Warning Myself Not to Marry Him

Start Reading

On Thanksgiving night, I stumbled upon a livestream that seemed to defy time. It was me, from five years ago.

Look, everyone! He just proposed!

She was beaming, radiating the dizzying happiness of Conrads grand, romantic gesture.

I just watched quietly, a faint, tired smile resting on my lips.

Then, my phone buzzed.

It was a video from Conrad.

The screen filled with raw, intimate heat. Heavy, breathless gasps echoed from the speakers as he pressed his new girl against a wall, kissing her with a desperate, performative hunger.

I closed the video with practiced numbness and returned to the livestream.

I looked at my past self, so young and glowing with hope.

Amidst the flood of "forever and always" and "happily ever after" scrolling through her chat, I typed two lines:

[You and Conradit doesn't end the way you think.]

[Leave now. While you still can.]

The moment those lines posted, the chat erupted.

"Who is this bitter troll?"

"Jealous much?"

"Some people just can't stand seeing childhood sweethearts make it to the altar."

Five years ago, I sat in front of the camera, trying to maintain a polite, fragile smile.

"Don't worry about it, guys. Just ignore them."

But less than three minutes after logging off, a direct message request popped up on my personal account.

It was her.

I accepted. Instantly, a FaceTime call rang through.

She looked defensive, her eyes scanning my face. "I never mentioned Conrad's name. How did you know? And please stop spreading lies. Hes protected me since we were seven years old..."

Her voice faltered. She finally took in my gaunt, hollow face, the dark circles carved under my eyes. She froze.

"Who... who are you? Why do you look exactly like me?"

Before I could answer, the heavy front door of my apartment rumbled open.

While she waited on the other end, demanding answers, I silently flipped the camera, aiming it toward the foyer.

Conrad had brought her home.

Their hands were all over each other before the door even clicked shut. He pinned her against the wall, her high heels kicking off onto the hardwood floor as they lost themselves in a frantic, sloppy kiss.

On the screen, my past self went deathly pale.

I watched the scene unfold, completely numb. I had stopped feeling this pain a long time ago.

Every time Conrad got a new girl, he recorded a video and sent it to me. "Keeping me in the loop," he called it. It was a cruel, humiliating game he had played for three years, never tiring of the sport.

The noise at the door settled.

Conrad spotted me sitting in the dark, motionless on the sofa.

He didn't even pause. Instead, he kept his hand wrapped tightly around her waist, guiding her over.

"Why the long face? I sent you the video beforehand. You knew we were coming."

I looked at the woman. This time, it was my best friend. Daphne.

Daphne giggled, pressing her body flush against his. "Gwen, sweetie. I always knew you were the understanding type."

With a sly smile, she hooked her finger into Conrad's belt loop, tugging him toward the master bedroom.

The heavy door slammed shut.

From inside, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of intimacy began to drift out.

I looked back at the phone screen. My younger self had red, swollen eyes. She was already crying.

"I'm you, five years from now," I whispered. "This is your future."

Tears spilled over her lashes, her voice trembling violently. "No. He would never do this. He's loved me since we were kids..."

I didn't argue. I simply forwarded the video he had just sent me to her inbox.

She watched it, her face a mask of absolute disbelief. "If... if he really becomes this monster... why are you still there? Why do you stay and take this?"

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. How beautifully naive I was five years ago.

I sat on the sofa all night, sleep a distant luxury.

My phone screen lit up repeatedly through the dark hours. She was sending endless messages.

"Daphne is my best friend. How could she and Conrad..."

"Why did you let yourself become like this?"

"Gwen, what on earth happened to you over these five years?"

I stared at the glowing text, closed my heavy eyes, and didn't reply to a single one.

In the morning, Conrad left for the office.

Daphne strolled out of the master bedroom, stretching lazily when she saw me.

"Still here? God, Conrad was absolutely relentless last night. My back is killing me."

She lifted her hand, sweeping her hair back to deliberately show off the dark purple bruises blooming across her collarbone.

"But don't worry, Gwen. Hes never going to divorce you. After all, you have a lifetime of debts to pay him back for." Daphnes smile widened, sharp and poisonous. "Besides, even if you wanted to leave... would you dare?"

She was right. Conrad would never let me go.

And I couldn't afford to leave.

My fathers life was hanging by a thread, entirely dependent on the private medical resources and specialists Conrad funded.

I said nothing.

Feeling like she was throwing punches at a ghost, Daphne scoffs, lost interest, and left.

My phone buzzed again.

Unable to handle my silence, my past self called me directly on FaceTime.

She looked like she hadn't slept a wink either, her eyes raw and red.

The moment the connection stabilized, she demanded, "Why aren't you answering me? You have your own career! Even if he changed, why didn't you just pack your bags and walk out?"

