I should’ve cried. I should’ve screamed. But I was glad.
It meant he hadn’t seen the envelope I left hidden in my coat pocket: Petition for Divorce and Resignation Letter. Both stamped and signed. My final acts before disappearing from this bloodstained life.
I slipped into the tight black dress Carson once bought me… low-cut, elegant, dangerous. It hugged my bruises like silk bandages, turning me into the perfect illusion of a woman who wasn’t quietly falling apart.
Downstairs, I caught him staring.
But the second Madison walked in, all perfume and lipstick and smugness, I disappeared again.
On the drive to the event, I sat in the backseat, silent, staring out at the glittering city I was preparing to leave behind.
Madison was all giggles and claws in the passenger seat, curled into Carson’s side like she belonged there.
“This is the car we first kissed in,” she purred, trailing her fingers up his arm. “Do you remember how wild we got that night?”
Carson shifted. “Yes babe,” he muttered then he glanced at me in the rearview.
But I didn’t flinch. I was too busy confirming my flight. Tomorrow night. No more Mafia life. No more betrayal. No more Carson Langford.
As I leaned back, something crinkled beneath me. I reached down… and froze.
A wet, lacy thong lay on the seat beside me.
My stomach twisted.
Before I could speak, Madison turned and laughed. “Oh nooo,” she said with a mock-gasp. “Oops. That’s mine! Carson, I told you not to leave it in the car!”
She giggled, like it was a joke between lovers.
“I thought you hid my thong after last night.”
Carson didn’t even look ashamed. He plucked the soaked scrap of fabric from the seat and raised it to his nose.
He sniffed.
“Hm. Peaches,” he said, smirking. Then casually tucked it into his pocket.
I nearly vomited.
Not from disgust. From hatred. From how small he was, and how low I’d let myself fall to love a man like him. They laughed like teenagers in heat while I sat behind them, trapped in their filth.
But I smiled. Quiet. Calm.
Because by this time tomorrow, they'd wake up to a world without me and without my silence. And that silence? It was the last gift they'd ever get from me.
***
We arrived at the venue. Madison hung off his arm like a trophy while I followed behind like a servant. Every time someone called her Mrs. Langford, I saw Carson flinch. But he didn’t correct them. Not once.
Near the end of the event, just when I thought I could finally breathe, chaos broke loose.
Gunshots.
Screams.
People hit the floor. The orchestra scattered.
And the first thing Carson did?
He threw himself over Madison, shielding her like she was made of gold.
I stood there frozen, and before I could move, pain seared through my side. A bullet. I gasped, collapsing, blood soaking through my dress.
“C-carson…” I whimpered, reaching for him. “Help…”
He glanced back. For a moment, I saw something in his eyes. Panic, maybe. Love? No. Pity.
He ran to me, pressed his hand on the wound.
“Hold on, Abigail. Fuck! You’ll be okay. Just hang in there.”
But then—
“Carson!” Madison screamed. “The baby! I can’t move!”
And just like that, he dropped me. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. He scooped Madison into his arms like some hero in a romance movie.
“You’re strong, Abigail,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll survive. But I can’t risk her. Or our baby.”
Then they vanished through the exit while I lay bleeding on the floor.
Alone.
Left behind by a man who once promised to protect me.
And in Madison’s smug smirk as she looked back, I saw it. She’d won. For now.
Gunshots echoed outside the doors, and I stayed hidden, bleeding, shivering. No one came.
Not Carson. Not even his crew.
When I finally crawled out, half-conscious from blood loss, the bastards had already cleared out. Left me there in the middle of a deal gone sideways.
The hospital patched me up. Again. The nurse didn’t even flinch this time. She knew me by name.
When I got back to the estate, I expected silence. Regret. Maybe someone was looking for me.
Instead, I found them at the long table in the dining hall. Carson. Madison. Kira. His mother. His right-hand man Oliver. Laughing. Drinking wine. Eating steak.
Like I hadn’t just taken a bullet meant for him.
Carson’s smile faltered when he saw me. Guilt flashed in his eyes, but it passed quick, like everything else with him.
“I had to take Madison to the ER,” he said, walking over. “She was in critical condition.”
“Yeah?” I said, voice flat. “Guess I wasn’t.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I just turned and climbed the stairs to our bedroom. Our prison cell, more like. I pulled out the old wooden box I kept under the bed. Love letters, pictures, our wedding ring, vows written on napkins from that cheap Vegas chapel.
I carried the box outside and dumped it into the steel barrel in the backyard.
Lit a match. Tossed it in.
Watched it burn.
All of it. The good years. The fake ones. The lies.
Carson stormed out when he smelled the smoke. “What the hell are you doing?!”
He grabbed the fire extinguisher, but it was too late. All he saved was a half-burnt photo of our wedding, his hand still on my waist, me smiling like a damn fool.
“You’ve lost it,” he growled. “Are you insane?!”
I looked him dead in the eyes. “I want a divorce.”
