PROLOGUE
THE SUNK COST FALLACY THEORY
Humans have a grim habit of staying in situations simply because they’ve already invested so much that eventually, the “we” begins to cannibalize the “I.” In a marriage, this can devolve into a “work-until-exhaustion” cycle, where two people essentially keep a dead project on life support because the thought of starting over is more exhausting than the misery of staying. It becomes a partnership of endurance rather than affection.
I JERKED from my seat when a commotion erupted just outside the room. Someone was banging violently on the door, and the second Freya cracked it open, the loud voice invited itself inside.
“Let me in, Freya!” Yael’s voice thundered, fulminating through the thick wooden panels. “I have something important to tell Johanna!”
“You’re not allowed to see the bride,” Freya protested. “You should be waiting at the altar!”
“I am a bride too, so stop with the bullshit!” Yael shouted.
A loud, crashing sound echoed from the hallway, followed by Freya’s sharp shriek. Worried about what Yael might have done to her, I scrambled up from my chair. Dragging the heavy weight of my wedding dress, I began to wilt toward the door, but I recoiled as it suddenly burst open. It narrowly missed me before slamming into the side wall with a deafening thud.
“I tried to stop her,” Freya stammered from behind, clutching her shoulder with a face etched in evident pain. “But she was far too insistent.”
“And I told you to let me in!” Yael snarled, paired with her bambi eyes glaring before settling the pair of her orbs on me. “We need to talk,” she added, eyeing me with a chilling finality.
This is my fault... A quiet voice inside me whispered.
Freya looked at me, concern etched across her face. She knew my relationship with Yael was not good, and she feared that the moment she left us, the woman fuming in front of me might hurt me. But Freya had nothing to do with anything between Yael and me.
“Leave us for a while,” I motioned to Freya, though she clearly disagreed with what I wanted.
“You heard what she said; scurry out,” Yael hissed at her. “Or I’ll drag you out myself.”
“You’re such a bitch, Yael,” Freya cursed, then rolled her eyes. Freya eyed me for a second before sighing. “Holler if she hurts you.”
When the door closed, the silence resonated between us. My heart was still racing from the door nearly hitting me earlier, and the tension intensified when Yael stepped closer. Every footstep felt like a weight compressing the air in my lungs.
She was wearing a beige wedding suit that clung to her waist, a lace corset underneath, hugging the curves of her stomach and waist perfectly, while her dark brown hair was styled in a neat bun, leaving a few stray strands framing her face.
I wanted to admire her more, but the stony anger in her bambi eyes stopped me.
She grabbed both of my shoulders and stared straight into my eyes.
“Stop the wedding,” she pleaded in her trembling voice. “We can’t be married, Johanna. We’re both women. And my husband just died. Don’t you see how insane this is?” It was followed by her jaw tightening, and despite the rage in her bambi eyes, her chestnut-brown orbs shone with unreadable grief.
Her words were a twist of a knife in my chest. I had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared me for how much it hurt to hear her say she did not want to marry me.
“I can’t.”
“Why?!” She released my shoulders roughly. She dragged a hand to her temple, and she began to pace back and forth in front of me. “You are capable of calling this wedding off. Why won’t you?”
I looked away because I could not bear to see her face when I told her what my heart wanted her to hear. This woman might think I’m crazy for insisting on marrying her, but I am willing to accept what she feels about it.
“I’m sorry, Yael.” She stopped and slowly turned toward me, her eyes narrowing. “I was the one who insisted we get married.”
The pair of bambi eyes instantly ignited with a burning rage. In a few swift strides, she closed the distance between us and seized my shoulders. She shook me violently, trying to wake me up from the madness I had just confessed to her.
“Yael, you’re hurting me,” I winced, twisting to escape her nails that she started to dig into my shoulder. “Yael, please... It hurts!” I pleaded in my stifled sobs, pleading with her as her claws sank painfully into my thin skin.
“You’re hurting?!” she screamed, her face inches from mine. “And what about me? The pain I’m feeling right now is twice as much, Johanna! Don’t you dare add any more to it!”
Her voice trembled—not just with rage, but with a raw fear and grief that she desperately hurled at me in her shouting. For a moment, I saw her bambi eyes swelling with such profound sadness that her grip finally loosened. She collapsed to her knees at my feet.
