She Chose Him Again

In the eighth year of being with Lydia, she finally agreed to marry me—only to back out again, just like every time before. She held the empty ring box in her hands, her fingers pausing for a brief moment before she offered an unhurried explanation. "Mason threw a tantrum yesterday because he wanted a toy. I handed it to him without thinking and forgot to ask for it back." She reached out and ruffled my hair, her tone gentle, as if she were coaxing me. "Next time, we'll definitely go through with the wedding." I took a deep breath, forcing down the bitterness in my chest. "Do you really like him that much?" She turned to look at me, brows knitted in a tight furrow. "He's like this now because he saved me back then. I can't just forget something like that." A sharp pain twisted in my chest, and my voice dropped. "He set that fire because he wanted to die with you!" She pressed her fingers to her temples, her expression worn with exhaustion. "That was an accident. It's not like he meant to. You're a man too. Can't you be a little more generous? We'll get married eventually, no matter the day. You know my legal husband will only ever be you." I watched as she lowered her head again, already replying to Mason's messages. Something inside me finally gave way. "Lydia, you win." I was done chasing after her. Chapter 1 The Day I Let Go Some people were watching the drama. Others were watching me. It was like they were all waiting for me to lose control again, the way I used to. Waiting for me to make a scene. Then a dramatically aggrieved voice cut through the air. "Meanie! Don't bully Lydia!" Mason Jacobs, dressed in custom-made overalls styled like a child's outfit, lunged toward me like a boy throwing a tantrum. He scrambled forward on both hands and feet. Lydia Clark panicked at once. She rushed forward and pulled him tightly behind her, shielding him without hesitation. "Mason has the mind of a child. If you have a problem, take it out on me." She positioned herself between us, calm but unyielding. I stared at her, stunned, my thoughts drifting back to last month. Our wedding had been halfway through when Mason suddenly barged in and wrecked the entire ceremony. I had finally had enough and confronted Lydia coldly. Afterward, much to my dismay, Mason secretly laced my drink with rat poison and nearly cost me my life. Maybe, in Lydia's eyes, he had always mattered far more than I did. "Why are your eyes red?" Her fingertips brushed lightly against the corner of my eye. "Since the ring has arrived, let's go ahead with the wedding as planned." She took my hand with practiced ease. Every time I was upset, she did this. She called it her way of "recharging" me. My mind told me to shake her off, but an inexplicable ache swelled in my chest. In the silence, Mason suddenly dropped to his knees, tilting his head up as he spoke in a soft, childish tone. "Elliot, Mr. Butler said, if sick, take medicine. Mason good boy." Lydia quickly pulled him back to his feet and said to me, "Elliot, it's not what you think. Stop holding onto this and making things hard for him. He's not mentally sound now. He can't threaten your place." Not mentally sound? Lydia and Mason had once been known as the most gifted pair in the business world. Standing side by side, they had been unmatched. That was why she had always given him a kind of favoritism no one else received. Of all the men around her, Mason was the only one allowed within ten feet of her. Even the dates I had carefully planned would be canceled the moment we ran into him by chance. Her preference for him had never been subtle. I lowered my gaze, no longer willing to look, and simply pulled a stack of photos from my bag. "What if the person who risked his life to save you back then… was me?" These photos were the only evidence I had managed to obtain after a long search, tracking down a passerby who had been there that day. I had originally planned to give them to her as a surprise at our wedding. Lydia let out a soft laugh, her tone laced with obvious impatience. "Elliot, that's enough. I can't believe you'd go so far as to fabricate evidence just to compete for attention. Don't be so childish. How far are you planning to push Mason before you're done?" Childish? I only did not want her to be bound by a misplaced sense of gratitude. I had been "reasonable" for eight years, and all I had gotten in return was one humiliation after another. Mason shot me a fleeting glance. The smile at the corner of his lips widened. "Elliot really went all out this time," someone in the crowd spoke up. "He even dug up evidence. Lydia, you're so protective of Mason that you even credited him with saving you instead of Elliot. Aren't you afraid Elliot might leave you?" Another voice immediately countered, "Oh, please. Elliot loves Lydia so much. He would never