The lawyer’s voice on the other end of the line was steady but hesitant. “Mrs. Valeria, I just need to ask again, are you absolutely sure you want to proceed with filing for divorce? You do remember the prenup you signed with Mr. Valeria. It says you can’t legally divorce unless… well… unless one of you is dead.”
I pressed the phone harder to my ear, staring at the cold hospital floor. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I’ll be dead in a few days anyway. So just… finalize it.”
Before he could argue, I hung up. The silence that followed buzzed like static in my ears.
I started pulling the tape off the IV in my arm when my phone lit up on the side table. Another message. I didn’t even have to look to know what it was — it always came at the same time, like clockwork.
When I finally opened it, there it was: a video. Nadia’s giggle. Xander’s low laugh. The shaky image of them tangled together in his hotel suite. Again. The fiftieth video she’d sent me — always labeled Oops, sorry, wrong send. Always just enough to remind me who I really was in their eyes.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t break the phone. I didn’t even bother to watch it all the way through. I just tossed it into my bag, finished taping gauze over the IV mark, and zipped up my small suitcase.
I was done.
As I waited for the nurse to finish the discharge papers, my mind drifted to the first time everything really started to fall apart — long before Xander, long before the yacht.
I was fifteen when my mother shattered my world. She’d been cheating on my father with Nadia’s father for years — I’d always heard the late-night calls, the slammed doors, the crying. When the divorce papers came, I thought I’d stay with Dad. But Mom forced me to come with her. “A daughter belongs with her mother,” she said.
That was the first time I felt truly unwanted.
At first, living with Nadia didn’t feel so bad. She was sweet — bright, giggly, the daughter everyone adored. We shared secrets, clothes, and whispered about our dreams at night. But it didn’t take long for the cracks to show. When she didn’t get her way, she’d cry to our parents. And somehow, the blame always landed on me.
When we were older, I saw her drape herself over Xander at family parties. They’d been closer than siblings, even though they weren’t by blood. She told me they were together. But then she left him for her acting dreams abroad. He was drunk the night I found him alone on the balcony, eyes red, whiskey in hand.
I was stupid. I thought comforting him meant I mattered. That night was a mistake for him — for me, it was the start of my ruin.
When the tabloids leaked photos of us, the scandal nearly destroyed both families. A quick wedding was the only fix. I convinced myself it was fate. And for two short years, it almost felt real. Until she came back. Until she stood in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, saying I’d seduced her man.
Xander defended me, or so I thought — until I found them in my bed. It never really ended. It only grew more blatant.
And now they didn’t even bother to hide it.
My mind snapped back to the hallway when I heard footsteps. Voices. Laughter.
“…are you sure you’re okay to be here?” Nadia asked, her voice a low, sweet drawl.
“Of course,” Xander replied, so casual. “It’s not like she died.”
My breath caught behind the corner. I pressed my back to the cold wall.
Nadia giggled. “But what if she finds out about our baby?”
“So what?” he scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. You’re the one I want to have my child, not her. We’ll surely get married soon. I promise you.”
The words stung worse than any wound on my body. They disappeared into his room, shutting the door. Three months pregnant, I heard Nadia say. Their baby. And yet they’d stolen mine from me like it was nothing.
When I got home, I opened the closet and started packing. Everything Xander had ever given me — the clothes, the jewelry, the perfume he said made me smell expensive. All of it went into a black trash bag. He didn’t deserve to see me draped in anything he’d bought to cover the truth.
I was shoving shoes into the bag when the front door slammed. I froze as my mother’s perfume hit me before she did.
She slapped me so hard my ear rang. “What the hell did you do with our money, Lauren?”
I stared at her, blinking back the stars in my vision. “What are you talking about?”
She shoved a folder of bank statements into my chest. “Gambling? All those debts under your name? We lost everything! Do you know how embarrassing this is for me?”
I shook my head, my voice a whisper. “No… I didn’t— I never—”
“It’s your name!” she screamed. “You filthy, useless—”
Nadia’s voice floated in behind her like a snake’s hiss. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
My mother whirled around. “Your sister’s a gambler! She ruined us!”
Nadia gasped — wide-eyed, all innocent sweetness. “Mom, I wanted to tell you. I found out weeks ago but… I didn’t want Lauren to get mad at me for telling. I’m so sorry, Mom. I should have told you.”
My mouth dropped open. “That’s a lie! You used my name—”
The second slap split my lip. “Liar! After everything I did for you!” My mother grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked until I screamed.
Nadia just stood behind her, eyes wide and fake-sorry.
That night, my mother hit me until I couldn’t feel my arms, my ribs, my legs — fifty strikes that burned like acid on my skin. Xander didn’t stop her. Nadia didn’t flinch. They just watched. Smirking. Whispering. Mocking.
But as I lay on the floor, curled around my bruises, I promised myself one thing: Just a few more days. Just hold on a little longer.
And then I’d be gone.