“Did you ever think about how much this wedding would destroy me?” she cried. “I am so incredibly tired, Johanna. Too tired to ever be married again. I was hoping that at least you would respect my decision to stay away from the altar.”
Her lips quivered as she bit them, but the sobs she tried so hard to suppress shattered the air between us anyway. Hearing her cry felt like being torn apart slowly, piece by piece.
“I love you, Yael.”
The words escaped before I could stop them. Saying it felt like finally breathing after years of suffocation, only for that relief to be replaced by something far more painful when she looked up at me with tears brimming in her eyes.
“Yael, I love you,” I repeated. “I’ve loved you for a long time now.” I reached out, trying to cup her cheeks, but she pulled away and stood up.
“Have you lost your mind?” she scoffed, turning her head to wipe her tears frantically, leaving my hand hanging. “I was married to your cousin.”
“Yael, please,” I said, my eyes burning with my own unshed tears. I reached out and caught her arm, and she went rigid under my touch. “Yael, can’t you just try? Even just a little... I’ll take whatever you can give.”
I knew I sounded desperate. But isn’t that the truth for everyone who loves? We leave all logic and reason behind because the heart beats so loudly it deafens our very sense of right and wrong.
“You disgust me.”
Those words left my ears ringing, and my entire body went numb.
“I have nothing against lesbians or gays, but you’re the exception.” She wrenched her arm from my grasp as if it disgusted her.“I can’t even look at you right now.”
I stared at her and just felt my heart shatter into pieces. The woman I loved hadn’t just rejected me; she was revolted by the love I had kept hidden for years.
She was standing right in front of me, so close, yet she had never felt further away. My tears poured without end, blurring my vision of her.
It wasn’t just that she couldn’t love me; the very sight of me repelled her.
My voice shook. “Can’t you learn to love me?”
She didn’t say another word. She stood there, keeping her stance like an impenetrable wall.
I inched closer, my heart hammering against my ribs, until I was standing just in front of her. Trembling, I snaked my arms around her waist and held her tight. I buried my face against her shoulder, my tears soaking into the fabric of her clothes as I sobbed.
I knew how pathetic I looked, forcing myself on someone who had just expressed their disgust, but I couldn’t stop. I knew her bambi eyes never lied, and I remembered the way she used to look at me.
I knew that once, a long time ago, she felt something for me, too.
“I have loved only one person in my entire life,” she whispered, her body trembling violently in my arms. “And that is my... my husband.”
She spoke with a broken voice, ensuring those final words resonated in the hollow space of my mind. It was a cold, final nail in the coffin I am putting myself in.
Needles of ice slid down my chest as the truth settled in. The cruelest pain wasn’t just that she couldn’t love me back; it was that she found my love repulsive. I stood there, still clinging to her, as a single question burned through my grief: Was it truly so disgusting for me to love her?
“If you force this marriage on me, I will hate you. I swear I will make your life miserable for as long as we are together.” She reached down and forcefully pried my hands from her waist, harshly pushing me back before she whirled around.
She hid her face from me, speaking only to hurt me.
“I will never love you,” her voice trembling with terrifying resolve. “And I swear, I will make your life so miserable that you will regret the day you ever thought of marrying me.”
THE CRASH of the plate echoed through the kitchen when Yael slammed it onto the table.
I flinched, my head instinctively bowing, a habit I had acquired whenever she turned those glaring bambi eyes on me. We had been married for a year now, living under this same roof, and every day was a fresh reminder of the vow she made back then.
For 453 days we were married, she kept every word of her promise to make my life a living hell.
“I told you to cook breakfast,” her bambi-eyes reviewing my whole existence coldly. “Not to poison me.”
My eyes were fixed on the floor while I fidgeted with my fingers. I had learned that it was better to say nothing at all; any word from me would only fuel her rage.
“Are you really going to feed me charcoal before I head off to work?” she asked, her tone sharp with a personal sting as she gestured toward the burnt meal on her plate. “Is this even considered food?”
Not a day went by that Yael didn’t make me feel how much she despised our marriage. And I am the one who keeps accepting it, hoping that one morning she will wake up and no longer hate me.
“Answer me, Johanna!!” she screamed impatiently at my silence.
“I-I’m sorry, Yael,” I stammered, my voice barely keeping up with my nerves. I kept my eyes fixed on my trembling hands, unable to meet hers. “I burned it... I was trying to finish ironing your clothes at the same time.”