My heavy silence slowly drained the remaining spark from her eyes.

She began to realize the truth, her voice dropping to a fragile whisper. "So... in five years... we have nothing left? Is that it?"

I nodded slowly. Walking over to the window, I aimed the camera down the street toward a cleared, gravel-strewn lot two blocks away.

"That was my design studio," I said quietly.

The place I had built from scratch, pouring over hundreds of blueprints, working late into the night until my hands cramped.

But Conrad had systematically pressured my clients to cancel their contracts, bought out the entire building, and razed it to the ground.

Looking at the empty lot, she stammered in sheer shock. "Why? Why would he be so heartless? What did you do? Tell me, Gwen, please!"

I looked down, my throat tight and dry. "You don't want to know."

Four winters ago, Conrads younger sister, Iris, jumped from a high-rise building, dying instantly.

And I was set up. I woke up in a hotel room, disheveled and barely dressed, lying in the same bed as Iris's boyfriend.

Conrad convinced himself that I was a shameless homewrecker whose actions drove his sister to suicide.

From that day on, the boy who swore he would protect me forever died.

He stripped away everything I loved, dragging me down into his personal hell.

Pulling myself out of the memory, I looked at the screen. My past self was staring at me, her eyes hollowed by despair.

"Is there really nothing you can do?"

After a long, suffocating silence, I slowly shook my head.

"Not for me."

In the quiet that followed, I held her gaze and spoke clearly, letting every word land.

"But for you, there is still time."

The call disconnected, leaving me alone in the empty, silent house.

Just as the screen went black, a text notification hums.

It was from my dad:

Gwen, sweetie, did you get some of those Thanksgiving pies? How are you holding up? Dad is doing just fine here at the clinic. Don't work yourself too hard, okay?

A sudden, sharp ache hit my throat, and my eyes prickled.

After four years of systematic emotional wearing down, most of my wounds had lost their ability to feel pain.

Now, Dad was the only thing left that connected me to this world.

I went to the hospital.

In the private room, Dad was propped up against the pillows, his skin a fragile, sallow yellow.

He forced a weak smile when he saw me walk in.

"Gwen. Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes," I lied.

He studied my face, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, just like he did when I was a little girl.

"Youve lost so much weight."

"Just busy at the studio," I managed a faint, reassuring smile.

Dad sighed, shaking his head.

"The nurses told me, Gwen... your studio closed four years ago."

I froze, struggling to keep the fake smile on my face, murmuring that it was just a minor setback.

Suddenly, Dad gripped my hand with surprising strength.

"Gwen... is Conrad treating you well?"

I wanted to say, Hes just busy. But the words lodged in my throat, choking me.

"Dad, don't worry about us. Just focus on resting."

I gently pulled my hand away and practically fled the room.

Out in the quiet hallway, I tilted my head back, swallowing down the bitter lump in my throat.

But before I could compose myself, the attending physician approached with a grim expression.

"Gwen, your father's kidney function is deteriorating rapidly. We need to increase his dialysis treatments. You need to speak with Conrad about funding this extension as soon as possible."

I nodded, my body stiff.

As the doctor walked away, the elevator doors chimed open.

Conrad and Daphne stepped out.

Daphne was holding an ultrasound printout, one hand resting protectively over her stomach, a triumphant smile on her face.

He was here for her prenatal appointment.

Swallowing my pride, I stepped forward and blocked Conrads path.

"The doctor says my dad needs more dialysis sessions. Can we please"

Conrad glanced at me with cold indifference. Daphne gently tugged on his arm.

"Conrad, honey, theyre going to call our name. The doctor said we might hear the heartbeat today. Let's go, please?"

Without a second glance at me, he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her toward the OB-GYN wing.

I watched their retreating backs.

A pain far deeper than any humiliation tore through my chest.

Two years ago, the constant psychological abuse drove me into severe depression. I was surviving on heavy doses of medication.

It wasn't until I collapsed and was rushed to the ER that I found out I was pregnant.

But because of the heavy meds, the fetus had already stopped developing.

I had to undergo a grueling procedure. I hemorrhaged on the table, and they issued a critical condition notice.

When I finally woke up from the anesthesia, cold and trembling, I called Conrad.

The only response I got was the low, breathless sound of him with another woman.

When he eventually found out about the baby we lost, he actually wept. He held me tightly, sobbing, begging for forgiveness over and over.

For a brief moment, I thought it was a flicker of his humanity returning.

But his guilt didn't even last a month.

Soon enough, he was back to his cold, sadistic self, revolving through an endless cycle of women.

The pain of losing our child was a chapter he closed with ease.

Leaving me to rot in the aftermath, day after day.