leave. Besides, he's an orphan. What would he be without her?" At that moment, I could not even force a smile. So, she had known the truth all along. I had been the fool, clutching my sincerity and moving myself to tears for eight years. Lydia offered no explanation. She simply patted my back lightly. "Be good. Destroy the photos and stay somewhere else for a while. When you've calmed down, I'll have you brought back." Her tone was still gentle, but there was a warning in her eyes. I took a step back and tossed the photos into the reception wine. "Alright." Lydia stared at her now-empty hand, momentarily stunned. It was always like this—sending me away under the disguise of concern and using distance to pressure me. Because she knew I was alone. She knew I had nowhere to go. I had long grown used to her methods. What she did not know was that my biological parents had found me. They had settled overseas, and in three days, they would arrive to take me home. Chapter 2 A Home That Wasn't Mine My phone vibrated. It was a message from my mom. 'Elliot, congratulations on your wedding. I'm so happy for you!' I typed out a long reply. I apologized for embarrassing them. I said I was looking forward to seeing them more than anything. But in the end, I deleted it all, word by word, and only sent, 'The wedding's canceled. Don't worry about me.' A long while passed before she replied. 'Your dad's been worrying all this time, afraid you'd marry under pressure. Now that it's canceled, maybe that's for the best.' I stared at the contact I saved as "Mom" on the screen, a lump forming in my throat. 'Mom, I want to come home.' The moment the message was sent, I looked up. Lydia was playing a bouquet-catching game with Mason. The two of them were laughing together, bright and carefree. It was so bright that it hurt. From beginning to end, no one cared how I, the would-be groom, felt. I stood there quietly for a moment. Then, I turned and left. … Back in that shabby yet familiar apartment, I pulled out my suitcase and began packing. I had been staying here for years. Everything was already neatly arranged, so packing took almost no effort. A sharp, stabbing pain twisted through my stomach in waves. I swallowed a painkiller and collapsed onto the bed, falling into a heavy sleep. A little after four in the afternoon, Lydia came back. Not long after, the sound of a spatula hitting a pan came from the kitchen. I froze. Lydia was cooking. In the past five years, she had hardly ever cooked for me. As the familiar scent drifted over, memories I had not touched in a long time surfaced on their own. … Back then, I had been working and studying at the same time. Then, my stomach problems caught up with me, and eventually, I was diagnosed with early-stage cancer. Even the hospital had thought the odds were slim. I had given up on myself. Lydia and I had only been together for half a month when she rushed back overnight from another city. She emptied all her savings, crouched by my bedside, and comforted me again and again. "If you already think there's no hope, then let me take over and gamble once. If we win, you gain everything. If we lose, you haven't lost anything." The doctor beside her had sighed, warning that the treatment costs would be enormous and that the chances were high we would lose everything. She turned back, her eyes burning bright. "I'll earn it." After that, she worked everywhere—part-time jobs, drinking with clients to secure sponsorships, grinding through the early days of building a business. Life bent her spine until it creaked under the weight, but she never once missed making me a light, carefully prepared meal every single day. Day after day, without fail. Maybe I was lucky. In the end, I made it through. The day I was discharged, the girl who had always been so strong hugged me tightly, her eyes red. "You have me for the rest of your life. I'll make sure you live well." … But after Mason appeared, everything changed. Her conversations with me shifted, from our daily life to Mason. At first, she would complain, "Why is he so annoying? His IQ is about the same as yours, but he's far less steady than you are." She would sigh with regret too. "If you hadn't fallen sick and taken time off back then, you'd definitely be more outstanding than him." But slowly, Mason became the only topic she had left. I stood at the kitchen doorway. "Add some spice." Her cooking had always followed strict rules—light, healthy, bland. She never seemed to consider that I had already recovered and could handle stronger flavors now. Without even looking up, she said, "Mason's coming over for dinner tonight. He can't eat spicy food." I gave a quiet hum and turned back to the bedroom. The memory of our last anniversary suddenly hit me. I had picked the restaurant myself, a rare time for just the two of us. What I got instead was her