THE BILLIONAIRE'S DIVORCED WIFE

The room was dark, lit only by the pale glow of the moon filtering through the half-open curtains. She sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the wall. Another restless night. It had been this way for years—sleepless, haunted by a house that had never been home. A place where she had no voice, no worth. She had learned to survive in the cracks, to make herself small and invisible. But survival came at a cost. The weight of it pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. Then— The door burst open. Her body stiffened as a shadow loomed in the doorway, tall and imposing, filling the space with an oppressive energy. She didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. She recognized the stance, the way he carried himself with an air of entitlement. And that smirk that disgusted her—always that smirk. Her stepbrother, Daniel Everly. A cold chill ran down her spine as she scrambled to her feet, pressing herself against the wall as if it could swallow her whole. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like a drum. She forced herself to stand her ground, to meet his gaze, though every fiber of her being screamed at her to run. "W-what do you want?" Her voice was shaky, but she forced herself to stand her ground. He stepped inside, leisurely, eyes gleaming with amusement. His eyes gleamed with amusement, and she hated the way he looked at her—like she was nothing more than a toy for his entertainment. He loved that look on her face— the look of fear. "Relax," he said, voice dripping with mockery. "I’m not here to eat you up." He took another step forward, and she flinched, her back pressing harder against the wall. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "A pity though," he sighed, tilting his head. "I failed once before. Shame I won’t get another chance." Her stomach twisted. Her fists clenched at her sides. How could he say it so casually, as if it were nothing? As if he hadn’t already tried once before. As if he hadn’t sneaked into her room, pinned her down forcefully, stolen her breath, gripped her wrists so tightly they bruised—until she had fought back, until she had screamed loud enough for the house to hear. And they had blamed her. She was the one who tried to seduce him. "How can you say that so easily?" she shot back, her voice trembling with anger. "Like it was nothing. Like you didn’t—" "Like I didn’t what?" he interrupted, his smirk widening. "You think anyone cares what happened? You think anyone believes you? It has already passed and you don't expect me to apologize, do you? I couldn't do anything that day." She glared at him, her chest heaving. "Get out." He chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, I’ll go. But not before I deliver the message. Mum and Dad wants a word with you." Her heart sank. "About what?" He shrugged, feigning innocence. "You’ll see. Don’t keep them waiting." --- The dining hall was cold, the air heavy with tension. Her father sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. To his right, her stepmother sipped wine, her lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. Her stepbrother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with that same infuriating smirk. "Sit," her father ordered. She hesitated, her legs feeling like lead. "I said sit." She lowered herself onto the chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table to steady herself. Her father leaned forward, his voice cold and detached. "You’re getting married tomorrow." Silence. The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. She blinked, once, twice, as if trying to clear her vision. Surely, she had misheard him. Surely, this was some cruel joke. Her mind reeled. Tomorrow? Since when? How? She had never even met the man—she didn’t even know who he was! The words hit her like a punch to the gut. "What?" "Are you deaf? I said tomorrow, you're getting married." he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. She shook her head, her voice rising in panic. "That’s not possible! I haven’t even met him—I don’t even know who the person I'm marrying is!" Her stepbrother let out a low laugh. "You should be grateful someone wants you at all." Her breath caught. "Grateful? You’re selling me off like—like some kind of object!" Her father’s expression didn’t change. "It’s a done deal. There’s no going back." Her breath hitched, and she felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under her. She turned to her father, her eyes pleading. "Please, don’t do this. I can’t—I won’t—" Her father’s hand slammed down on the table, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. "Enough! It’s done. There’s no going back." She shook her head violently, her hair whipping around her face. "Why?! What did I do to deserve this?!" He exhaled sharply, as if her question were an inconvenience. "We owe him." Her blood ran cold. "Owe?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "A lot of money," her stepmother, Margaret interjected smoothly, swirling the wine in her glass with a practiced elegance. "And all he asked for in return was you." The words slammed into her like a hammer, crushing the last remnants of hope she had clung to. She felt as if the room were spinning, the walls closing in on her. Her father’s face remained impassive, his expression unreadable. "You… used me to repay a debt?" she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her disbelief. Her father didn’t even blink. "Am I not your daughter?" she cried, her voice rising in desperation. "Is money more important than me?" Her stepmother scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer. "Your presence doesn’t pay our debt. But your body will." A chill raced down her spine, and she felt as if the ground beneath her had turned to ice. Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat. "Serve him well as his wife," her stepmother added, her voice sickly sweet, as if she were offering advice rather than condemning her to a life of servitude. "Don’t show him how worthless you are." The words cut through her like a knife, leaving her breathless. Serve him? Like an object? A thing? A toy for some stranger she had never met? Terror clawed at her chest, and she wanted to run, to scream, to do anything to escape the nightmare that was unfolding before her. But she was trapped, her body frozen in place. Her father stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "Enough. It’s done."