"You should sign quickly." Her eyes stayed on me, her tone both sweet and cruel. "Dragging this out is pointless."

My throat burned with words I couldn't say. With screams I couldn't release.

Something inside me snapped.

I stood up and stepped forward before I could stop myself, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked hard.

She screamed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Maxwell's voice cut through the room, finally showing some emotion.

"Get the fuck out of my house." I dragged her off the couch arm. "And take my nightgown off your damn body."

She clawed at my hands, crying, swearing, calling me crazy. I didn't stop until I pulled her out of the house and shoved her onto the ground outside. She stumbled, catching herself on the gravel.

Maxwell moved fast then, wrapping his robe around her shaking shoulders and pulling her away from me.

"That's enough!" His bark echoed in the night air.

"No." My voice came out calm. "That's marriage."

He stared at me like he didn't recognize me. Good. I didn't recognize myself either.

Selene was gone ten minutes later. Maxwell booked her into a five-star hotel downtown. I heard him on the phone in his study, apologizing, soothing, promising this wouldn't happen again. Promising he'd handle me.

Handle me. Like I was a problem to be solved instead of a woman he had just humiliated.

When he came back downstairs, the tenderness was gone. He was cold again. Business Maxwell. The version of him I knew best.

He pointed at the divorce papers on the table.

"Stop wasting my time and just sign it."

I laughed. A dry, ugly sound that surprised both of us.

"You slept with her in our bed and think I'll sign quietly?"

"My father wanted this marriage. You knew that from the beginning."

"Yes." I held his gaze. "So how exactly do you plan to explain this mess to him?"

His jaw tightened. Maxwell's father was the only person he feared. The old man had arranged our marriage to fix Maxwell's public image after a scandal with a married actress. Clean slate, he'd said. Marry someone respectable.

"You and I both know this marriage was never real." The words came out sharp.

I flipped through the pages slowly. Standard terms. Clean split. A modest payout that was insulting given what I had endured.

"Then let's talk money."

His frown deepened. "What?"

"One billion. Cash or assets. Your choice."

The silence that followed was deep.

Then he laughed, like I'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

"You've been waiting for this."

"No." I kept my voice steady. "I've been surviving."

"You only care about my money."

"If that were true," I met his eyes, "you'd already be broke."

I closed the folder and slid it back to him across the polished wood.

"You want me gone fast. You want this clean. You want to move Selene in before your father finds out what you've done. This is the price."

His eyes darkened, calculation replacing the mockery. Then he nodded once.

"Fine. You want money? I'll give you that…if it will make you stay out of my way."

He pulled out his phone. My screen brightened at that moment, showing a bank alert. A smile tugged at my lip as I raised my gaze to meet his unreadable expression.

I turned away and walked to the couch, my legs finally giving out now that the adrenaline was fading.

He turned and went up the stairs. Several minutes later he left without even a word. He did not come back that night.

At some point after midnight, the nausea hit hard.

I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up, gripping the cold marble sink so tightly my knuckles went white. My body shook like it was trying to purge more than food. I rinsed my mouth, wiped my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Pale and exhausted.

"You're fine." The words felt hollow. "You're not weak. You're not losing control."

But my hands were still shaking.

I slept on the couch with all the lights on, my phone clutched in one hand like a lifeline.

Maxwell came back the next morning like nothing had happened.

I heard his car before I saw him. The familiar purr of his Mercedes pulling into the driveway. The sound made my chest tighten, but I stayed seated, legs crossed, coffee untouched on the table in front of me.

He walked in, jacket still on, hair slightly damp. He stopped at the entrance, taking in my posture on the sofa.

"You look comfortable."

"You look like shit."

He did. Dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his keys on the console table and glanced around like he was looking for something.

"Where's Selene's bag?"

"Gone. Along with any illusion you had that I would play nice."

A scoff escaped him. "You assaulted her."

"She wore my nightgown. In my bed. We're even."

He sighed like he was already tired of this conversation, tired of me. "We need to finish this."

"We already started. You just didn't expect me to speak."

He sat down across from me, smoothing his tie. "I agreed to your terms. The money. All of it. What else do you want?"

I could feel the rage burning in him. I knew his reaction when I pushed him too far.

"Yes. And now we continue."

His look could have strangled me.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number while ignoring his burning gaze. After a moment, two men in dark suits walked in.

Maxwell stood up, clearly thrown off.

"Ariana." He gestured to the two men then back at me. "What the hell does this mean?”

