"Divorce me," I said again, my voice trembling but clear. "Please. Just let me go. Let me take my brother and leave. We'll disappear. You'll never see us again."
Carlos stared at me for a beat, the ice in his glass clinking softly. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.
"Divorce me?" he scoffed, stepping closer until I could smell the expensive whiskey on his breath. "Are you sure you can bear to divorce me, Katerina? You? The woman who clung to me like a vine for years after her parents died?"
He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch made my skin crawl.
"You have nothing," he whispered. "No money. No family except that thief of a brother. No career. You gave it all up for me. Where would you go? Who would want a broken, barren woman like you?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his smug face.
God, how did we get here?
It wasn't always like this. Once, he had been the one chasing me.
We met in high school. Our fathers were business partners, building the Rivera empire together. I was the quiet, studious girl who dreamed of art school. Carlos was the golden boy, the heir apparent.
He wasn't even my type. I was in love with a gentle boy named Leo. But Carlos... Carlos was relentless.
He pursued me with a terrifying intensity. Flowers every day. Grand gestures. He charmed my parents, my friends, everyone. When my father fell ill, it was Carlos who stayed by his bedside. It was Carlos who promised to take care of me.
"Marry me, Kat," he had pleaded, on his knees in the rain outside my dorm room. "I will give you the world. I will love you enough for both of us."
And eventually, I fell. I fell hard.
The first five years were a fairy tale. He was attentive, passionate, possessive in a way that felt like protection. We were the power couple of the city. I forgot about art. I forgot about Leo. I became Mrs. Carlos Rivera, the perfect wife.
Then, Luna came back.
Luna. His old friend. His "secretary."
She returned from overseas months ago, looking for a job. Carlos hired her immediately. "She's family," he had said. "She needs help."
At first, it was late nights at the office. Then, missed dinners. Then, the smell of her perfume on his clothes—a cloying, floral scent that made me nauseous.
He stopped touching me. He stopped looking at me. When I got pregnant, he didn't smile. He just asked if it would interfere with the gala season.
And now, here we were. The fairy tale had rotted from the inside out.
"Open your eyes," Carlos commanded.
I opened them. He was still smiling, that cold, predatory smile.
"You don't want a divorce," he said smoothly. "You're just emotional. You're grieving the baby. You're worried about Mateo. You're not thinking clearly."
"I am thinking clearly for the first time in years," I whispered. "You killed our child!" I screamed.
"Enough!"
He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, hard. My head snapped back.
"You will not divorce me," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "Do you hear me? You are a Rivera. You belong to me. If you try to leave, if you try to file papers... I will make sure Mateo never sees the light of day. I will bury him under so many lawsuits and charges he will rot in that cell."
I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," he hissed. "I own the judges. I own the police. I own this city. And I own you."
Tears streamed down my face. I was trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.
"Do you..." I choked out, looking into his dark eyes. "Do you even love me anymore? Did you ever?"
Carlos softened slightly. It was a calculated move, a shift in the mask. He brushed a thumb over my wet cheek.
"Of course I do," he lied. "I do everything for us, Katerina. You just need to stop being so... difficult. Be the doting wife I married. Stop asking questions. Stop making accusations."
He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head, and his lips landed on my jaw. He sighed, annoyed, but didn't force it.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.
I saw the name on the screen. Luna.
He didn't even try to hide it. He just looked at me, then at the phone.
"I have to take this," he said, stepping back. "It's work."
"Work," I repeated dully. "At ten o'clock at night."
"Business never sleeps, darling," he said, already turning away. He walked toward the door, answering the call with a warmth in his voice that he hadn't shown me in months. "Hey. Yeah, I'm coming. No, she's fine. Just hysterical again."
He paused at the doorway and looked back at me. I was standing in the middle of the room, shivering.
"If you behave," he said, his voice cold again. "If you stop this nonsense about divorce and murder... I'll make a call. I'll get Mateo out on bail. Got it?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Good," he said. "I'll be late. Don't wait up."
The front door slammed.
I listened to the roar of his engine as he sped away. To her.
My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands. I screamed into the empty house, a raw, guttural sound of pure despair.
I stayed there for an hour, crouched on the rug, until the tears stopped. They had to stop. Crying wouldn't save Mateo.
I crawled to the side table and grabbed my phone. My hands shook so badly I could barely type. I searched for a number I had saved weeks ago, back when I first suspected.
Attorney Davis. Family Law.
I dialed. It rang four times.
"Hello? This is the answering service for—"
"I need to speak to Mr. Davis," I interrupted, my voice cracking. "It's an emergency. Please."
A moment later, a groggy voice came on the line. "This is Davis."
"Mr. Davis," I said, gripping the phone like a lifeline. "This is Katerina Rivera. I want to file for divorce. I want to file for a restraining order. I want full custody of my assets."
Silence.
"Mrs. Rivera?" he asked, suddenly awake. "As in... Carlos Rivera's wife?"
"Yes."
"I... I see." He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Rivera, I'm flattered you called. But... I can't take your case."
"What?" I whispered. "Why? You're the best in the city."
"Exactly," he said, his voice dropping. "And that's why I know better than to go up against Carlos Rivera. He's a major donor to the firm's partners. He has... influence. No one in this town will touch a divorce case against him, Mrs. Rivera. It's career suicide."
"Please," I begged. "He's hurting me. He framed my brother. I have nowhere else to go."
"I'm sorry," he said. "Truly. My advice? Try to work it out. Or leave the state. But legally? You're on your own here."
Click.
The line went dead.
