Chapter Two
1231 Words
He turned slowly, his gaze grazing over my skin, his hands falling from my waist as if burnt.
“What did you just say?”
The room felt too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against my eardrums until I felt a headache.
I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted into the fabric of my nightdress, forcing myself not to look away.
“I said,” I repeated, as I tried to steady my voice, to not give him the reaction he wanted, “let’s get a divorce.”
Adrain stared at me as if he’d not heard correctly, as if the words had come from somewhere else entirely. Then his brows furrowed, and something dark flickered through his eyes.
“Say it again.”
My throat tightened. I inhaled slowly. “You forgot our anniversary.”
“I didn’t,” he cut in immediately.
I almost laughed. The sound stuck halfway up my chest and dissolved into nothing. “Then where were you tonight?”
He looked away, jaw tightening. “I went out to buy you a gift.”
The lie landed softly, almost gently, but it still crushed hard, like a hammer had been pressed against my chest.
I nodded, turning my body toward the inner side of the bed, away from him. The movement felt final, like closing a door I’d been holding open for years.
Behind me, the mattress dipped. His hand slid against my waist, fingers trailing upward with deliberate slowness, as if he were testing something. Provoking me. As if my body owed him a response even when my heart had already broken.
My breath hitched.
Panic flared. I shoved his hand away and scrambled back, pressing myself against the headboard. “Don’t.”
His eyes darkened. “What are you pretending now?”
“My…” I paused, deliberating if I was going to say this” Your first love is back,” I said, the words coming out unevenly.
“Eva Carter. Everyone knows. This marriage was never voluntary to begin with. It was your grandmother’s wish. She’s been gone for a year now. All the conditions have been met.”
I swallowed. “I’ll step aside.”
For a second, he looked almost amused.
Then he sneered.
“Stop acting innocent, Zahra. Didn’t you know from the start what kind of relationship I had with her?” His gaze raked over me coldly. “And yet you still schemed your way into my bed back then.”
My face drained of color, my mouth falling slightly open as I gaped at him.
“To me,” he continued, his voice cruelly calm, “that drunken night was nothing more than a mistake. But you clung to it like it was a lifeline, and now look at you, your body still reacts.” Each word cut cleanly, precisely, like he knew exactly where to strike.
To him, it had been a careless one-night stand.
To me, it had been years of silent love, finally answered, mutual, real, and precious.
I never imagined he would turn it into a weapon.
Something inside me cracked. But my voice, when it came, was eerily calm, scary even “I want a divorce.” I repeated, my words coming out with an unwavering resolution.
His eyes flashed. “Do you think marriage and divorce are games you can decide on a whim?”
The restraint snapped. I couldn't hold it back anymore.
I laughed softly, bitterly. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve always treated you as nothing more than a low-quality bed partner.”
The words hung between us, ugly and irreversible.
His expression went completely dark.
Without another word, he stood up and stormed out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the walls.
The echo lingered long after his footsteps faded.
My legs gave out, all the emotions I had been keeping in finally broke out like a dam given release.
I slid down onto the floor, back against the bed, arms wrapped tightly around myself as if I could hold the pieces together. Tears fell silently, soaking into the fabric at my knees. I didn’t wipe them away.
There was no one left to see.
Sleep evaded me that night, my eyes counting the ceilings.
Morning light crept through the curtains, pale and indifferent. My eyes burned, swollen and dry, my head still aching faintly from the injury and the lack of rest.
I moved through the apartment quietly, mechanically as if I never belonged. The truth was I never did. I just tried forcing three years into myself.
A suitcase. Simple clothes. Nothing extravagant, nothing that was his. Three years of marriage fit into one small corner of luggage, which felt almost insulting.
At last, I opened the drawer beneath the coffee table and took out the documents I’d prepared days ago, long before I’d found the courage to speak the words out loud.
The divorce agreement.
I signed my name carefully and placed the papers in the most conspicuous spot on the coffee table.
After a moment’s hesitation, I went to the kitchen.
I brewed a cup of coffee myself. Strong. No sugar. Exactly how he liked it.
A final habit. A final farewell. One last thing to haunt his dreams, not like I cared.
When the housekeeper arrived, I told her everything was arranged. I didn’t look back as I pulled my suitcase toward the door. This place, where I’d lived for three years, had never truly been my home.
A few hours later, Adrain returned.
He’d gone to the company after leaving last night, spending the night in the break room, irritation simmering beneath his skin. The image of Zahra’s pale face had followed him relentlessly, making it impossible to focus.
He noticed the coffee first.
The familiar aroma eased something in his chest. At least she knows to make peace, he thought coolly. He hadn’t intended to forgive her so easily. He’d planned to see how long she’d sulk before apologizing properly.
He took a sip. Carefully, almost in reverence.
It was unmistakably hers.
Zahra always insisted on doing these things herself, cooking, laundry, even with a full staff. She said it made the house feel alive. Over the past month, her sudden laziness had irritated him. Now it seemed she’d reflected on her behavior.
“She realized her mistake?” he asked the housekeeper casually, his lips still warm from the after taste of the coffee.
The housekeeper hesitated. “Madam has already left.”
Adrain froze.“What?” The words scraped out of his throat, bitter but true.
She handed him something. “She asked me to give this to you.”
The papers felt heavier than they should have been.
He scanned the agreement quickly. Zahra was leaving with nothing. Not a cent. Not a property. For a brief second, he almost admired her pride. Almost.
Then he scoffed. A girl from the countryside… How did she expect to survive?
His gaze dropped to the reason for divorce.
Inadequate s****l performance. Glaring back at him as if mocking everything manly in him.
The surrounding air turned icy.
“Dump the coffee,” he snapped.
He pulled out his phone and dialed her number, fury coiling tight in his chest.
The call connected as if the universe itself was waiting for it.
- Writer