His eyes stayed on my face as if he was searching for the woman he thought he married. The quiet one. The agreeable one. The woman who would swallow her pain, smile through disrespect, and still call it love.

“So you called a lawyer because of this?”

Maxwell asked, his voice tight with anger.

His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and his jaw looked like it could crack from how hard he was holding it. The funny thing was that he looked offended, like I had done something unforgivable, like I was the one who betrayed him.

I should have been excited today. I should have been holding my pregnancy test in my hands, smiling like a fool, waiting for the perfect moment to tell my husband that I was carrying his children. Twins. Two tiny lives that had already started growing inside me without anyone’s permission.

But instead of joy, I was standing in front of him with divorce papers on the table, while his mistress sat comfortably in my home like she belonged there.

What else did he expect me to do?

I had suspected his cheating long before today, but I kept lying to myself because I didn’t want to believe the truth. It started with calls from friends who sounded excited and happy for me, telling me how lucky I was.

“Ariana, you and Maxwell looked so good together.”

I would freeze and ask, “What are you talking about?”

“At that hotel. You both looked like newlyweds. He’s so romantic.”

At first, I thought it was a mistake. Then the messages started coming in. People congratulating me. People praising my “perfect marriage.” People telling me how my husband took me out to expensive restaurants while I was at home cooking his meals or sitting in his office organizing his files like I was his unpaid assistant.

The worst part was that they weren’t lying. Maxwell was doing those things. He just wasn’t doing them with me.

One day, my friend sent a picture. It was Maxwell stepping out of a hotel lobby with a woman by his side. They were wearing matching scarves like it was some romantic couple thing. My whole body had gone cold as I stared at the screen.

If that wasn’t you, Ariana, then I guess your husband is a cheating bastard. He’s been visiting this hotel for months now.

I had read that message again and again until my eyes burned. Still, I tried to convince myself there was another explanation. Maybe he was meeting a client. Maybe it was business. Maybe it was nothing.

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

And now he didn’t even bother hiding it anymore because he had brought her into the house. Into my space. Into the home I once believed we were building together.

Divorce was the only way forward. But it wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t going to happen on his terms.

The lawyer left minutes later after Maxwell agreed to my conditions, and I knew he didn’t agree because he respected me. He agreed because he feared what would happen if I stopped being quiet. He agreed because he cared about his reputation more than he ever cared about my heart.

“Never knew there was this side of you,” Maxwell said after the lawyer left, dropping the pen in front of me like it disgusted him. His lip curled as he looked at me. “I never expected you to be a gold digger.”

Gold digger.

That word nearly made me laugh, but my chest felt too heavy for laughter. I didn’t even have the strength to argue with him because I had spent too many years arguing for a marriage he was already destroying behind my back.

A wave of nausea rolled through me, sharp enough to make me grip the edge of the table.

My hand moved to my stomach instinctively as discomfort spread through my body. I hadn’t gone back to the hospital after the doctor revealed I was two weeks pregnant, and I still hadn’t fully processed that I was carrying twins for this arrogant man.

This wasn’t how I imagined my life. This wasn’t how I imagined love.

A week passed after the divorce papers were drafted, and the house stopped feeling like his. I moved differently. I breathed differently. I no longer hovered around him, waiting for crumbs of attention like a starving dog. I no longer asked about his schedule, or stayed awake pretending I cared when he came home late smelling like another woman.

I lived like someone who already had one foot out the door.

Maxwell noticed the change, of course he did. Men like him always noticed when a woman stopped begging.

One afternoon, he walked out of his office with his coat in hand, his face calm like he wasn’t the reason my world had cracked open.

“I’ll be home late,” he said casually.

I looked up from my laptop, my expression calm even though my heart wasn’t. The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

“You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?”

He froze mid-step like he didn’t expect me to speak. Slowly, he turned back, and I saw surprise flash across his face before it twisted into irritation.

“And how does that concern you?” he asked coldly.

Then he stepped closer, like he wanted to intimidate me into silence. “Why? What do you want now?”

I closed my laptop slowly and stood up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “We’re still legally married,” I said flatly. “So you’re not bringing your whore here, you’re not to be seen with her publicly, and you’re not going to humiliate me in front of your father and my friends before this divorce is done.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or who I can see.”

“I do,” I replied calmly. “Until the divorce is finalized.”

He stared at me like I was a stranger, like he was searching for the woman who used to lower her eyes and swallow her words. That woman wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

His phone rang then, cutting through the tension like a knife.