showing up with Mason. With that, the venue changed into a fast-food place next to an amusement park. I had left with a cold expression, trying to protest this three-person arrangement. But reality taught me quickly how useless that was. She checked in with the media, and so, I became the narrow-minded, jealous husband who could not tolerate an old friend. It was not that she cared whether I humiliated her. She simply wanted me to accept reality. "Elliot." She had been patient, like she was instructing a child. "Until Mason recovers mentally, you need to get used to his presence. You can dislike him, ignore him even, but you can't drive him away. Understand?" After that, she used one incident after another to make sure I learned my lesson. This small apartment became my refuge. Eventually, she even brought Mason into our home. That was when I grew quieter and quieter. Whenever I was alone with him, he would grin as he played with his toys, muttering to himself. Every night when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Mason's smug face. "Your parents don't want you. Even Lydia doesn't want you anymore." I knew he was faking his condition, but there was nothing I could do about it. I became more irritable. Lydia grew more and more impatient with me. Mason, meanwhile, grew bolder, often leaning against the doorway, looking at me with satisfaction. "See? I told you. Lydia cares about me more." The doorbell rang. Mason had arrived. From the living room came the clatter of dishes, his bright laughter, and Lydia's lowered voice—soft, patient. And that whole time, no one called me out for dinner. I let out a quiet breath, pressing down the bitterness in my chest. Then, I pulled the suitcase out from under the bed and continued packing. Chapter 3 The Trap at the Hospital The apartment was quiet the next morning. Lydia had left at some point, unnoticed. On the table sat only a half-finished bowl of oatmeal. A reminder popped up on my phone calendar—'3 p.m., City Medical Center, follow-up check.' After the surgery back then, Lydia had been constantly on edge. She had signed me up for a follow-up package, once every six months for five years, and made sure I never missed an appointment. At 1.30 p.m., my phone remained silent. I got changed and headed out alone. I had just gotten into the car when a text from Lydia came through. 'Elliot, something happened with Mason's charity project. He got a fright, so I'm taking him to the hospital and calming him down. You can handle your follow-up on your own today, right?' I replied with an 'Okay.' Another message came right after. 'If you run into reporters on the way, avoid them.' At first, I didn't understand what she meant, not until reporters surrounded me at the hospital entrance. "Mr. Sanders, how do you respond to the controversy surrounding Mr. Mason Jacobs' alleged donation fraud?" Donation fraud? Mason had held several patents in his early years and had long cultivated the image of a philanthropist. He had an excellent public reputation. How could he suddenly be caught up in something like this? Before I could sort out my thoughts, a nasal, slightly whiny voice rang out. "Elliot, you're here!" Mason ran straight toward me, clinging tightly to my arm with overfamiliarity, calling out in a soft, childish tone, "Elliot, Elliot!" The moment he appeared, camera shutters clicked wildly, and the murmurs of the crowd surged. Then, without warning, a basin of scalding hot water was thrown straight at him. As if he had expected it, Mason nimbly shrank back and slipped behind me in an instant. He was completely untouched. Lydia came out just in time to see it. "Elliot!" In her eyes, I had always been someone who endured quietly, rarely appearing this disheveled. But my face had gone pale from the burn. A flicker of concern crossed her expression. She turned to her assistant and said, "Get the person who threw the water on record. Send a lawyer's letter and hold them accountable." Jealousy overcame Mason when he saw Lydia step in to protect me, and he deliberately muttered, "Elliot, Mason good. Mason won't say it." As he spoke, he seemed flustered, clutching the papers in his arms, only for his grip to loosen suddenly. The sheets slipped from his hands and scattered across the ground, and the bold letters "Automatic Donation Agreement" were exposed. The amount listed matched exactly the sum Mason had publicly declared for his charity donation. And at the bottom of the agreement, the recipient's name was mine—Elliot Sanders. He smiled with innocent brightness, yet everything he did dragged me straight into the abyss. Lydia's anger ignited instantly. Her voice turned cold. "Elliot, you'd even cheat money from someone who's not mentally sound? Do you even have a heart?" My arm throbbed with searing pain. I had no energy to respond to any of them. With difficulty, I