“So now it’s my fault?” she sarcastically asked. I flinched back when she raised her finger to point at me, making me swallow. “Don’t try to talk your way out of your nonsense.”
“I’ll just make a sandwich-”
“Never mind,” she rolled her eyes, standing up from her seat. “Why should I even bother wasting my time on you when I get nothing out of it?” she added, finishing the last sip of her coffee.
She is beautiful, like an angel. Always.
Even when she was hurting me, she remained the most radiant thing I had ever seen.
Structured suits suit her better than casual clothes. As the company’s COO, she was always formal and elegant. And I’m the one who prepares her clothes every day. Her breakfast is included.
She wore a charcoal gray blazer that perfectly structured her slim, slightly muscular shoulders. It dipped narrowly at her waist, held together by a single, elegant button. Underneath, a plunging black silk shirt revealed just a hint of her cleavage, framed by the delicate glint of her gold necklace. I had paired the blazer with high-waisted trousers. They were tailored to perfection, neither too tight nor too loose, highlighting her long legs. The fabric moved with an effortless fluidity as she stepped, pooling perfectly over her pointed stiletto pumps.
“You should have learned how to cook before you became my wife,” she coldly insulted, “At least then you’d be useful.”
Her bambi eyes fixed on me for a fleeting second before she grabbed her leather case from the table.
“S-sorry,” was all I could manage to say with my voice trembling, gripping my fingers tightly together.
“Is this how you plan to take care of me? By feeding me trash?” she mocked, huffing bitterly as she looked at the plate. “You’re ridiculous.”
My heart sank lower with every word she threw at me.
I did not even know how to cook before we were married. I only learned because of her. But Yael is impossibly sensitive because she has no patience for food that is too bitter, too sweet, or too spicy.
There is such a razor-thin line between something being not quite right and making her infuriated.
More often than not, that is exactly where I fall short.
“Yael, just a moment-”
“What now?!” Her beautiful face tightened as she looked at me.
I immediately turned and hurried to the counter. I grabbed the lunch I had prepared for her to take to work, just as I did every single day, along with the sandwich I had made for her to eat during breaks.
“Here,” I said, holding out the sandwich to her. I felt a painful lump rise in my throat. “I am sorry about breakfast...I will make sure dinner is better.”
She did not accept it right away. Her eyes were not looking at the sandwich I held out; they were fixed on mine.
For a moment, her chestnut brown orbs had a demulcent quality, as if their softness could heal the very wounds her words had just created. But the connection was abrupt. She quickly looked down at the sandwich instead. I felt a small sense of relief when she finally took it.
The only thing she never insulted was the sandwiches I made.
“All you ever say is sorry,” she snorted coldly as she avoided meeting my eyes again.“You are starting to get on my nerves.”
And there it was. I felt that familiar weight on my chest again. It was the crushing realization that no matter what I do or how much I exhaust myself, I will never be enough for the woman I chose to love.
“YOU LOOK exhausted,” Freya teased with a grin as she waltzed into my office. “Did Yael keep you up again last night?”
I swallowed another pain reliever. Hoping it would lessen the ache pounding behind my temples. I had been feeling nauseous all morning. It was likely because I stayed up late the night before sketching designs for our summer collection.
“I am really not feeling well,” I sighed. Resting my head against the back of my swivel chair, I closed my eyes briefly. “Can you make me some coffee?”
“Are you okay?” she asked, moving closer and sitting down in the visitor’s chair across from my desk. “Did you have another fight with Yael?”
Freya has been my best friend since college. She can be nosy and talkative at times, but she is dependable when things truly matter. She never leaves me alone with my problems, especially after I married Yael. She is one of the few people I confide in. It is mostly because I have no one else to talk to.
I cannot tell my parents. If I did, they would put Yael in a very difficult position. I cannot tell my eldest cousin, Zoren, either. She and Yael were close acquaintances before, but Zoren has come to abhor Yael for reasons I do not know.
When Zoren gets angry, she is dangerous. I am afraid she might actually hurt Yael.
“I accidentally burnt her breakfast,” I admitted with a heavy sigh. Resting my chin on my hand. “I completely forgot it was on the stove while I was ironing her clothes.”
“She turned cranky just because of some burnt food? That bitch,” Freya rolled her eyes as she scoffed. “She should be grateful she has a wife who actually takes care of her and looks after her every need.”
