He Traded Me for a Fake Princess

Six years into my marriage with Ethan Miller, the girl of his dreams—his precious "one that got away"—finally returned to the country.

That very night, Ethan posted a cozy photo of them together on Instagram.

His caption read: 【Welcome home, my princess.】 I casually left a comment underneath: 【Wishing you two a lifetime of happiness.】 Ethan deleted the post within seconds.

A moment later, his FaceTime call came through, and he started screaming at me, calling me toxic, dirtyminded, and petty.

Clara, snuggled tightly in Ethan’s arms, sobbed into the camera, trying to "explain" things to me. "Chloe, please don't be mad.

I just got back and everything feels so foreign to me.

That's why I asked Ethan to keep me company.” “If you're really that upset, I can just book a flight back to London tonight." Ethan gently stroked her hair, cooing at her to comfort her.

Then, he glared at me and grunted that I was just a paranoid, hysterical woman who didn't know her place. He told Clara not to lower herself to my level.

Staring at the two of them looking so deeply in love on my screen, I suddenly wondered what the hell I had been trying so hard to save this marriage for.

When Ethan finally came home, I was lying on the living room sofa, resting.

The moment he pushed the door open, the bright smile on his face instantly vanished, like someone had pressed a pause button.

He stood by the entryway for what felt like forever before slowly walking over to me. His very first words were full of judgment. "Chloe, you knew today was our sixth anniversary.

Why are you looking like a total slob? You didn't even bother to put on makeup." "And look at those clothes you're wearing.

They look hideous!" If this had happened in the past, his words would have made me feel incredibly insecure and ashamed.

I would have rushed into the bedroom, put on a full face of makeup, changed into a beautiful dress, and begged for his approval.

But now, facing his naked disgust, I merely lay on the sofa, let out a slow yawn, and didn't even give him a second glance.

And of course, I didn't bother reminding him that our sixth anniversary was actually yesterday. It had already passed.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Ethan’s brows furrowed in annoyance. He stood up and walked over to the dining table.

On it sat a cake shaped like a grand piano, topped with a small candle in the shape of the number "6." Ethan stared at the cake, stunned for a second, before letting out a mocking laugh. "Chloe, do you seriously think buying a pianoshaped cake makes you an artist like Clara?

Stop trying to pretend you understand classical music.

It’s honestly embarrassing." He dipped his finger into the frosting, scooped a piece of the cake, and shoved it into his mouth. Chewing, he grimaced. "Gross. This tastes terrible.

You really are useless, aren't you? You can't even get a simple cake right. Unlike Clara.

The pastries she bakes are always so sweet and perfect." In the past, hearing him tear me down while putting Clara on a pedestal would have triggered a massive, crying argument.

But now, I only felt a pang of pity for the cake. I had spent months in baking classes trying to perfect it, and I hadn't even gotten a single bite before he ruined it.

Ethan didn't get the hysterical reaction he expected, and he looked at me with a flicker of confusion.

He walked back over, kneeling before me with an air of aristocratic condescension.

He pulled out an LV rose pendant necklace from his pocket and offered it to me like a master throwing a scrap to a dog. "Alright, stop sulking.

Did you honestly think I forgot our anniversary? I remembered. Look, I bought this specifically for you." I glanced at the necklace.

It was a beautiful piece, worth about three thousand dollars.

But I also knew it was a VIP complimentary gift—the kind they give you for free when you buy their new fourhundredthousanddollar high jewelry collection.

Clara had posted that exact $400k diamond necklace on her Instagram last night. It was stunning. It really was.

Looking at Ethan's handsome face hovering over mine, a sudden, inexplicable wave of disgust washed over me.

I closed my eyes and turned my head toward the back of the sofa, ignoring him completely. My cold shoulder drove Ethan crazy.

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him, his voice rising in anger. "Chloe, don't throw a tantrum when I'm trying to be nice!

You threw your fit on Instagram, and now I've brought you an expensive gift.” “Clara was so shaken by your comment she almost booked a flight back to Europe last night!” “She’s a young girl with no one else in this city.

What's wrong with me spending a little time to make sure she's okay?” “Was it really necessary for you to call me twentysix times in a row?

When will you grow up?!" I opened my eyes, meeting his furious gaze, and said calmly, "I just don't like receiving free promotional leftovers. Why are you getting so worked up?

If you want to go keep her company, go.

I’m not stopping you." At the word "leftovers," a flash of guilt crossed Ethan's eyes, but he quickly covered it with anger. "What nonsense are you talking about?

