro, let me give you a piece of advice: dragging this out is pointless. You might as well just make it easier for us."

I wanted to make it easier, too, but Lyra wouldn't let me. I didn't feel the need to explain myself to Luka, so I just ignored him and walked away.

When Luka saw my indifferent reaction, his face visibly dropped.

By the next day, as usual, I was the only one left in the house.

Although this was our wedding house, Lyra hardly ever came back. She had another residence specifically bought for Luka and was close to her company. There, they acted like a loving couple, doing everything couples do.

I had experienced this sweetness with Lyra for three years before all this.

Suddenly, my head started to spin, and the pain returned, as if a fierce beast was gnawing at my brain, making me convulse.