Before Luther left, he had his lawyer send over the electronic divorce agreement, though he didn't even glance at it himself.

He warned me with a cold smile not to test his limits again.

After the discharge paperwork was done, I waited for an Uber at the curb.

Late autumn in Seattle is a season of perpetual gloom and rain. My body was still weak from the miscarriage, and a gust of wind cut through me, draining the color from my lips.

Just as I was about to faint, a horn blared, sharp and startlingly close.

Luther's Bentley pulled up in front of me. He impatiently rolled down the window.

"Leaving the hospital? Get in!"

The passenger-side window slid down, and Ivy poked her head out, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her doll-like face.

"Cathy, Luther came to pick me up for a spa day and thought he'd bring you back, too. See how good he is to you? Don't be shy, get in."

I looked at her quietly.

Ivy had her claws out for me from the moment we met.

I'm allergic to mangoes. A mild reaction gives me a rash, but a severe one could close up my throat.

After Ivy found out, she deliberately added mango juice to my champagne on my wedding night.

That night, I was rushed to the emergency room for anaphylactic shock.

The moment I woke up, I heard her crying.

"Luther, I didn't mean to," Ivy sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "I just wanted to make her a special tropical drink. How was I supposed to know she was so fragile!"

Luther's face was ashen, but he didn't utter a single word of blame.

Seeing his displeasure, Ivy twisted the knife.

"I did it for you, Luther. That woman plotted against you and ruined your reputation. Are you really going to chew me out for her?"

After a long silence, Luther sighed deeply.

He reached out and ruffled Ivy's hair.

"I wasn't worried about her. I was worried this would get out and reflect badly on you, that people would call you immature."

"And Cathy Monroe? What is she? She's not even in the same league as you."

Ivy's tears gave way to a triumphant smirk.

Lying in the hospital bed, I closed my eyes and let my own tears fall in silence.

From then on, to maintain this precarious marriage, I learned to back down, time and time again.

Until the gala, when Ivy faked a fall and shoved me—five months pregnant—into an enormous ice sculpture.

A sharp shard of ice pierced my abdomen.

There was no more ground to give.

"No, thank you."

I politely shook my head at them and walked toward the Uber that had just arrived.

"I've already called a car. You two have fun."

Luther's face went rigid. "Suit yourself," he spat out.

As the car passed me, Luther suddenly yanked the steering wheel.

The car grazed my arm, the impact sending me stumbling.

I frowned, a flare of pure rage shooting through me.

But Luther just let out a low whistle and sped off without a backward glance.

I sat silently in the back of the Uber.

Sensing my dark mood, the driver offered a comforting smile in the rearview mirror.

"Is that your boyfriend? Don't let him treat you like that. He's a real jerk."

I managed a tight smile.

I didn't explain that he wasn't my boyfriend. He was the man who had ruined my life—and the soon-to-be ex-husband I was finally escaping.

When I returned to the mansion on Lake Washington, I silently began to pack.

The walk-in closet was overflowing with what were ostensibly my possessions, though Luther had bought nearly all of them.

He claimed my "cheap taste" embarrassed him, so he'd bought mountains of Hermès bags and commissioned a wardrobe of couture gowns.

I’d be lying if I said I was never moved.

But every time I showed a hint of joy in a new dress, Luther would ruthlessly shatter the fantasy.

He would knit his brows, his tone mocking.

"People like you have no class. So easily bought."

"No wonder you'd crawl into my bed without a shred of decency. That dress is worth ten years of your pathetic salary, isn't it?"

"How does it feel, spending my money? Must be nice, huh?"

And just like that, the flicker of joy would be extinguished.

It's not that I didn't try to explain, but Luther refused to believe me. He had his narrative, and no matter what I said, he twisted it into another lie, another manipulation.

Now, I left all those expensive bags and gowns behind, erasing any trace that I'd ever been there.

I only took a few casual outfits I had bought myself and my documents.

As I carried my suitcase downstairs, I came face-to-face with Luther, who had just walked in.

Ivy was clinging to his arm, holding several shopping bags from luxury brands, chattering away.

"Luther, the food at that restaurant was divine. We have to go again."

Luther murmured a noncommittal reply, his gaze landing on the suitcase in my hand. He immediately frowned.

"Where are you going this late?"

I held my suitcase and told him the truth.

"I'm divorcing you. You should have received the lawyer's letter. So, I'm moving out."

Luther's face darkened.

He strode over, ripped the suitcase from my grasp, and slammed it on the floor. "Are you done with this charade?" he yelled.

"The Harrison home isn't a hotel you can check in and out of! If word of this gets out, the stock will tank. Can you take responsibility for that?"

"Who approved this divorce? Don't push me, Cathy!"

I looked at his furious face and, inexplicably, wanted to laugh. Even now, he thought this was just another ploy for his attention.

Ivy, on the other hand, was gloating, a smirk she couldn't suppress playing on her lips.

"Luther, if she wants to go, just let her," she whined, trying to charm him. "It's not like our family needs her. The air will be so much fresher once she's gone."

I gave Ivy a cool look. As Luther's adopted sister, her behavior was far too familiar.

The irony was thick enough to choke on. She was the one with the sick, possessive obsession that went far beyond sisterly affection, yet Luther was blind to it, accusing everyone else of having a dirty mind.

I turned to grab my suitcase, but Luther seized my wrist.

He stared straight at me, his eyes blazing.

For once, he ignored Ivy, dragging me straight upstairs.

"Let go of me!" I struggled.

The door slammed shut. He shoved me onto the bed, his body pinning me down.

He bit my ear, his voice a low, husky growl.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

My mind went blank.

I suddenly remembered a trip to Napa Valley I had carefully planned shortly after we were married.

He didn't like me; he slept in the guest room and barely acknowledged me in the halls. But we were legally married, and I didn't want the cold war to continue, so I hoped the trip might bridge the gap between us.

The moonlight was stunning that night, and for a fleeting moment, the way Luther looked at me was scorching. I thought he was starting to feel something, so I boldly moved closer, only for him to shove me away in disgust.

"Is this all you have? Besides your body, what else can you offer?"

I crumpled to the floor as shame and devastation washed over me, tears streaming down my face.

Luther stared at me for a long time, then silently wrapped me in his suit jacket and scooped me into his arms, carrying me back to the bedroom.

That night, he stayed. He was clumsy, yet surprisingly gentle.

For a moment, it felt like things were finally moving in the right direction. Then Ivy called.

On the other end of the line, she threatened suicide, crying about how manipulative I was.

"Have you forgotten how she set you up?" Ivy sobbed into the phone. "The scandal? How you became a laughingstock? And now you're being nice to her? Whose side are you on? Don't tell me you're actually falling for a woman like that. It's pathetic!"

Those words extinguished the spark of guilt he had begun to feel.

He remembered the endless jokes at his expense, and his hatred for me returned, fiercer than before.

The tenderness we'd shared evaporated, replaced by a violent storm.

Even as I cried out in pain, he remained impassive, repeatedly asking me:

"Stop pretending. Isn't this what you wanted when you crawled into my bed?"

And now, he wanted to humiliate me like that again?