Since when do I give you leftovers?!" I looked at him like he was an idiot, unlocked my phone, and brought up the bank transaction notification of the $400,000 charge.

I held it right in front of his face. "Ethan, did you forget?

The card you used is linked to my phone number for alerts." Ethan snatched my phone and slammed it onto the hardwood floor. "Chloe! You're spying on me!

You linked my card to your phone just to keep tabs on me, didn't you? Don't think I don't know your little sick games!

You're obsessed with controlling me!" In the past, seeing him this angry would have terrified me.

I would have dropped to my knees, apologized, begged for forgiveness, and immediately unlinked the account to appease him. But now, it just felt incredibly pathetic.

His explosive rage was nothing more than the desperate act of a liar whose cover had been blown.

I bent down, wincing, to pick up my cracked phone. Frustrated by my indifference, Ethan violently grabbed my arm and yanked me off the sofa.

My knee slammed hard against the sharp wooden edge of the coffee table. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up my leg, and a gasp of pain escaped my lips.

I curled up on the floor, clutching my knee, my face turning deathly pale. Ethan stood over me, looking down with absolute disdain and impatience. "Oh, cut the drama, Chloe.

I know exactly how much force I used. Stop acting. Is this your new way of begging for my attention? I suggest you stop while you're ahead.

It’s embarrassing." He didn't know that my knee was already severely injured. Last night, I had run out of cake ingredients and had to drive to a latenight grocery store.

On my way back, a creep had followed me into the dark underground parking garage. In my panic, I tripped and fell hard on the concrete, bloodying my knee. I was terrified.

I hid behind a pillar and called Ethan twentysix times, but he never picked up.

In those terrifying moments, I hadn't even cared about my own safety; I was terrified that Ethan was the one in danger.

A kind older woman who lived in the building eventually scared the creep away and escorted me to my door. Once I was safe, the first thing I did was try to reach Ethan again.

I was literally on the verge of calling the police to report him missing when I saw his Instagram post welcoming his "princess" home.

At that exact moment, I realized that the past six years I spent poured into this marriage were a complete joke. Ethan watched me curl on the rug for a long time.

When I didn't get up, it finally clicked that I might not be faking it. He walked over and pulled up the hem of my dress.

My knee was already dark purple, swollen to the size of a tennis ball. A frown creased his forehead, and he reached down to lift me up to take me to the ER.

I instinctively flinched away from his touch. Ethan’s face darkened instantly. "Chloe, seriously, when is this going to end? I already told you, Clara is like a little sister to me.

There is absolutely nothing going on between us." "Use your brain for once. We grew up together.

If we wanted to be together, we would have been together long before you ever entered the picture." He always did this.

Every single time Clara crossed the line, he would pull the "if we wanted to be together, we would be" card to shut me down. Then he would call me paranoid, insecure, and jealous.

In the past, his words made me deeply insecure. I constantly compared myself to Clara, feeling inferior in every way, to the point of falling into a deep depression.

But now that I saw him for what he truly was, I had learned to love myself again. I would never let his cruel words make me doubt my worth.

Just as I was about to snap back, his phone buzzed. Clara's sweet, fragile voice echoed from the speaker. "Ethan... the power suddenly went out at my place.

I'm so scared, and I can't find any candles. Can you please come over?

You know how terrified of the dark I've been since we were kids." Hearing her voice, the irritation on Ethan’s face instantly melted into pure tenderness.

His voice softened completely. "Don't worry, Clara.

I’m on my way." He glanced at my swollen knee, then added into the phone, "Stay exactly where you are and don't walk around in the dark. You might trip and hurt yourself.

Just wait for me. I'll be there in ten minutes." Ethan grabbed his car keys, paused at the door, and looked back at me. "Chloe, stay home and think about what you did wrong tonight.

I’m going to check on Clara first. I’ll be back to take you to the hospital later."

Ethan didn't come back all night. Because of the stalker in my garage, I was too terrified to leave the apartment in the dark. I endured the throbbing pain all night.

The moment the sun rose, I called an Uber and went to the hospital myself. When the doctor saw the state of my knee, his face turned incredibly grave. "This is highly irresponsible!

Why did you wait so long to see a doctor? Do you want to lose the ability to walk?" The genuine concern from a stranger suddenly broke the dam of emotions I had been holding back.

All the pain, loneliness, and exhaustion of the past six years rushed out, and I burst into tears right there in the examination room. The sweet old doctor, Dr.

