The harsh morning light pierced through the blinds, a cruel reminder that I was still trapped in a life I no longer recognized. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the ghost of my baby’s two-week-old cries echoed in my ears, closely followed by the booming, cruel voice of my husband, Draven.
I couldn’t do this anymore.
An hour later, I was sitting in a high-rise office downtown, staring at the only person I could trust: my college best friend, Martha, who was now a practicing family lawyer. I laid it all bare the years of emotional abuse, the isolation, and my desperate need to escape.
Martha sighed, massaging her temples as she looked at me with deep concern. "Ariel, you’ve been isolated since you got married. You haven't worked a single day since you gave birth. If you want to survive a divorce from a man as vindictive as Draven, you need a foundation. The very first thing you need to do is get a job. You need to be financially stable, or he will use your dependency to crush you in court."
But returning home was a swift descent back into purgatory. The moment I stepped through the front door, the shrill voice of my mother-in-law cut through the quiet house like a serrated knife.
"Where the hell have you been?!" she screeched, marching out of the living room, her face twisted in disgust. "You left this house without making breakfast for my son! You lazy, useless girl. Draven works his fingers to the bone, and you can’t even fulfill your basic duties as a wife?"
She hurled insult after insult, calling me every degrading name in her vocabulary. I didn't say a word. I kept my head down, my chest tight, and walked straight past her into the kitchen. I didn't argue. I just turned on the Gas and began preparing dinner, silently repeating Martha’s advice like a mantra in my head. Get a job. Get out.
(Flinch Tech Headquarters)
Meanwhile, in the sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse office of Flinch Tech, a different kind of tension was brewing. Andrew, the executive assistant to the most powerful tech mogul in California, stood nervously before his boss’s desk.
"Mr. Lauren," Andrew began carefully, adjusting his glasses. "I’ve encountered a major issue. Our medical liaisons haven't been able to secure another anonymous breast milk supply for your condition. The current batch is running out."
Vincent Lauren didn't look up from his tablet, his striking, icy features unreadable. His *Dialora sickness* was a heavily guarded corporate secret a condition that required a specific, clinical remedy twice a day just to keep him functional.
"Keep looking," Vincent commanded, his voice a low, commanding baritone. "What else?"
"I'm compiling the CVs for the first batch of applicants for your new executive secretary position. I’ll send the files to your tablet shortly," Andrew reported. "Also, a reminder about the upcoming Flinch Tech Charity Gala for disabled youth. You are the main host. Actress Elena Valtieri has officially confirmed her attendance as a co-host."
Andrew hesitated, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Mr. Vincent, you know Miss Elena has been desperate to get your attention for months. The moment she heard about the charity, she volunteered willingly."
Vincent finally looked up, his dark eyes flashing with cold disdain. "That cheap slut just wants me to fuck her pussy. She wants to be the Lauren girlfriend so she can use my name to secure more global ambassador deals. But I don't sleep with sluts my security guys have already licked. She’s wasting her time."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Send me the secretary files. Let’s see if anyone is actually competent."
Back at the house, the front door slammed open. Draven was home.
Before he even took off his coat, his complaints filled the hallway. He walked into the dining room, immediately throwing a fit about the placement of his keys, the temperature of the house, and the dinner on the table. He insulted my intelligence, my appearance, and my worth just like he did every single day.
Before he could finish his latest tirade, I looked him dead in the eye. "I want a divorce, Draven."
The room went dead silent. Then, Draven burst into a loud, mocking laugh.
"You want a divorce?" he sneered, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Who put such utter rubbish in your head? Stop talking nonsense and serve my food."
"You will be hearing from my lawyer soon, Draven. This is not a joke," I said, my voice shaking
"I am tired of being your slave. I am tired of being disrespected. I am freeing myself from this marriage."
Daven's laughter vanished, replaced by a dark, ugly sneer. He took a step toward me, towering over me with absolute arrogance.
"Freeing yourself? With what money, Ariel? Where exactly are you going to get the cash to pay back the two-million-dollar dowry I paid your family?" He leaned in, his breath hot against my face. "When your poverty-stricken parents were begging and requesting a million different things for that dowry, I paid it without a word. So don't act shocked now. You want out? Pay me back every single dime."
Before I could even process his words, the kitchen door swung open. My mother-in-law stormed into the dining room, her face twisted in pure rage, having overheard everything.
"A divorce?!" she screeched, her voice lashing out like a whip. "You stupid, ungrateful girl! I knew the moment you stepped into this house that you were nothing but a jinx. Where exactly will you go? Who would ever marry you now? You are nothing but worthless! My son married you out of pity, even though he knew you had absolutely nothing to offer this family except your worthless body!"
She turned to Draven, her finger shaking as she pointed it at me. "Draven, she left this house since morning and only just crawled back this evening! God knows what she was doing. I told you not to marry this woman back then, but you wouldn't listen to me! If you had married the daughter of the King family, you would have been set forever in the industry by now!"
Draven’s eyes narrowed into slits as he stared down at me, feeding off his mother’s venom. "You hear that, Ariel? You are jobless. You don't have a career, you don't have a degree, and you have nothing. You are absolutely *nothing* without me. You want to leave? Give me my two million dollars, or you stay right here on your knees and serve my food."
