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Summary
Minho lets out a stuttery breath and clutches at his temples, silently willing away the burning sensation under his eyelids. “...I gave him six years of my life. Six years of what? Pretending? Hiding secrets from me? How much of it was real and how much of it was fake? Did I deserve any of this?! Does he have any idea how fucking embarrassing this is? The entire company’s gonna think I’m a literal joke when they find out.”
The longer he thinks about it, the more incredulous it sounds. Spouses are supposed to love and support each other; prop each other up when they’re at their worst, and walk hand in hand with each other when they’re at their best. Spouses don’t fucking pull guns on each other and try to run each other down with their cars.
You don’t love him.
He lied to you.
Six years of pretending you were a happy little couple.
God, I wanna punch him in the throat.