I folded my hands and watched him check the screen. The moment he saw the caller ID, his whole expression softened, like someone had turned on a light inside him, a light I hadn’t seen in months.

He answered immediately.

A female voice came through, shaky and dramatic. “Max… I think I sprained my ankle. Are you coming tonight? I’m so scared.”

Selene.

My throat tightened so fast I couldn’t breathe.

Maxwell didn’t respond right away. He looked at me first, and in that look I saw it clearly: he wasn’t guilty, or ashamed, or even sorry. He looked annoyed. My presence was an inconvenience, a problem standing between him and the woman he actually wanted.

Then he turned away and spoke into the phone, his voice instantly gentle.

“Stay where you are,” he said softly. “I’ll be there now.”

The words hit me like a slap.

I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. I should have been used to it by now. I should have been numb. But watching him care for her, hearing the tenderness in his voice the same tenderness he once reserved for me, made something inside my chest crack.

I turned my face away, blinking hard, forcing the tears back. I refused to cry in front of him. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

When he ended the call, he reached for his coat as if he were already halfway out the door.

“Selene is hurt,” he said, as though issuing an instruction. “She needs me.”

I stared at him, disbelief rising like fire. “And you think I should just accept that?”

His face tightened. “Don’t be unreasonable, Ariana.”

Unreasonable.

That word again. The word men use when women stop tolerating disrespect.

He sighed as though I were exhausting him. “Why are you being so heartless?”

Heartless?

The word struck me so hard I almost laughed. My hands trembled, but my voice came out steady. “Heartless?” I repeated slowly. “If anyone is heartless here, it’s you.”

He frowned, anger building behind his eyes. “She’s hurt. She needs help.”

I slammed my palm against the desk. “If I were heartless,” I said through clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t have stayed in this marriage. I wouldn’t have tried to make it work while you were out there humiliating me.”

His face twisted with rage, and he raised a finger as though I were the one who had sinned. “Where is this attitude coming from? Who the hell do you think you are?”

My lips curled. I didn’t even recognize my own voice when I replied, sharp and bitter:

“Go to hell, you cheating ass.”

His eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and stormed up the stairs, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

“What the hell does that mean, Ariana?” he shouted after me.

I stopped halfway up, my body shaking with anger and pain. Slowly, I turned back. He stood there holding his coat, still playing the victim.

“And don’t forget to transfer the billion before you go,” I said calmly, even though my chest was burning. “Unless you want to wake up tomorrow and see your infidelity all over the media.”

His mouth fell open. “Are you threatening me?”

I didn’t give him an answer. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.

I ran into my room, slammed the door, and the moment it closed, all the strength left my body like a pulled plug. I collapsed onto the bed and broke down, sobs tearing out of me before I could stop them.

This is supposed to hurt, so why am I crying like I’m the one who did wrong?

I buried my face in the pillow and cried until my throat burned. I cursed him. I cursed Selene. I cursed this marriage that had eaten me alive.

Finally, I sat up slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My reflection stared back from the mirror across the room, mascara streaked, eyes swollen, hair a mess.

I looked destroyed. And I was done looking like this.

My phone buzzed beside me on the bed. I grabbed it and opened my banking app. The notification was already there.

One billion.

I stared at the screen, something cold and sharp settling in my chest. If he could pay a billion just to keep me quiet for one night, then he had more to lose than I thought.

And I had more power than I realized.

I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and washed my face. The cold water stung, but it cleared my head. When I looked in the mirror again, I didn’t see a victim anymore.

I saw someone who was about to take everything he thought he owned.

Over the following days, he ignored me completely, returning to the house only when he needed a change of clothes.

His life now revolved entirely around Selene. I swallowed the pain in my chest. I’d already promised myself not to cry. Instead, I made a choice: every one of his excuses became an invoice.

A doctor’s appointment Selene needed. A panic attack she claimed she had at midnight. A lonely night she didn’t want to spend alone. A business dinner she insisted he attend with her.

Each time he chose her, I smiled and named a price.

A commercial building downtown. Ten percent of the shares in one of his subsidiary companies. Debit alerts. Asset transfers. Legal confirmations.

His phone kept lighting up.

At first, he tried to hide it, turning the screen away, silencing notifications, pretending it wasn’t happening. After a while, Selene noticed.

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly, sitting beside him in the hotel bed, her voice full of concern.

He forced a smile. “It’s just work stuff.”

But rage boiled underneath his skin. I could feel it even from miles away.

That night, my phone rang.

"What do you actually want?" he snapped the moment I answered. "This isn't about money anymore."