ManyWriters

Three months ago, Ryan Mitchell became obsessively infatuated with a singer at a jazz club.
That girl, Scarlett, exuded a rebellious New York vibe, with heavy makeup but clear eyes. When Ryan handed her the keys to a Manhattan apartment, she rejected them without hesitation.
"I'm not anyone's caged canary, Mr. Mitchell."
Those simple words made Ryan completely lose his mind.
He spent a fortune on her, even renting an entire LED screen in Times Square for her, completely forgetting about his wife of seven years who had dedicated her youth and talent to him.
I, Emma Collins, didn't argue or yell. I just quietly tore up one of the oil paintings he had created for me every time he stayed out all night for Scarlett.
When he left me in the pouring rain because of one negative Instagram post from Scarlett, I shredded the first painting he had ever given me.When he missed his father's funeral just to rent out an entire club to hear Scarlett sing, I destroyed the tenth painting.
When he removed our wedding ring because of a single contemptuous glance from Scarlett, I ruined the twenty-ninth painting.
Now, he has abandoned me alone in the Alaskan wilderness because Scarlett casually complained about the cold weather.
And in my hands, only one last painting remains.
Taking a deep breath, I dialed the phone:
"Jack, I need divorce papers."

The Muse Who Shattered Our Vows

Scarlett suddenly burst into tears, her voice choked with emotion:


Ryan's expression visibly softened. He sighed and ran his fingers through her long hair:


"Alright, let's drop it, you little devil."


"At worst, I'll go back and comfort Emma tonight. It's not a big deal."


Then, he gently pinched Scarlett's cheek and said softly:


Standing inside the room, listening to their intimate conversation, I felt a wave of nausea.


Comfort me? So my pain was just a trivial matter in his eyes?


Late at night, Ryan indeed showed up at my door, pillow in hand.


"I'll stay with you tonight, to make up for the upset you experienced today."


I didn't want to respond, but eventually spoke up:


Before I could finish, his phone screen lit up, displaying a message from Scarlett: "I've agreed to your request."


He sat up abruptly, fingers trembling as he replied: "Agreed to what?"


Scarlett quickly responded: "Come over now, and I'll tell you in person."Ryan leapt out of bed instantly, not even bothering to put his shoes on properly as he rushed out the door.


I had once hoped for a dignified ending, but he didn't even leave me the chance to say, "Let's get a divorce."


If that's how it is, there's no need for an amicable parting either.


I picked up my phone and sent Jack my location.


I opened the curtains for some fresh air, only to see the entire camp lit up.


Ryan had somehow managed to get countless colorful lights, each one projecting photos of him and Scarlett.


Their first encounter at the jazz club, their kiss in Central Park, their smiling faces in the snow.


Suddenly, I remembered his vow from seven years ago when he gave me a room full of oil paintings:


"Emma, you're the only one in this world who can inspire me to create with such devotion."


Now, that same devotion was given to another woman.


My heart suddenly stung sharply, but quickly returned to calm.


My phone vibrated. It was a photo from Scarlett.


A bed photo of her and Ryan embracing naked, the explicitness of the image caught me off guard.


There was a line of text beneath the photo: "He performed like a stallion tonight. Are you happy for him?"


She could have agreed any other time, but she chose tonight.


She chose the moment Ryan said he would take care of me, using this method to humiliate me cruelly.I opened Instagram unconsciously, and the first thing I saw was Ryan's latest post.


A photo of him and Scarlett passionately kissing under the lights, captioned: "Finally found true love."


In seven years of marriage, I had never appeared on his social media.


He always said, "True love doesn't need to be announced to the world."


But now, all his principles meant nothing in the face of Scarlett.


I liked his post, but when I refreshed the page, it had vanished.


I knew he hadn't deleted the post; he'd just suddenly remembered to add me to his blacklist.


Sure enough, Scarlett sent me another screenshot.


It was Ryan's private account, filled with obsessive declarations of love for her:


"Scarlett, you in that black dress remind me of my heart racing when I first saw you."


"Baby, you didn't reply to my messages again today. I'm going crazy."


"Please give me a chance. I'll be your slave."


I had never seen Ryan so pathetically obsessed. With me, he was always the superior business tycoon.


Turns out, it wasn't that he couldn't express love; he just never loved me.The phone vibrated, and Ryan's message popped up:


"Emma, that was a misclick. Don't think too much."


"I'm heading back to the room now to treat your burns."


Chapter 3