My phone vibrated. It was my past self.

She asked why I haven't replied today.

I looked toward the digital screen in the waiting area, took a quick photo of Daphne's name listed under the OB-GYN appointments, and sent it to her.

Then I locked my phone, dragging my exhausted body out of the hospital.

What I didn't know was that behind me, my father had slowly dragged himself out of his room, leaning against the hallway wall, his eyes red and brimming with silent tears as he witnessed the entire exchange.

When I returned to the house, I find all my belongings piled in boxes out in the hallway.

The housekeeper looked at me apologetically. "Mr. Dennis said... Ms. Daphne is moving in."

I nodded quietly and dragged my boxes into the small guest storage room off the hallway.

Late that night, lying on the narrow cot in the storage room, my phone rang.

It was the hospital. The nurses voice was shaking.

"Gwen... your father... he waited until the night shift nurses were doing rounds, and he pulled out his ventilator tubes."

"We tried to resuscitate him, but hes gone. I'm so sorry."

My mind went entirely blank.

I didn't even put on shoes. I ran out of the house barefoot, sprinting down the cold asphalt toward the hospital.

Rocks cut into the soles of my feet, leaving bloody tracks, until I managed to wave down a cab.

In the backseat, shivering, I finally saw the last voicemail Dad left me:

Gwen, my sweet girl. Dad doesn't want to be the chain that keeps you locked in that cage anymore.

Youve suffered so much for me over these years.

My beautiful daughter... don't look back. You're free now.

When I arrived, the hospital room was perfectly still.

A white sheet was drawn over his face.

Holding his cold hand, I broke down. For the first time in years, the wall of numbness cracked, and I sobbed until my chest felt hollow.

By the time the paperwork was processed, it was four in the morning.

I sat on the concrete steps outside the morgue, my phone screen glowing in the dark.

On the other end of the screen, my past self had red, swollen eyes. She stayed on the line with me through the entire night.

Without her, I wouldn't have survived the dark.

When I walked back into the house, the sun was already high.

Conrad was sitting on the living room sofa.

Hearing the front door, he cast a frigid look over his shoulder.

"The housekeeper said you ran out in the middle of the night. What is wrong with you? You're not answering your phone or your texts."

I ignored his anger. My voice was as flat as stagnant water.

"I want a divorce."

Conrad blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second, before letting out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Sure. Try it. The moment you sign those papers, your father's treatment stops. Gwen, you'd better think long and hard before you start playing games with me."

With that, he stood up and walked upstairs, completely unbothered.

I watched him walk away, feeling nothing but a vast, silent emptiness.

He thought he held the ultimate leverage. He thought that as long as my father needed his money to survive, I would always crawl back, begging for forgiveness.

But he had no idea.

Just hours ago, the only thing keeping me in this prison... vanished.

I walked into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and opened the video call with my past self one last time.

The connection went through.

Her eyes were still terribly red.

"Tell me," she said, her voice steady and resolute. "What do I need to do right now?"

I looked at herat my younger, unbroken selfand say only four words.

"Leave him. Never look back."

She closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, there was nothing left but sheer determination.

"Okay. I promise."

The call ended.

I took one last look around this house, realizing how absurd these last five years had been.

But at least it was over.

I walked out the front door, leaving it all behind.

Meanwhile, in his second-floor study, Conrad leaned back in his leather chair.

He wondered why I hadn't come upstairs to beg for his mercy yet.

Usually, all it took was a mention of my father, and I'd be knocking on his door within ten minutes, apologizing.

This was taking too long.

An unfamiliar prickle of irritation prompted him to stand up. He opened the door and walked down the stairs.

The living room was dead silent. Empty.

"Gwen!" he called out, his brow furrowing.

No answer.

He descended the stairs, but his steps suddenly faltered.

The shoe rack near the door, which used to be lined with my neatly organized shoes, was completely bare.

He looked around, a sudden sense of wrongness settling over him.

The throw pillows I picked out for the sofa were gone. The mug I always used on the coffee table was gone.

On the wall where our wedding portrait used to hang, there was now a landscape painting he had never seen before.

Panic seizing him, he bolted up the stairs and threw open the door to the small guest storage room.

It was completely bare, as if no one had ever set foot inside.

Every trace of my existence in this house had vanished into thin air.

"Gwen!" he roared, his voice cracking with sudden, desperate confusion.

The housekeeper ran out of the kitchen, startled by his shout.

"Mr. Dennis... who is Gwen?"

Conrad grabbed her by the shoulder, his voice shaking with suppressed fury. "Stop playing stupid! My wife! She was just here!"

The housekeeper trembled under his grip. "Sir, please... Ive worked for you for five years. Youve always lived here alone."