“I will just make something special for her dinner. That is why I am planning to clock out early today.”
“Oh, I see,” Freya let out a knowing smirk at my words. “You are going to make up for it at dinner. And then you will be the dessert, right?”
“Freya!” I scolded her, feeling my face heating up instantly at her suggestion.
Freya laughed loudly as she stood up from the chair. She was still chuckling at my embarrassment.
I had sex with Yael, because it was a part of my marital duties ot her as her wife, but I was still easily flustered whenever it was mentioned so bluntly.
“Don’t be so shy,” Freya teased. “I will go make your coffee now.”
I went through the rest of the day struggling with a stiff neck and a lingering headache. Fortunately, Freya was attentive enough to notice that I was not feeling any better. She stepped in and assisted me by taking our customers’ measurements. I felt as though the headache would worsen sooner or later. Freya must have noticed how restless I had become because she eventually told me to leave the boutique early.
I swallowed another pill to ease my headache as I drove to the nearest grocery store. I strolled down the aisle, already knowing the ingredients I needed for the tuna pasta—Yael's favorite.
It was past five o’clock when I arrived home. Yael would usually be home around eight in the evening. Sometimes she arrives as late as ten if she goes out drinking with her friends. During those hours, I always wait for her. I worry that she might stumble from being too drunk or fall down the stairs. I still remember the last time she fell. She ended up hurting her head when it hit the stair railing.
Cooking the tuna pasta was easy. I had already said several times that everything was ready by six o’clock. After setting the dish on the table, I went upstairs to take a quick bath. I hoped that the warm water would ease the dull ache still pounding in my temples. I slipped into my white silk lingerie afterward.
I was in the middle of applying lotion to my legs when I heard her Audi pull into the garage. I quickly finished getting ready so I could meet her at the door.
“Good evening, Yael,” I greeted her with a smile while holding out my hand to take her blazer and her leather case. “How was your day?” I asked, letting my eyes linger on her for a moment.
She had already draped her blazer over her arm. She was now wearing only a sleeveless, plunging silk shirt. I could not help the heat rising in my cheeks because she looked incredibly sexy.
“What is for dinner?” she asked, ignoring my question.
“I cooked tuna pasta,” I replied. She handed me her leather case and blazer while her chestnut-brown orbs scanned me. “Your favorite.”
She swallowed hard before she walked past me. I placed her things neatly on the living room table. Then I followed her into the kitchen, where she was already opening the refrigerator to get some cold water. I passed behind her to get the plates so we could finally start dinner.
When we first moved in together, Yael insisted that we should not hire any maids to help us. She wanted me to take on my responsibilities as a wife fully. To her, that included serving her, cooking, and preparing all of her things. We still have one helper hired by my parents who comes every Sunday to do the laundry and deep-clean the house, since we are both busy with work and rarely have time. However, for the rest of the week, the house is mine to manage alone.
“I added more of the tuna since I know you like it,
Yael did not move from where she was leaning against the counter. She watched me silently as I set our plates on the table. She finished her cold water while her eyes remained fixed on me. When she was done, I heard her move from behind.
I froze while putting down the plates. I could feel her breast pressing against my back. While her hands moved to caress my waist, tracing my curves beneath my silk lingerie. The touch gave me goosebumps.
“You told me you would make dinner better,” she intentionally whispered seductively. Her soft breath hit my neck as she leaned into my ear. My knees began to tremble at her proximity. “I want you to fully make up for the burnt breakfast you prepared for me this morning.”
“Yael, I cooked your favorite,” I managed to whimper. I bit down on my lower lip when her hands began to wander further over from my waist up to the side of my breast. And again, she intentionally grazes my nipple under the silk with her finger. “D-Don’t you want to eat it?”
“Of course I want to eat it,”
Her voice had dropped into a sweet, melodic tone while her tall nose traced lines on my shoulder up to my neck, making every hair in my nape stand because I could literally feel her inhaling my scent.
I knew that whenever her voice became this tender, she had only one intention. Her wandering hands were all the proof I needed.
This was the only way she ever showed me any semblance of affection. She was only ever this sweet when she was drunk, or she wanted us to have... sex.
“I want to eat it...” she whispered against the back of my ear. The heat between my legs was responding to her, so I had to press my legs together. “Along with the one who cooked it.”
