Love Beyond Revenge

My finger swiped across the phone screen, flooded with headlines like "Daisy Scott's Affair During Marriage"—a searing branding iron, scorching my fingertips numb. The gossip columns paired blurry hotel corridor photos with inflammatory words, accusing me of secret trysts while Andy Luke was away on a business trip, betraying the marriage everyone envied. I sat alone in the empty living room; beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, deep autumn plane tree leaves rustled and fell—like my world slowly crumbling, piece by piece. Who is Andy Luke? The top heir in the spotlight, the madman who once leapt from the third floor of the teaching building to pursue me, broke his leg but still smiled and said, "As long as you come back to me," a stubborn obsession. Everyone assumed that, with his pride, he would instantly demand a divorce, leaving me utterly disgraced and stripped bare. But he didn't. The next day, entertainment news blew up with reports that he had taken Vivian Lincoln to a tropical island. In the photos, he wore a floral shirt, one hand in his pocket, strolling along the beach. Vivian linked her arm with his, her smile radiant, and the way he looked at her was a warmth I had never seen before. For the next month, their every move was exposed; in every picture, he wore a bright smile, as if the whole world's rumors didn't concern him in the slightest. Every day, I get up, eat, and take my medicine on time, watching their news as if it were a completely unrelated movie. Until he returned to the country and was stopped by reporters at the airport VIP entrance. A microphone was thrust before him: "Mr. Luke, how do you respond to Daisy Scott's infidelity during her marriage?" He paused, took off his sunglasses, a cold, biting smile playing on his lips—but it never reached his eyes. "Response?" His voice came through the screen, laced with venomous chill: "Ten years ago, I jumped from the third floor for her, broke my left leg, and was bedridden in the hospital for three months." “She stood at the hospital door, in front of my parents, and said, 'You’re just a simp, forever unworthy of my love.'” "So now she wants freedom? Wants to cheat?" He sneered, his eyes cold and sharp, "I absolutely won't let that happen." "I'll lock her inside the prison of marriage she despises most, break her down little by little, make her truly understand what it means to suffer unbearably." The phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a sharp 'snap,' the cracked screen spreading like a spider's web. Memories from ten years ago surged back, carrying the sharp scent of disinfectant and a chilling despair. In my second year of high school, I was always weak and coughing up blood. A hospital diagnosis revealed a rare, progressive muscular dystrophy. The doctor shook his head and said I wouldn't live past twenty. "There's no cure for this disease—it could become critical at any time." The doctor's words struck me like a hammer, stealing my breath away. I dared not tell anyone, especially Andy Luke—back then, he pursued me with burning intensity, blocking the classroom door every morning with breakfast in hand, helping with chores, and shielding me from bullies. How could I bear to say I'm someone who could die at any moment? I feared even more that if he found out, he would abandon the future and follow me into darkness. So I dropped out of school, leaving a letter that said “I don't love you, you're too annoying,” and vanished completely from his world.