CHAPTER 4
“What are you doing in my library? You know I hate people in it.”
Robert’s voice came low and sharp as he walked in behind Jasmine, his presence filling the room like a storm.
I froze, still holding the condom between my fingers, then quickly dropped it and lifted the box I had grabbed the one with the documents.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice quiet. “I just wanted to grab some personal things.”
Robert scoffed and stepped forward, snatching the box from my hands. His eyes swept over it with disgust.
“Personal things?” he sneered. “You have personal things?”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just ice.
“Everything you have is mine. My money paid for it. You don’t deserve to own anything, not even a pen. You should throw it all away.”
He started rifling through the box, careless, like the contents meant nothing.
“That’s our marriage certificate, Robert,” I said softly, watching him.
He barely glanced at it before shoving the box toward the corner of the table. Papers slipped out and scattered to the floor.
“I don’t care what it is,” he snapped. “None of it matters to me.”
I bent down slowly, gathering the scattered papers and placing them back into the box. My hands trembled, but I held on tightly, refusing to let anything else slip from my grasp. Without saying a word, I turned and walked toward the guest room.
Behind me, Jasmine suddenly let out a sharp cry.
“Ouch... I’m in pain... all over my waist,” she whined dramatically.
In an instant, Robert rushed to her side and scooped her up like she was made of glass. He carried her into the main bedroom without a second glance at me.
I was bent over in the guest room, picking up a few of my things I hadn’t realized were still there. My framed photo and a couple of old certificates were lying close to the edge of the table, almost smashed to the ground. I reached out quickly to gather them before anything else could break.
The door burst open behind me, slamming against the wall.
“Jasmine has requested that you make her something to eat. She said it would help with the pain,” Robert said coldly.
I turned, startled. “Me?” My voice came out before I could stop it.
“There are housekeepers all over this place—”
“She insisted it be made by you,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Please hurry up.”
And with that, he turned and left.
I stared at the door for a moment, then at the box in my hands.
I had no choice. So, I headed for the kitchen.
Once I stepped into the kitchen, Jasmine strolled in right behind me, her arms folded and a sneer playing on her lips.
“At this point, Mia, I swear you should be nominated for an award. I mean, you deserve to be a paid actress,” she said with a mocking scoff.
“What do you mean, Jasmine?” I asked, my voice low, but the anger rising fast in my chest.
“Oh, please. Don’t act dumb,” she said with a dry laugh. “You don’t see how I bully you, how I mock you, and yet you stay calm like some saint. It’s pathetic.”
My fists clenched.
“I think you should leave the kitchen, Jasmine.”
“Ooh! That reminds me,” she added with exaggerated surprise, pressing a finger to her lips like she had just remembered a juicy secret. “I never needed that liver transplant from you. I was never sick. I just wanted to see how far your stupidity would go.”
She broke into a hard, wicked laugh that bounced off the tiled walls.
My heart twisted.
Before I could think, I shoved her hard towards the gas stove behind her. Her elbow hit the metal knob and it snapped. Gas hissed out. A second later, the entire kitchen erupted.
Flames exploded, throwing me into the far wall. The blast deafened me. I hit the ground hard, the room spinning, smoke choking my lungs.
“Jasmine!” Robert’s voice rang out. He burst into the kitchen and swept her into his arms, not even glancing at me lying barely conscious by the burning counter. He jumped over my body and ran out with her.
The fire roared louder, swallowing the house in seconds. It took the firefighters hours to bring it under control. Chaos swallowed the property, but by then, I was gone.
Gone without a trace.
Robert kept asking for me, calling me nonstop. But I was never found—not even a burnt piece of clothing.
At the airport, I turned off my phone one last time, then smashed it into pieces against the bench beside me.
I was never going back to him.