Reynolds, was completely thrown off by my sudden sobbing. He frantically started handing me tissues, trying his best to comfort me. But the nicer he was, the harder I cried.

Once I finally calmed down, Dr. Reynolds gently asked what had happened. I ended up pouring my heart out, telling him everything about my toxic sixyear marriage.

The old doctor was absolutely furious by the end of it, muttering curses under his breath about "worthless, spineless boys." I had a feeling that if Ethan were standing in front of him, Dr.

Reynolds would have happily smacked him with his clipboard. He was such a sweet, protective old man. After venting to him, I felt a massive weight lift off my chest.

As I was leaving, Dr. Reynolds insisted on setting me up with his handsome, successful nephew.

I couldn't bear to break his heart by refusing, so I smiled and gave him my contact info.

But as I walked out of the clinic lobby, I ran straight into Ethan carrying Clara in his arms. Ethan froze, a quick flash of panic crossing his eyes when he saw me.

Clara noticed me too. She immediately snuggled closer into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

She gave me a sweet, apologetic smile. "Chloe, please don't get the wrong idea. I accidentally sprained my ankle, so Ethan had to carry me.

We really are just friends." She subtly tilted her leg to show me a tiny, practically invisible scratch on her ankle. I looked at it and said flatly, "You should hurry inside.

If you wait any longer, that devastating wound might heal on its own." I turned to walk away.

Ethan called out to me, his expression complicated. "I told you to wait for me at home, Chloe. Why did you come to the hospital by yourself?

Is your knee okay?" I glanced back, a cold smirk on my lips. "If I had waited for you, they would have had to amputate my leg." Ethan flinched, opening his mouth to speak, but Clara cut him off. "Ethan... my ankle is really starting to throb again..." Instantly, all of Ethan's attention shifted back to her.

He completely forgot about me, carrying her hurriedly into the emergency wing. Watching their retreating figures, I let out a dry laugh.

I pulled out my phone and called Lucas Davis, an old high school classmate.

At our last reunion, I heard he had become one of the most ruthless and successful divorce attorneys in the state.

After spending the afternoon with Lucas discussing asset division and preparing the paperwork, I felt an incredible sense of peace. That night, I fell asleep almost instantly.

In the middle of the night, I felt the bed shift, and a pair of hands reached around my waist. My mind instantly flashed back to the terrifying memory of the stalker in the garage.

My body went into a state of pure fightorflight. I grabbed the heavy brass table lamp from the nightstand and smashed it backward with all my might.

A loud, agonizing scream echoed through the dark bedroom. I flicked the light switch on. Ethan was clutching his forehead, blood streaming down his face, groaning in pain.

I stared at him coldly. "Sorry. I thought you were a home invader." I let out a yawn and prepared to pull the covers back over my head.

Ethan stared at my cold back, his face turning pale and rigid. He stood there for several minutes, completely speechless.

Seeing that I had absolutely no intention of tending to his wound, he reluctantly walked over to my side of the bed, knelt down, and nudged my shoulder.

His voice sounded pathetic. "Chloe... I’m bleeding." Without even opening my eyes, I replied, "Then go to the ER.

I’m not a doctor." His hand froze on my shoulder. "Chloe, aren't you even going to comfort me? Go grab the first aid kit and help me clean this up.

Please?" I shoved his hand away in irritation. "Stop being so annoying. It’s a tiny scratch. Why are you acting like such a baby? You don't have to work tomorrow, but I do.

Let me sleep." My words pushed Ethan over the edge. His voice cracked with rage. "Chloe! What the hell is wrong with you?!

In the past, if I so much as got a paper cut, you would be crying and taking care of me twentyfour hours a day!" "Ever since Clara came back, you've been throwing these petty tantrums, giving me the silent treatment!

I’ve told you a million times, Clara and I are completely innocent!” “I'm telling you, my patience is running thin.

If you keep acting like this, we might as well just get a divorce!" In our six years of marriage, I had lost count of how many times Ethan had threatened me with divorce.

He used to do it because he knew how desperately I loved him. Whenever I did something he didn't like, he would throw the "divorce" card out without hesitation.

Then he would watch me grovel like a pathetic beggar, doing everything in my power to please him and earn his forgiveness.

He was entirely convinced that I could never live without him. But this time, as he stood there waiting for my usual begging, I looked him dead in the eye and said quietly: "Okay.

Let’s divorce."