Chapter 1: Breaking Free from The Marriage

Elena's POV

I bit back a moan in the darkness as Reginald violently thrust into me, his hands gripping my hips with bruising force. The pain was searing, tearing through me like fire, yet my body responded involuntarily.

I trembled with each brutal movement, my fingers clawing at the sheets until my knuckles turned ghostly white. Our ragged breathing filled the room, and each involuntary gasp that escaped my throat only seemed to drive him to more savage aggression.

When it was finally over, he yanked himself away and smacked my backside hard, his lips curling into a cold sneer as he looked down at me.

"Holy shit, Elena, you're even more desperate than I thought. You had to drug my drink to get me into bed? So desperate for my cock?"

"I didn't--" I was so out of breath, but the liquid dripping from my vagina betrayed my words.

"Just shut up." He cut me off. "You think I'd sleep with you willingly? Look in the glass - your cunt's still throbbing, such a needy slut. Did your family teach you this shitty trick? Or did you pick up it from those social climbers?"

"Enough, Reginald. For God's sake, I'm your wife!" I snapped back.

"A title you bought when your family went broke," he scoffed before turning toward the bathroom.

This gave me a chance to button my shirt. My hands shook violently, the fabric brushing against the inch-long scar on my arm. The scar reminded me of that dark cave fifteen years ago - but that wasn't my worst nightmare.

Three years ago, in the study of Stewart Villa, I drank champagne that had been spiked. Before everything went dark, I heard my parents' voices getting farther away: "It's the only way to save the company..."

Before I knew, I was being ushered into a room by my parents' people. My head was spinning, my legs unsteady. And there, in the soft light, stood Reginald. His brown hair was tousled, and his thick, dark eyebrows arched in surprise.

His eyes were deep blue, almond-shaped, with long lashes. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips pressed into a line formed his striking face. He was tall, with broad shoulders filling out a deep gray suit, collar slightly open revealing a hint of bronzed chest. Even in my drugged state, I was struck by his good looks.

Looking back, I had been such a naive idiot back then. I actually thought I could make this marriage work. I thought I could fit in with the rich people in Manhattan.

But reality proved far crueler than my girlish fantasies. For three years, I had had to listen to all those whispers about "that new money Stewart girl." Had to watch Reginald pine over his ex, Vivian Drake. That's when I finally realized this marriage was a total joke.

The sound of the bathroom door slamming jolted me from my bitter memories as he walked towards me, with something shiny in his hand. And then, a Plan B pack landed right between us on the bed.

"Take it," he commanded, "Don't tell me you thought you could baby-trap me? Get real, Elena. This ain't some Hallmark movie fantasy."

My stomach sank. Three years of degradation, of being treated like nothing more than a transaction, crystallized in that single moment. I'd been planning this for months, waiting for the right time, but suddenly I couldn't bear another second of this charade.

With trembling fingers, I reached for my purse, trying my best to ignore that stupid scar on my arm, and pulled out the divorce papers.

His eyebrow went up a little bit. "Finally got your big move, huh? What does Stewart Group want this time? More money? More power?"

"Nothing," I stared right back at him. I wasn't going to back down. "I paid back every single penny Stewart owed you. Every last cent."

He blew out some cigar smoke and smirked at me. "And you think I'm just gonna roll over and sign these papers? You've got another thing coming."

"Do whatever the hell you want," I straightened my spine, even though my body was still in searing pain. "I'm done playing this stupid game of being your pretend wife in this joke of a marriage."

In two quick steps, Reginald was in front of me. The smoke from his cigarette hit my face, forcing a violent cough from my throat. My eyes watered from the smoke, but I refused to back down.

His fingers tapped the divorce papers. "Still playing your little games? Or is this just another one of your desperate stunts to get my attention?"

I kept my voice steady despite the rage inside me. "Guess what? You wanna hear something really funny? You're so obsessed with thinking I'm trying to manipulate you that you wouldn't know real feelings if they punched you in the face."

"Real? Like when you threw yourself at me that night?" He laughed as if I'd told the greatest joke. "How long did you practice that little act?"

"I've been real with you since day one, you asshole," I fired back. "Oh right - I forgot you can't handle anything that's actually genuine."

For a split second, something flashed across his face - maybe it was doubt? Or anger? But it was gone quickly. He grabbed his pen and signed those divorce papers really quickly. "Keep up the act, sweetie."

He then tossed the papers on the floor. "Though I gotta say," he pulled out a black card, "you played your part pretty damn well." He flicked the card at me. "Think of it as..." his smirk made me want to punch him right in his perfect teeth, "payment for services rendered. You know, for being my fake wife."

With that final laugh, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The second he strutted out of the room, it was like all the life had been sucked out. Deadly quiet.

I just stood there. I don't even know how long. My hands were still shaking, but finally, I managed to pick up that stupid black card. The sharp edge caught my finger - a thin line of red appeared, but I barely felt it.

My eyes were burning, and I bit my lip so hard, I thought it was going to bleed. I was trying so hard not to cry, but the tears came anyway. But you know what? For the first time in a long, long time, those weren't just sad tears. They felt... freeing. Like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

I wiped my face, and all those years of taking his bullshit just turned into something else - something cold and hard inside me.

Looking around this penthouse - my gilded cage for the past three years - I suddenly couldn't stand another minute here. Every designer dress, every piece of jewelry, they all felt like chains now. I dropped my wedding ring on the nightstand. Let him keep his precious tokens of ownership.

I grabbed my laptop and a small bag I'd packed weeks ago but never had the courage to use. Funny how clear everything becomes when you finally stop being afraid.

The night air hit my face as I stepped out of the building. "To the airport," I told the driver as I slid into the waiting car. My laptop was already open, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The city lights blurred past my window as Manhattan's skyline faded into the distance. That pushover who would do anything for the Stewart family? She died tonight. The real me - the one with dreams of making it in the tech world? She was finally breaking free.