"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.

The door swung open, and a glass slammed straight into my forehead.

"Well, well!" Michael's mother, Mrs. Eleanor Grant, snarled with her teeth clenched. "You shameless witch. You called us here today just so we could watch you sleep around with other men?"

Pain blinded me for a moment as hot blood trickled down my nose.

Then, Michael’s father, Mr. Richard Grant, hurled a stack of photos at my face. "Lauren, my son has to divorce a filthy woman like you!"

Stunned, I picked up the photos, only to feel as though lightning struck me where I stood.

Image after image, naked bodies were entwined, and every woman in the pictures… was me.

My stomach turned. They were fake, crudely photoshopped images.

Still, the knife twisted deep. Just to protect Nora, Michael would stoop this low and frame me with forged photos?

Before I could even speak, Mrs. Grant's palm cracked hard across my cheek.

My mother rushed forward, only to falter, her eyes filling with tears. "Lauren… is it true?"

My father’s head hung low. He said nothing, but his shoulders trembled with fury.

"Lauren," Nora piped up sweetly from the side, her words soaked in poison. "You’ve gone too far. Sleeping with so many men… What if you infected Michael with something dirty?"

My nails dug into my palms, sharp crescents cutting flesh. I opened my mouth, ready to strike back—

However, Michael cut me off, his eyes clouded with something dark. "Lauren… I never thought you could be this filthy."

"Me? Filthy?" I stepped toward him, one deliberate stride after another, locking my gaze with his. My voice shook with fury. "Michael, the only filthy ones here are you and Nora."

Nora flinched, instinctively stepping back.

"Shut up, Lauren!" Michael barked, shoving himself protectively in front of her with a murderous glare.

Mrs. Grant clutched Nora’s hand. Her eyes were cold while venom spewed from her lips. "Don’t you dare drag this good girl down with you! She’s nothing like you, whoring around with men."

A hollow laugh tore from my throat. "Whoring around? The truth is—"

"Enough!"

The word ripped through the room. I turned, eyes blurring, to see my father’s face black with rage.

My voice cracked, trembling, "You don’t believe me either?"

In their eyes, I saw nothing but bitter disappointment.

Tears burned as they slid into my mouth, salt and grief mingling. My whole body shook, cold as if pierced by a thousand shards of ice.

"You will not entangle my son any longer," Mrs. Grant spat. "Divorce him immediately!"

With my own parents silent, her arrogance only grew. She shoved me hard to the floor. Glass shattered beneath me, shards slicing deep into my palms. Pain exploded through me.

Even through the agony, my fingers found the divorce certificate in my bag. Yes. Leaving Michael had been the only right choice I’d made.

Mrs. Grant spat, her saliva hot on my cheek. "Trash like you cheating in marriage… You won’t get a cent of his money!"

Mr. Grant boomed in a righteous voice, "Adulterous scum must leave with nothing!"

"Divorce her! The Grants won’t tolerate this filth!"

I lifted my head. A wall of faces surrounded me, towering above, condemning me like a jury. My throat clogged with tears I couldn’t release. When I bit down hard, copper flooded my mouth. My voice was hoarse as I said, "Leave with nothing? Sure! Divorce? Fine!"

I pushed myself up, trembling, pain screaming through me, but I forced a smile. My face ached, frozen in that bitter curve.

So this is what it felt like. When sorrow sank so deep, it could only spill out as laughter.

Cold fire burned in my eyes as I swept my gaze across them. I pulled the divorce certificate from my bag and flung it at Michael’s face. "You wanted proof? Here it is!"

Before anyone could react, I grabbed the remote, connected my phone to the TV, and cast the screen.

The room lit up with Nora’s own voice, gloating about her nights with Michael, including details of their bed and their trysts in the car. There was even a video of the two of them together.

I pressed play.

"This," I said, my voice cutting like glass, "is better than any divorce certificate."