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She Was His Wife, Not His Game
Novelix
new
Completed
Ryan Hart never doubted his wife loved him. Every year, he proved it by handing Emma divorce papers and betting with his friends on how long it would take her to break. She always cried. She always begged. She always stayed. But on their eighth anniversary, Ryan made the divorce real—and Emma did the one thing he never expected. She signed. Now, with another woman ready to take her place and thirty days left before the divorce is final, Ryan is certain Emma will come running back. He is wrong. This time, Emma isn’t playing his game anymore.
Chapters (2)
Chapter 1
Ryan Hart loved proving to other people just how much I loved him.
So every year, on our wedding anniversary, he would prepare a divorce agreement, then bet with his friends on how many minutes it would take before I broke down crying and begged him to stay.
The first year, he slid the papers across the table to me and said with a smile, "Emma, if you really don't care about me, sign it."
I tore the agreement to pieces, crying.
He held me in front of everyone, his voice certain and smug. "I knew it. She can't bear to leave me."
The second year, he had his childhood friend Claire sit beside him, and asked me, "If she really became Mrs. Hart, what would you do?"
With red eyes, I begged him to stop.
He lowered his head and kissed my forehead. "See? You really can't live without me."
The third year, he had a lawyer read out a fake divorce agreement in front of everyone, forcing me to say the words myself: "I will never leave Ryan Hart."
His friends edited every one of my breakdowns into videos, and used them to place bets.
Then came the eighth year, and the lawyer pushed the documents in front of me again.
This time, the agreement was real.
Ryan had already signed the last page. Claire sat beside him and asked softly, "After this game is over, can I be Mrs. Hart?"
Ryan looked at me with absolute certainty. "As long as you cry and beg me like you always do, this agreement won't take effect."
Everyone was waiting for me to tear up the papers and throw myself into his arms.
But I just picked up the pen and signed my name on the last page.
The smile on Ryan's face froze, bit by bit.
I pushed the agreement back toward him and took off my wedding ring.
"From now on, you can find someone else for the games you use to prove other people love you."
The next day, Ryan and I went together to the municipal marriage registration office.
When the clerk confirmed whether we were applying for divorce voluntarily, Ryan kept staring at my face, as if waiting for me to suddenly burst into tears.
But I didn't look at him.
The clerk filed the materials and told us that starting today, we would enter a thirty-day waiting period.
After we walked out of the registration office, Ryan finally let out a low laugh. "So you've finally learned to threaten me with divorce this year?"
"Too bad thirty days is too long. Emma, you won't last that long."
I didn't answer. I went straight back to the apartment.
I needed to take my passport, the jewelry box my mother had left me, and a few daily necessities.
But the moment I pushed the door open, I saw Claire in the kitchen, making him breakfast.
She brewed the coffee very bitter.
Ryan didn't even frown. He only said, "It's your first time. It's already very good."
On the dining table lay a stack of sticky notes I had written.
On them were his food restrictions, his daily routine, his regular medications, and everything he needed to bring on each business trip.
Ryan pushed those notes toward me. "Tell Claire about my daily habits, so she doesn't mess everything up and make you come back to clean up after her."
Claire picked up my cup and asked gently, "Ryan, how much sugar do you take in your morning coffee? How should your shirts be ironed? Which drawer are your stomach pills in?"
Ryan didn't let me answer.
He took Claire straight into the master bedroom.
My skincare products were swept into a cardboard box, and the wedding photo by the bed was taken down.
Claire stood at the door and asked cautiously, "Ryan, can I stay in the master bedroom for now? If we sleep in separate rooms, people will see that I'm not really Mrs. Hart."
Ryan didn't hesitate.
He re-registered Claire's fingerprint, and handed her the spare key to the apartment.
"She's just being emotional for now. You can have the master bedroom first. Once the waiting period is over, she'll come back on her own."
I took my passport and jewelry box, and didn't touch the cardboard box full of old clothes.
When Ryan saw that I still hadn't cried, the smile on his face slowly turned into impatience.
"Emma, so you're playing calm this year?"
"Don't think that just because you're not crying or making a scene, I can't tell you're waiting for me to chase after you."
I only said, "You're overthinking it."
Before I left, I put the last key that belonged to me back on the entryway table.
Ryan quickly reopened the betting pool in his friends' group chat.
