On our wedding anniversary, my CEO husband, Michael Grant, invited me to watch the ocean with him.

Tragically, a typhoon hit. I stood there in the raging wind and rain for over two hours, and he never showed up.

In the end, all I got was a text that he was suddenly going on a business trip and couldn’t make it.

Right after that, his intern, Nora Blake, posted a video on her social feed. It showed my usually pampered husband barefoot while helping fishermen haul crates of seafood.

Her caption read: "Our hardworking CEO loves to get his hands dirty!"

I laughed and commented: "Diligent and enduring—a true role model for us all."

The company Slack channel instantly exploded. Everyone was betting on whether I’d finally blow up this time.

Michael called me, his voice tight with fury, "Lauren West! What the heck did you mean by posting that comment? Are you trying to humiliate Nora in public?

"It was a typhoon. I helped her family move some fish. What’s the big deal? You’re such a pampered little princess who has no idea how hard life really is. Delete that comment now. I’ll take you to the coast another day."

Disgust churned in me. I replied, "Let a man who’s already rolled in the mud take me to the ocean? Forget it."

Yes. Michael was now tainted, and I didn’t want him anymore.

"Lauren West, are you crazy? I’ve explained a hundred times already. Can you stop making a scene?"

"There’s no need to explain. Let’s get divorced." I closed my eyes, my voice flat, almost detached.

"You’re jealous over nothing! I told you, Nora and I are just colleagues. A typhoon hit. What was I supposed to do? Let a young girl work in the storm by herself? The ocean isn’t going anywhere. What if she caught a cold?"

Michael Grant seemed to have forgotten that he'd invited me to the coast. Right now, I was stranded on an isolated strip of shore because of that very storm.

Cold rain lashed my face, whipped sideways by the typhoon. Anger boiled up in me, and I snapped, "I’m still stuck on Seaview Road. The water’s up to my ankles."

The moment he realized I was in danger, Michael’s voice sharpened with urgency. "Wait there. I’m coming to get you right now."

A trip that should have taken him over half an hour took him merely twenty minutes. When he climbed out of the car, disheveled and windblown, his eyes filled with worry and pain the moment they landed on me. He strode forward, scooped my drenched body into his arms, and carried me toward the car.

However, the cheap perfume clinging to his clothes cut through even the screaming winds. It stabbed at my nose, bitter and undeniable.

I opened my mouth to speak, but just then, his phone rang. It was Nora’s custom ringtone.

Without hesitation, he set me down to answer it.

"Michael, I think I’m coming down with something. I feel so dizzy," Nora’s soft voice whimpered through the line.

Michael’s brow knotted in concern. His eyes softened with a tenderness I had never once seen directed at me. He fumbled for his car keys while saying in a low and soothing voice, "Be good. Stay home and wait for me. I’ll take you to the hospital."

The arms that had held me tight suddenly let go. I crashed back into the mud.

He yanked the car door open and slid inside. With barely a glance back at me, he barked, "Get in the car. Now."

Pain shot through me as I scrambled up, my body screaming from the fall. I staggered toward the car, reaching for the handle.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut, catching the edge of my coat.

Panic clenched my chest. I pounded on the glass, shouting his name. Nevertheless, Michael, who was frantic to reach Nora, had already forgotten I even existed.

As the car lurched forward, my balance gave way. I hit the ground hard, the fabric of my coat dragging me along as the tires tore through the rain.

Mud and gravel slashed against my skin like knives. The road blurred, flashing past as my insides churned, battered and ready to spill out.

A scream ripped from my throat as agony ripped through me, stabbing deep, relentless. The car dragged me for hundreds of feet before my shredded coat gave way. I collapsed into the muck, my vision filled with the sight of my own leg. My flesh was ripped open, blood mixing with stormwater. My body finally gave out.

Face-down in the mud and paralyzed with pain, all illusions I’d clung to about Michael shattered.

A Good Samaritan eventually stopped and took me home.

When I stepped into our home, a notification lit up the screen while my phone still buzzed in my pocket.

Nora had tagged everyone in the company Slack: "Hey guys, that video earlier was just a joke. Hope no one misunderstood. Big thanks to Michael for not holding it against me and for rushing over to take me to the hospital *heart-shaped emoji*."

That wasn’t an explanation. That was a boast.

