Clarissa POV

I sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing my throat gently. His grip had been tighter than usual tonight. My fingers traced the tender spot just under my jaw, where his thumb had dug in. The ache pulsed with every breath I took, raw and sharp like a bruise blooming beneath the skin.

The sound of his footsteps faded up the stairs, and only then did I allow myself to move. I stood up slowly, carefully, ignoring the shards of glass at my feet, and walked to my bedroom.

I flicked on the light and walked straight to the vanity mirror. My breath caught in my throat the moment I saw myself.

Red. Dark red smudges. Angry-looking prints shaped like fingers.

I tilted my chin slightly and leaned in closer.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath.

I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo. The flash lit up the room, highlighting the mess of my emotions I was trying desperately to keep buried. Then, without a second thought, I sent the photo. My hand shook a little as I hit send, but my jaw was locked tight.

No name saved. No words exchanged. Just evidence.

And then, I pulled out my suitcase from under the bed, the wheels scraping against the wood. I didn’t even bother to fold my clothes. I just tossed them in. Underwear, jeans, my black silk dress, a pair of boots, my charger, the folder with my documents. The bare minimum, but just enough for the meantime.

I was reaching for my passport when the door creaked open.

Ugh. It was Sasha.

Leaning against the doorframe in one of my robes, a smug little grin painted across her lips. Her eyes scanned the room like she owned the place, and I swear she even wrinkled her nose like my scent offended her.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Did I finally push you too far, wifey?”

I didn’t answer. I preferred to ignore her than exchange words.

She stepped further into the room, her heels clicking dramatically on the hardwood floor. “Packing already? You’re not even going to say goodbye? That’s rude. After everything we’ve shared?”

I clenched my jaw and continued packing but she kept going. “You know, you could’ve just admitted you were never good enough for him. I mean, look at you. Still pretending you matter. That’s really cute.”

I turned and gave her a long, cold stare. “Is this what you do, Sasha? Pick fights with women whose husbands you’re screwing?”

She chuckled. “Not just screwing, darling. He loves me. He actually tells me I’m beautiful. Can’t say the same for you, huh?”

I paused, my hand hovering over a pair of jeans. Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. But I swallowed it. Swallowed it all. Until I couldn’t.

I straightened up and walked to her, stopping only inches away. “You will always be nothing but a mistress,” I fired back in a low tone. “No matter how many times he takes you to bed. No matter how many silk robes you steal from me. You will never be more than his side piece. His backup plan. His dirty little secret.”

Her smirk faltered. But only for a second. “Let’s see how that goes,” she said, tilting her head. And then without warning, she let out the most dramatic, high-pitched scream I’d ever heard.

I blinked, confused. “What the hell—?”

She started yelling Nicho’s name like she was being stabbed. She even dropped to the floor, grabbing her ankle and groaning like she was auditioning for a daytime soap opera.

“What are you doing?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

Then I heard Nicho’s footsteps pounding down the stairs like a bull charging into a fight.

Perfect. Exactly what she wanted.

He burst into the room, shirtless, eyes scanning the scene like a madman. “What the hell happened? Sasha, are you okay?”

“She—she pushed me!” Sasha wailed, pointing at me like a scared little bunny. “I came in to talk and she attacked me!”

I blinked again. I couldn’t even laugh.

“She’s lying,” I said, calmly.

But Nicho didn’t even look at me. “Sasha, don’t cry,” he cooed, crouching next to her like she was some precious porcelain doll. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

And then he turned to me, “What the hell is wrong with you, Clarissa? I told you to stop coming at her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

I scoffed. “You want to talk about what someone deserves? You want to talk about how I came running to you when my brother got wrongfully arrested for drug possession?”

His face darkened.

“I begged you for help,” I continued, “and you didn’t lift a finger until you gave me a condition to marry you before you help me. Let’s not rewrite history now.”

He stood up slowly, his hands curled into fists. “I saved you from your trashy life. I gave you a new life. You were nothing before me. Nothing. I picked you up off the streets.”

“Right,” I snapped. “Not because you’re kind or noble. But because you’re a manipulative son of a bitch who loves power. You helped me because you saw someone weaker than you and that turned you on.”

He took a step toward me, but I didn’t flinch.

“You’ll regret saying that,” he warned.

“No,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Did you forget?” I asked, crossing my arms. “The contract ends in two days. I’ve played this pathetic game of house with you for seven years. Seven! And for what? My brother still died. You didn’t save him. You just trapped me here with your lies and threats.”

I walked over to my suitcase and zipped it up slowly, deliberately. Then I looked back at him.

“Two days,” I said. “And I’m done. For good.”

I opened my drawer, pulled out a thick cream-colored envelope I’d been saving for this exact moment, and held it up.

With one flick of my wrist, I swung it toward him. It landed on the floor at his feet with a soft thud.

“There,” I said, my voice icy. “In case your memory’s as bad as your temper.”

Nicho looked down at the envelope like it might explode. He didn’t bend to pick it up. He just stood there, his chest was heaving, his jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might crack.

“You kept a copy?” he asked.

Clarissa POV

“Of course I did,” I snapped. “I may have played your wife, but I’m not stupid.”

