I had been secretly married to the Navy Commander for six years. Everyone on base thought I was a military doctor who had chased after him and wouldn't leave him alone.
He let them believe it and never explained.
Then, at a celebration banquet after a joint military exercise, someone publicly humiliated me:
“Dr. Ye, our Commander's fiancée is the daughter of a diplomat. Stop deluding yourself.”
Even he raised his glass, his gaze distant.
“Dr. Ye, don't waste your time on me.”
In my previous life, I frantically showed them our marriage certificate, only to hear him say, “Don't be ridiculous.”
To spare the diplomat's daughter's feelings, he personally had me locked in solitary confinement for seven days.
Later, I went to sea with my ship and was attacked by pirates. I barely survived long enough to send a distress signal.
But he missed the best chance to rescue me because he was accompanying the young lady to the opera.
That's when I finally understood: I was nothing but a pawn he could discard once I was no longer useful.
Reborn, I looked at his as-usual indifferent face and smiled.
“Fine. I wish the Commander and the young lady a lifetime of happiness together.”
“Also, my transfer request has been approved. Goodbye.”