Some bet I'd be home in three days; some bet I wouldn't last a week.
Ryan put down three hundred thousand outright.
"She won't last the waiting period."
"Once she realizes I really won't go comfort her, she'll come back on her own."
I moved into the small apartment my parents had rented when they were alive.
The place had been empty for a long time. I cleared out one bedroom that was good enough to sleep in, and put my luggage in piece by piece.
That night, Ryan sent a message.
"Come back to the Hart house for dinner tomorrow."
"My mother says the things a Hart daughter-in-law should inherit ought to be formally handed over to Claire now."
Chapter 2
The next day, I went to the Hart house as Ryan had asked.
The moment I walked in, I saw that Claire was already sitting in the seat I had occupied for the past seven years.
Ryan's mother didn't arrange a seat for me. She only had the servant bring a chair and place it at the very end of the table.
"It's Claire's first formal visit to the house." She looked at me. "You know the rules here. Teach her first."
Ryan placed a booklet in front of me.
Inside were the relationships among the Hart relatives, the holiday etiquette, and every gift I had prepared for them over the years.
Who liked which wine, who was allergic to what; what to give at Christmas, whose child's birthday couldn't be forgotten.
Ryan pointed at the booklet. "Hand all of this over to Claire. From now on she'll be the Hart daughter-in-law in your place."
Claire reached out and took the booklet, but deliberately asked me, "Emma, what kind of gift does Auntie like? What does Uncle usually drink? And these relatives, how should I address them from now on?"
Ryan sat beside her, as if savoring the sight of me being forced to teach someone else to take over my place.
The servant brought tea, and the first cup was handed to Claire.
Ryan's mother smiled and said, "Claire, from now on you're the lady of this house. Don't be a stranger with us."
Claire held the tea and turned to Ryan with flushed cheeks. "Then can I call you Mom and Dad like Emma does from now on?"
Ryan didn't look at me. He just smiled and said, "Of course you can."
Ryan's mother immediately had Claire change how she addressed them.
Everyone was waiting for me to stop it.
Ryan even pushed the teacup toward me. "You know the routine best. Teach her how to toast her elders."
I picked up the teacup and handed it to Claire.
"You don't need to ask me anymore."
The smile on Ryan's face faded.
"Don't treat silence as a new strategy. The more you pretend not to care, the more it shows you're waiting for me to come comfort you first."
After the family dinner began, everyone in the Hart family gathered around Claire to talk.
I am severely allergic to peanuts.
But after seven years of marriage, peanut desserts still appeared on the Hart family's table.
Claire mentioned once that she didn't eat cilantro, and Ryan personally checked every dish, even having the servant take the soup back and remake it because of the chopped cilantro in it.
Before the family photo, Ryan's mother suddenly looked at my wrist.
"Take the bracelet off and lend it to Claire for a few minutes. The photo will look more complete."
That emerald bracelet was the family heirloom the Harts passed down to their daughters-in-law.
I had worn it for seven full years.
Claire said it wasn't appropriate, but her hand didn't really pull back.
Before I could speak, Ryan had already taken my hand and slid the bracelet off me, bit by bit.
The band scraped past my knuckles, and the skin quickly turned red.
But he only lowered his head to check whether the gemstone had been chipped, then put the bracelet on Claire's wrist himself.
When the photo was taken, Claire stood beside Ryan.
I was placed at the very edge, almost out of the frame.
After the photo was sent to the family group chat, Ryan's mother captioned it:
"This year we're finally all here."
Someone asked who Claire was.
Ryan's mother didn't explain. She only replied with a red heart.
I quietly left the family group chat that had been with me for seven years.
Ryan quickly sent me a message.
"Do you have to make this so ugly?"
"Even when you come back and beg me yourself, I won't comfort you like I used to."
After leaving the Hart house, I went to the pharmacy to buy medicine.
At the checkout, I discovered that Ryan had already cut off my access to the family account.
He then sent another message.
"Didn't you want to be independent?"
"Starting today, figure out your own living expenses."
"Stop testing me with the joint account."
I pressed the phone dark. I didn't explain anything to him, and I didn't ask him to restore the account.
I thought that was the last of his pressure.
Only later did I learn that he was preparing to put the betting pool of the past three years on display for everyone.