Sasha, who was still sitting dramatically on the floor like a wounded deer, looked between us like she’d missed a crucial plot twist.

“That envelope,” I said, stepping closer, “has every clause, every signature, every disgusting little term you shoved down my throat seven years ago. And it expires in two days.”

Nicho’s eyes locked with mine. No more shouting. No more rage.

While Nicho and Sasha both watched me in disbelief, I pi led my phone up and dialed Dante's number. Dante had been my friend since childhood and he knew every single things I've been through.

He hated how we lost contact and we only got in touch a few years after I and Hudson got married. He always hated he wasn't there to help and prevent me from getting married to a soulless man.

The phone barely rang twice before Dante picked up.

“Cass?” He called out calmly.

“I need you,” I said to him with a firm tone. No tears, no shakiness. “Now.”

“I’m already on my way,” he replied, no questions asked. That’s just who Dante was always showing up without asking why.

I ended the call and sat on the edge of my bed, the box beside me was half-packed with clothes. My fingers trembled a little as I folded the last sweater and placed it on top. That tiny motion felt like rebellion. Like breathing for the first time after being underwater too long.

Five minutes later—maybe less—he knocked once and let himself in. That’s how tight we’d always been. He had been waiting for this moment since forever.

Dante stepped in like he belonged there. He was more than ready to out Nicho in his place if he tried anything funny. His hair was a mess, like he’d run his fingers through it five times before getting to me. Still smelled faintly like citrus and woodsy cologne. It was comforting, not overbearing.

“Where’s the bastard?” he asked, eyes scanning the room like he was ready to swing.

“Upstairs,” I muttered, grabbing the handle of my box. He got to it first, lifting it like it weighed nothing.

Nicho had left to his room with Sasha because he believed I wasn't bold enough to leave.

“Of course he is,” Dante muttered. “Cowards love elevation.”

A small, ridiculous smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. That was Dante—always ready with a joke, even when everything around me was burning.

We headed toward the door. I heard Nicho come down the stairs. He must have heard movement in the house and realize I was really leaving. I didn’t give the house a final glance. I’d already mourned what could’ve been. I paused only once, just to give him the line I knew he needed to hear.

“Make sure you sign the divorce papers when the contract expires, Nicho,” I said without looking back.

Nicho stood at the top of the stairs, shirt undone, eyes wide. Like I’d slapped him. He didn’t move. He just… stared. Like I’d grown wings and fangs all at once.

Yeah. That’s right. Stand there and watch me leave. I think what rattled him most wasn’t what I said. It was that I finally had the guts to say it. That for once, I wasn’t begging, crying, or asking why. I was just… done.

Dante opened the car door for me. A black SUV, the engine was still running, like he came ready to whisk me away from a heist. I slid in, and he closed the door.

“Are you alright?” he asked once we pulled out of the driveway.

I exhaled. “I will be.”

Dante nodded, keeping one hand on the wheel. “You didn’t tell me he was choking you, Cass.”

“I didn’t tell you a lot of things.” I stared out the window, not really seeing the trees blur past. “I didn’t want you to get into trouble.”

He stayed quiet for a moment. Then, “You’ve always protected everyone but yourself.”

That made something sharp twist in my chest. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was just… truth. The drive wasn’t too long. Thirty minutes, maybe. But it felt like I was being driven into a whole new life. One that didn’t have Nicho’s shadow in it.

We pulled into a quiet neighborhood tucked away from the chaos. Simple buildings. Brick walls. A few potted plants on porches. It was safe, hidden, and perfect.

“Apartment 2B,” Dante said as he parked. “I didn’t get you anything fancy. Just quiet. Secure. Lease is in your name.”

I looked over at him, and for the first time that night, let some of the gratitude show on my face. “Thank you, Dante. For all of this. For showing up.”

“You never have to thank me, Cass. You’ve had my back since we were kids. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

He got out first, lifted the box again, and led the way up the stairs. I followed behind, each step feeling a little lighter.

The apartment was small, but it was mine. Pale walls. A clean couch. A kitchen with just enough space for one person to breathe. There was a faint smell of lemon cleaning spray, he must’ve come earlier to get it ready.

“This place smells like you,” I said, smirking.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let you walk into dust and dead roaches. Thought I’d scrub the sadness out of it a bit.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He dropped the box on the floor and straightened up, brushing his hands against his jeans.

“I stocked the fridge,” he added casually. “Just essentials. Milk, eggs, water, three kinds of chocolate, and a bottle of that soda you used to sneak into my backpack in middle school.”

I laughed. Actually laughed. It was quiet and unexpected, like my voice wasn’t sure if it was allowed to feel joy again.

He turned serious then. “You’re gonna be okay here. You don’t have to rush anything. Just breathe. Eat. Sleep. Let yourself exist without fear.”

“I haven’t done that in a long time,” I admitted, voice cracking slightly.

“Well, start now.”

I moved to the window and peeked outside. Streetlights. A parked bike. No chaos. No screaming. No Nicho.

“I want to start over,” I whispered, mostly to myself. “But I don’t know who I am without him.”

