No amount of hot water could chase away the chill seeping through my bones. When I finally stepped out of the shower, skin still damp, I went straight to the small desk tucked behind my closet. From the hidden drawer, I pulled out a folder — crisp, freshly printed divorce papers, the scent of ink still clinging to the pages.
Downstairs, music pulsed through the mansion — loud, pretentious, expensive. Rafael’s favorite kind of spectacle. Laughter bubbled around clinking glasses and slurred gossip shared behind glossy lips and polished smiles. I’d walked through these parties for years, unseen, a ghost in my own home.
Clutching the folder to my chest, I slipped into the crowd. Perfume, liquor, and fake laughter clouded the air. I found Rafael by the bar, already several drinks deep. His hair was perfectly styled, but his eyes were glassy with alcohol. When he noticed me, his lips curled into that familiar smirk of disgust.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he sneered, loud enough for people nearby to hear. “You look like you crawled out of a drain. If you’re not here to help, get lost.”
I forced a faint smile, steadying my breathing. “It’s important, Rafael. The new house inventory forms — they need your signature tonight.”
He let out a mocking laugh. “Now? Are you out of your mind? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Please,” I murmured, keeping my voice calm. “It’ll only take a second.”
I could feel the stares, the whispered judgment burning into me. To them, I was the neglected wife interrupting the show. The embarrassment.
Rafael rolled his eyes and reached for the folder, but before he could flip it open, a shrill giggle cut through the air.
Bianca — dressed like she owned the place — staggered dramatically from the couch and collapsed to the floor in an exaggerated heap.
“Oh no,” she cooed, her tone syrupy sweet as her gaze locked on Rafael. “I tripped. Rafael, baby, help me.”
He brushed past me instantly, concern plastered across his face. But before he could reach her, I stepped into his path. My hands trembled, but I stood my ground.
“Sign it first,” I said quietly. “Please.”
His eyes flashed with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Selene!” He snatched the pen from my hand, scribbled his name across the line without reading a word, and shoved the folder back into my chest. “There. You happy now?”
“Perfect,” I whispered, sliding the papers safely beneath my arm.
Bianca was already upright, slinking toward him, her arms winding around his neck like vines. “Baby,” she pouted, “she’s ruining your mood again. Come upstairs. You promised me a dance.”
He gave me one last glare before disappearing with her into the blur of laughter and champagne.
I slipped away unnoticed, my hands trembling as I climbed the stairs. When I reached my room, I shut the door, locked it, and collapsed to my knees, clutching the folder against my heart. One signature. One step closer to the life he swore I’d never escape.
From the back of my closet, I dragged out the duffel bag I’d packed months ago — in secret, in silence, over countless sleepless nights. Inside were a few changes of clothes, a small stash of cash, and my mother’s medical documents. I emptied the jewelry box on my dresser, tossing away everything Rafael had ever bought me. Each piece glittered like a curse.
Except for one thing — the delicate silver necklace my mother had left behind. I found it nestled in the back of a drawer, still untangled, still pure. I clasped it around my neck, feeling its weight settle against my skin like a quiet reminder that someone once loved me without condition.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the stillness. I snatched it up, expecting a message from my lawyer confirming the pickup.
But the name flashing on the screen froze me. Lemuel.
Rafael’s long-time rival — the man who had hovered around our marriage like a hawk circling something wounded.
I hesitated before answering. “Lemuel?”
“Selene,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk, carrying a hint of amusement. “Your father told me everything. What that bastard did to you… you never deserved any of it.”
I laughed shakily, bitterness spilling through the sound. “That’s an awfully nice way to put it.”
He chuckled lowly. “You want out, don’t you? Let me help you. Marry me. It’ll be fun — scandalous, even. Rafael won’t know what hit him.”
For a second, I just stared at the wall, a wild mix of disbelief and relief bubbling in my chest. Was it insane? Absolutely. But sanity hadn’t saved me before.
“Fine,” I said, my voice trembling with something close to freedom. “You want me? You can have me. I’ll be waiting.”
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Don’t back out.”
“I won’t.” I hung up, adrenaline flooding my veins.
The doorknob rattled. My pulse stopped.
Rafael burst in, his silhouette dark against the hallway light. His eyes were bloodshot, face flushed with liquor and rage.
“Who the hell were you talking to?” he snapped, crossing the room in two strides. “And why are you packing your things?”
He grabbed the phone from my hand before I could react. “Password.”
I tilted my head, meeting his glare with a faint smirk. “Our anniversary.”
He typed it in — February 18th. The screen flashed red. Incorrect.
His confusion hardened into anger. “The hell? That’s our date!”
I met his eyes. “No, Rafael. That’s you and Hannah. You forgot ours a long time ago.”
Color drained from his face before fury took over. “Tell me who you were talking to.”
“No one,” I lied smoothly. “I just need a few days with Mom. She’s not doing well.”
He laughed, the sound cold and sharp. “Did I say you could leave? You didn’t even lift a finger for the party, and now you’re playing the devoted daughter?”
He grabbed my arms, fingers digging in until I bit back a cry. Then he threw my phone against the dresser. It shattered, splintering the silence.
“Rafael?” Bianca’s voice floated in from the hallway, dripping with fake sweetness. “Everything okay, baby? Oh—are you two fighting about me again? Maybe it’s about me staying here?”
My stomach twisted. She was living here?
Rafael’s grin was cruel. “Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. She just thinks she can walk out on me.”
Bianca sauntered in, all perfume and smugness. “Well,” she purred, looping her arm through his, “when we go to Tokyo, maybe she can stay with her little coma mommy. Keep her company.”
He smirked, glancing at me like I was nothing. “Sounds perfect. Clean up this mess, Selene.”
They turned to leave. But Bianca paused at the doorway, her lips curving into a venomous smile. She leaned close enough that her whisper brushed my ear.
“You should be grateful I’m even letting you stay. Maybe you and your half-dead mother can rot together. You’ve always been nothing, Selene. Still are.”
Before I could react, her gaze flicked down to my chest. Her grin widened.
“Oh, this?” She yanked the necklace from my throat with a vicious tug, the chain snapping against my skin. “Pretty. I’ll take it.”
