The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Chapter 3 3

Word Count: 695 | Released on: 20/01/2026

ice was steady, though her knees fel

It slid across the floor and hit the wall with

off, a stack of photographs fell from the inside pocket. Th

d down. She co

. In Tokyo. Dates stamped in the corner corresponded to th

of them laughing, their foreheads touching. On the ba

ped. He lunged forward and sn

nausea rolled through her stomach. "All those times I was here, managing t

ckson lied. His face flushe

tina pointed to another photo on the

ed the photos into his pocket.

s door leading to the terrace. Hanging there was a mobi

tal for pneumonia. Legend said a thousand cranes

istina said. She reached up

d at her high-collared coat. "Just like those ridiculous sweaters you always wore, hid

. The stri

Pink, blue, yellow. They fluttered

t the mess. "You

the cranes. She walked to the kitchen counter wher

n. The machine

dropped the first crane into the teeth of the

on said. He lo

one. Then handful by handful. The nois

n shouted. He rea

s she had used on the painting. She did

d. Her eyes were dead. "Trash

as if he didn't recognize her. Th

e last pile of cranes. As she shoved them in, the sh

d. It dripped onto the whi

put the finger in her mouth. S

lp, but his feet were rooted to the spot. The guilt was the

d his wet coat. "If you wa

ut, slamming the door s

e slid down the kitchen cabinets until she hit the floor, sitting amon

Chapter End

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The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Catherine Modern

“I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I'd be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years-a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.”