I set the phone down. With shaking hands, I disinfected the wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. The pain ripped through me, sharp and unbearable. Tears streamed down my face.

"Lauren, where did you run off to?"

Michael’s voice came from the hall, sharp with accusation. His footsteps were heavy as he stormed in, dragging the damp chill of the storm in with him.

His eyes dropped to my mangled leg. The reprimand on his lips caught, and he stalled. His brows furrowed. "What the heck did you do to yourself?"

He moved forward, reaching as if to examine the wound.

I twisted away, a bitter laugh tearing from my throat. "You really don’t know how this happened?"

Who was it that invited me to the ocean in the middle of a typhoon?

Who abandoned me for Nora?

And who dragged me half a mile across the road with his car?

Michael rubbed at his nose, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes. Nonetheless, his voice was all righteousness and defense as he said, "I’ve told you, we’re innocent. I only helped her because I felt sorry for her. She’s just a small-town girl trying to survive in the city. If you can’t trust me, that’s on you."

When I stayed silent, his tone hardened, turning on me as if I were the one at fault. "Do you have to pick a fight tonight? I even got you an anniversary gift."

With a flash of anger, he shoved a soggy gift box onto the table. The box knocked over the iodine bottle beside me, spilling the liquid across my freshly bandaged wound.

The sting was unbearable. The tears I’d been choking back finally broke loose.

I hurled the box at his face with all the strength I had left. "I don’t want your gifts!"

Every time he screwed up, he’d buy me something to smooth it over. I had since learned that the things he gave me were the very ones Nora had turned down.

The corner of the box split his brow. Blood welled instantly, trickling down as he clutched at the wound.

I pulled out the divorce papers and slapped them on the table.

"It’s past midnight. Our anniversary’s over, and so is our marriage."

"Lauren! Don’t push your luck!" Michael’s voice thundered in warning.

"Push my luck?" I shot back, my voice trembling. Whether from the searing pain in my leg or the chill sinking into my heart, hot tears streamed down my face.

The moment he saw me cry, his expression softened. "Forget it. We’ll talk later. I’ll take you to the hospital."

He stepped forward, ready to scoop me up. Instinctively, I flinched back. My wounded leg slammed against the edge of the table, instantly soaking the bandage in red.

"Get out," I hissed. "I don’t need you to take me anywhere. Get this: we’re already divorced!"

The second he abandoned me to run to Nora, I stopped believing in him.

Michael’s fists clenched, and his entire body trembled. He bit back his rage, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled.

When the silence settled, I opened my laptop, drafted my resignation, and sent it to HR.

The shocked HR manager fired back over a dozen frantic messages, saying she couldn’t approve it without Michael’s consent.

I braced myself for a fight.

However, a single minute later, the notice came through. My resignation had been approved.

So that was it. Michael didn’t have a shred of feeling left for me.

—

The next morning, I went into the office to pack up my things.

Whispers followed me everywhere. Everyone already knew I’d quit. I ignored them, methodically boxing up my belongings.

Suddenly, a cup of half-drunk coffee slammed onto my desk. The rim was still smeared with pink lipstick.

"Lauren," Nora said, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Print this contract for me. I’ll treat you to coffee."

I rose slowly, then in one swift motion, splashed the sticky drink all over her smug face. "I’ve quit. I’m divorced, so stop circling around trying to disgust me with that trash, Michael."

Coffee dripped from her hair, staining her blouse. She looked utterly pathetic, and her eyes were welling up.

Michael came rushing over. His gaze softened with pity as he gently dabbed at Nora’s face with tissues. Then, his eyes cut to me, sharp as a blade. "Lauren, you’ve gone too far! Apologize to Nora. Right now."

Triumph flickered in Nora’s eyes before she ducked her head, tugged at Michael’s sleeve, and whispered, her voice trembling sweetly, "Michael, don’t blame her. I only wanted to share my favorite drink with her. I forgot… Lauren’s from the city. She’s not used to people like me."

The words dripped with false humility.

Michael’s veins stood out in his temples. He barked in a raised voice, "Does being born in the city make you better than everyone else? Does that give you the right to trample on someone’s kindness?"

His glare seared into me. "Pick up that coffee and drink it."

The office fell silent. Colleagues, who had been eavesdropping, now openly stared, waiting for the spectacle.