pulled up my sleeve. The skin underneath was already flushed red, blistering. Lydia's throat bobbed, anger and concern mixing together. "Elliot, I can't believe you'd stoop this low just to compete with Mason for attention." She stepped forward, reaching to support me. But I turned slightly, avoiding her touch, my expression indifferent as I rejected her approach. At that, her gaze dimmed. Just then, the reporters surged forward, their questions crashing down on me one after another, their tone dripping with contempt. I clenched my teeth, enduring the pain. "Mr. Sanders, are you alright? Please move aside. He needs emergency treatment immediately." My attending physician, who had overseen my post-surgery follow-ups, pushed through the crowd and led me into the hospital, cutting me off from the noise, the rumors, and the cameras. … The next morning, the first thing Lydia said when she walked into the hospital room was, "The wedding. Tomorrow." "What?" She took a deep breath. "You've changed tactics now? I simply didn't call you out, yet you're still at it?" I froze, not understanding what she meant. She let out a cold laugh. "Wasn't all this just to force me into it? What, pressuring me into marriage didn't work, so now you're resorting to schemes?" Only then did I realize—she truly believed I had framed Mason for fraudulent donations, all to drive him away from her. The thought was absurd. "No need," I said. "I'll move out. I won't pester you with marriage anymore." Chapter 4 Leaving Without Looking Back At my words, the mockery on her face deepened. "Elliot, do you really have the heart to move out? You've given up so much just to build this home with me. Now, enough with this. Don't make a big deal out of it. I'll handle the situation with Mason. Your suit has already been arranged. Go try it on yourself after you're discharged." With that, she walked out of the hospital room. I watched her retreating figure. All I felt was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. … When I got home, I continued packing, sorting out everything that belonged to me. At 4 p.m., the doorbell rang. A same-day delivery had arrived. It was a gift box bearing the logo of a high-end menswear and watch brand. Inside was a pair of diamond rings and a set of cufflinks. Just then, my phone chimed. It was a text from Lydia. 'You'll hold on to our rings this time. Don't sulk anymore.' I pulled out the card tucked beneath the rings. It read, 'I picked out the rings myself. I hope you like them.' The handwriting was bold and unrestrained—Mason's. I closed the box and tossed it into the trash, rings and all. … At eight that evening, I finished cooking, preparing to say a proper goodbye to Lydia. I called her. The first call went unanswered. The second call went unanswered too. On the third attempt, she finally picked up. It was a video call. In the background was a fireworks display lighting up the sky. "Do you like it?" she asked, smiling, her tone gentle. "An eight-million-dollar fireworks show? It's impressive." "Glad you like it." She raised her pitch slightly. "Mason's been in a bad mood because of our wedding, so I brought him on a trip. I figured I'd fulfill your wish while I'm at it." Watching fireworks in Praire had been my birthday wish last year. Did this count as fulfilling it? I supposed it did. After the call ended, I dumped the food I had made straight into the trash. … At 3 a.m., my phone lit up with a text from Mason. 'Elliot, take a guess. Do you think Lydia will marry you today? You've already lost.' I didn't reply. There was one day left before my parents arrived to take me home. During that time, Lydia did not contact me again. … In the morning, I stuffed the last few pieces of clothing into my suitcase and zipped it up. My parents had already arrived and were waiting for me at the airport. Just as I was about to enter the airport, Lydia's video call came through. "Babe, I'm back. I'll come pick you up now for the wedding." She was back. Standing beside her was Mason, still clinging stubbornly to her sleeve. "There's half an hour left before the wedding. Can you make it in time?" I asked plainly. She smiled and brushed Mason's hand away, about to answer. Then, I saw Mason lean in and kiss her cheek. "Something's come up, babe. Let's postpone the wedding for three days." I forced a faint smile and hung up decisively. Putting on my sunglasses, I walked into the airport under the escort of bodyguards, passing right by Lydia without stopping. Lydia suddenly turned, staring at my back. "Elliot?" Then, she laughed it off. "No, it can't be him. He's not someone who could command that kind of attention. Come on, Mason. Let's get you something to eat." The plane's final announcement echoed through the cabin. "G1682, this is the control tower. The aircraft has taken off. We wish you a pleasant journey."