Clarissa POV

“You’re Clarissa Stone,” Dante said behind me, “The same girl who built a treehouse with me when we were ten. The girl who told off that teacher for calling me dumb. You’re brave. And stubborn. And real. You’re just… buried under years of bullshit.”

I turned back to face him. “Then help me dig.”

“Always.”

There was a silence then filled with old memories and fresh. Dante stepped closer and gently reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like he used to when we were kids pretending not to have crushes on each other.

I didn’t lean in. Neither did he. He pulled back. “I’ll go now. Let you settle.”

“Will you come back?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I do.”

He nodded once, slowly, and smiled. “Then I’ll bring dinner tomorrow. Something spicy. Something that’ll burn away every memory of that bastard.”

I laughed again, and this time it reached my eyes. As the door clicked shut behind him, I finally let myself breathe. Not just inhale. But breathe. Like I deserved to.

I dropped onto the bed like my bones had given up. The mattress wasn’t a king size foam or anything fancy, but it was clean, and more importantly, it wasn’t his.

Sprawled out, phone in hand, I scrolled mindlessly through reels, muted videos, and pictures of people pretending to be happy. Just as I was about to doze off, a notification popped up at the top of my screen.

One new message from: Sasha Bennett

Sasha?

I frowned, tapped it open, and blinked twice to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. A wedding invitation sparkled across my screen. White roses, golden script, the whole nauseating Pinterest aesthetic.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Sasha Bennett and Nicho Stone.

I stared. Then I laughed. I really laughed. “Oh, he’s so pressed,” I said out loud, sitting up. “Petty doesn’t even begin to cover this.”

The date? Two weeks from now. Two. He didn’t even wait for the ink on our contract to dry.

But what got me the most? It wasn’t Nicho’s face on the invite, smirking like he just won a game I never agreed to play. It was Sasha’s name in the sender box. She sent it to me.

“Girl, you’re desperate,” I muttered, shaking my head.

But then again, I had bigger plans. Ones that didn’t involve playing the jealous ex-wife. I was done crying. Now? I was going to burn him legally.

I tapped Dante’s name.

He picked up on the second ring. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m peachy,” I said sweetly. “Guess what I just got?”

“I’m scared to ask.”

“A wedding invite.”

He paused. “Wait—what?”

“Nicho and Sasha. Apparently true love couldn’t wait.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish. And guess who sent it to me? Sasha. As if I’d show up and throw rice.”

Dante cursed under his breath. “That man’s unbelievable.”

“Well, I’m done being quiet.” My voice sharpened. “I want to hit him where it hurts.”

“You finally ready?” he asked, voice steady.

“I am.”

“Cass, I need everything. You still have the photos?”

“I’ve got more. I’m sending them all now.”

I opened my gallery and started forwarding the images. The first batch—pictures I’d taken secretly. Bruises on my ribs, the split lip from the wineglass incident, the one where I had a dark handprint on my arm. And the one that always made my chest tighten—the gash on my forehead from when he slammed the car door too fast. Or so he said.

Seconds later, Dante texted:

Got them. I’m saving copies and backing them up. Cass, these are enough to bury him.

I didn’t stop there. I took a screenshot of the wedding invite and forwarded that too.

A few seconds passed before he called me again.

“Why’d you send that too?” he asked.

“Because it shows motive. Timeline. Who gets married two weeks after a divorce unless they were already cheating?”

“Good point,” he muttered. “Cass, with what you’ve sent me, we can open a case. Not just civil—criminal. I’ve got a colleague in domestic violence litigation. I want you to meet her.”

“Set it up,” I said, standing up.

“You’re serious this time?”

“I’m beyond serious, Dante. I want him to pay. Every bruise. Every lie. Every time he made me feel small.”

He exhaled, proud and angry all at once. “Let’s ruin him legally. No more hiding.”

“No more,” I echoed.

After we hung up, I stretched, headed to the bathroom, and turned the tap. The sound of water rushing into the tub was weirdly soothing.

Until I opened the cabinet and realized—it was empty. Not even a bar of soap.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned. “Clarissa, you had one job.”

I grabbed my purse from the floor and checked for my wallet. Still there.

Dante had left me the car keys earlier, just in case I needed anything. I slipped on my sneakers, locked up, and made my way down the stairs.

Indr8ge to the mall listening to country music. I'm a few minutes, I arrived.

The mall was quiet, but the fluorescent lights made everything look too awake for this hour. I grabbed a cart and pushed through the aisles, tossing in everything I needed—soap, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, and then wandered into the groceries. Coffee, frozen meals, some fruit, milk, bread. The basics.

It felt good,, normal—even healing. By the time I made it to the register, my cart was nearly full. The cashier smiled politely as she rang everything up. I inserted my card without thinking.

Declined.

I blinked. Tried again.

Declined.

The cashier cleared her throat gently. “Um, ma’am, it seems—”

I felt the vibration before I even heard the ding. I pulled out my phone and saw a text from Nicho:

“Blocked your credit cards. Let’s see how long you last without my money.”

My jaw clenched. That smug, pathetic man-child.

I slipped my phone back into my purse slowly, exhaled, and gave the cashier the fakest smile I could manage. “One second.”