Eyes stinging, I backed away. However, Michael lunged forward, seizing my wrist in an iron grip. He shoved me toward the floor, grinding the spilled coffee into sticky sludge beneath my shoes.

"Apologize!" he ordered.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, and shook my head.

Something dark flickered in his gaze. His voice dropped, low and chilling. "Lauren, why have you always been defying me lately?"

His grip tightened, brutal. "If you won’t apologize to Nora, then you need to reflect."

He dragged me toward the storage room, my body straining against his hold. I fought to wrench free, but his fingers only dug deeper into my wrist.

The warehouse was stifling and claustrophobic. Dust hung in the air. He shoved me inside, pinning my hands together with one arm while the other reached for a coil of grimy rope in the corner.

My eyes went wide. "Michael, don’t—"

Before I could finish, the rope bit into my wrists. He tied the knot tight and unyielding. His lips brushed against the back of my hand, teeth grazing my skin as he murmured, "You’ve been spoiled lately. You’ll stay here and reflect on what you did wrong."

"I didn’t do anything wrong…"

His finger pressed against my lips, silencing me. "Shh. Think it through before you speak."

The rip of tape cut the air. A strip clamped across my mouth.

I twisted, trying to bolt while he adjusted it, but he yanked me back by the rope, forcing me onto a chair.

The rope circled again and again, locking me in place until I couldn’t move. My wound tore open, staining the floor with blood.

Michael slammed the heavy iron door shut.

On the other side, his voice came muffled, but as cold as a blade sliding between my ribs, "You’ll stay here until you admit you were wrong. Only then will I let you out."

My chest heaved, every breath sharp, as my heart twisted in painful spasms.

Michael knew I had a heart condition and that heatstroke could threaten my life, yet he still locked me in a sweltering warehouse where the temperature hit over a hundred degrees.

My clothes were soaked through, sweat pouring until I was faint, the edges of my vision blurring.

I don’t know how much time passed before the heavy door finally swung open.

Michael walked in, calm and indifferent. He peeled the tape from my mouth and loosened the ropes.

"Lauren, don’t let this happen again."

My brows knitted in confusion until I saw Nora lounging against the doorframe, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Lauren, I accept your apology."

I clutched my chest, my voice hoarse and ghostly, "What apology?"

The ropes hit the ground, and my body gave way. I collapsed against Michael’s chest. His tone softened instantly, "I’ll take you home."

Every muscle in me went rigid. With what little strength I had left, I swung my hand across his face.

"Let go of me!"

His eyes turned to ice, daggers piercing through me. He clenched his fists, then, with a sharp exhale, he stormed off in fury.

Shaking, I braced myself against the wall and stumbled out of the warehouse, only to be met with stares. My coworkers looked at me with contempt, disgust twisting their faces. One even spat in my direction.

A second later, my phone buzzed endlessly. The company Slack channel exploded with notifications. A message was circulating. It was an alleged "letter of self-reflection" written by me:

"I was wrong. I apologize to Miss Nora Blake. Because of my suspicion, jealousy, and shameless behavior, I hurt her…"

My fists curled tight. Michael had forged the note, mimicking my tone and painting me as nothing more than a vile, low creature.

Once, I would have stormed into his office, furious, demanding justice.

Now? I was done. Nothing mattered more than the divorce.

I didn’t even bother packing. I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.

However, Nora blocked me at the doorway.

"Lauren, you’re so pathetic." Her smile was cruel. "Now everyone knows you’re a cheap witch. While you were locked in that warehouse, Michael was in the office taking me again and again. He told me he wished you’d just die of a heart attack in there."

She leaned closer, whispering venom, "We’ve done it in hotels, in his car, even on your bed at home. He never had this much fun with you, did he? Poor Michael, stuck with a dead fish like you for three years."

My jaw ached from how hard I clenched my teeth. Without a word, I slid my phone out and hit record. Every word she spat, I captured.

Then, I smiled coldly. "If you like my leftovers, take him. He’s yours."

I shoved her out of my way and walked off.

I contacted a realtor and listed the marital home for sale. Then, after a moment’s thought, I tagged both our parents in the family group chat.

"Please come by my house. There’s something important I need to tell you."

After that, I drove straight to the courthouse. At last, I held the divorce certificate I had dreamed of for so long.

This suffocating marriage was finally over.

However, when I returned home with the certificate still warm in my bag, raised voices drifted out from inside the house.