As Fletcher once explained, “I’m afraid I’ll forget what Ashley looks like. If I run into her one day, I might not recognize her—and I won’t forget what she did to me.”
Fletcher had never stopped hating me.
He would give anything to watch me die with his own hands.
“Fletcher.”
June walked in, carrying a bowl of hangover soup.
She found him half-drunk, her brows knitting in concern as she held his shoulders.
“Why did you drink this much again?”
Her gaze drifted to the shredded wedding photo and she pressed her lips together.
“That was the last one. It’s time to throw it away. Fletcher, our wedding’s next month. You promised me—you’d let Ashley go and let yourself go too.”
Over these five years, Fletcher had ordered copy after copy of that wedding photo—filling even his office with them.
When people saw it and asked who the woman was, he would always answer darkly, “An enemy.”
In his circle, most people thought he and his childhood sweetheart June were a match made in heaven.
But only a few knew the truth…
That his hatred for me came from love.
The deeper he had loved me back then, the deeper he hated me now.
He hated that I broke our wedding vows.