Cruel Boss, You Are My Destiny

Cruel husband

POV Valeria

"Damn degenerate dog!" I sob as I throw my bag onto the bed.

I left my "mother's" house like a bat out of hell after throwing a glass of ice water at William and his "fiancée." I refuse to sign those divorce papers, not without first finding a lawyer to help me.

"Luckily, I have savings."

My father left me an account abroad in my name, and I've also saved everything I've earned at the publishing house. So, with that money I've saved, I'll find a way to fight for what belongs to me.

"I won't make it easy for them."

I take off my dress and heels while looking at myself in the mirror; my chest is tight, and my makeup has run all over my face, making me look disgusting. Still in my underwear, I take a photo of my father and lie down on the bed in a fetal position.

"Why did you leave me alone? Why did you leave and do this to me?" I sob.

I feel my soul shatter into a thousand pieces. I love William, I love him with all my heart, and it hurts, it really hurts that he's capable of doing this to me.

"And with my own stepsister."

I close my eyes, sobbing quietly. Minutes later, though I don't know how many, I fall completely asleep.

*****

I wake up abruptly, feeling a hand covering my mouth forcefully; a man's sweat drips onto my exposed breasts, while his hard crotch rubs against my femininity, over my panties. I try to scream and even kick, but the strength of his hands prevents me.

"He has me trapped."

"I'm not letting you go without tasting you," he whispers.

His blue eyes lock onto mine; his brown hair falls across my face. I try to push him away, but his weight is overwhelming and nearly impossible to move.

He pulls down my panties and positions his hard member against my femininity while his tongue traces my cheeks. I sob with my eyes wide open, utterly terrified, wishing this were a nightmare, but the moment he thrusts into me confirms it's reality.

"It's my husband."

The man I married, believing that at some point he would love me, the man who is going to marry my stepsister, and above all, the man I love.

"Please stop," I beg.

His thrusts are so powerful that I feel like I'm being torn apart. Why is he doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? He supposedly hates me, doesn't love me, and thinks I'm the worst thing that ever happened to him.

I feel him pull out of me as I cover my body with the white sheets, now stained with the innocence he just took from me. I close my eyes tightly and sob with trembling hands when I hear him say:

"Don't even think about telling Laura about this. I'll tell her you tried to seduce me to avoid the divorce," he says, pulling up his pants and turning away.

*****

Water droplets wet my hair and fall down my face. My lips are chapped and trembling from the many hours I've spent here in the shower.

"Five hours, to be exact."

After William left the room, I locked myself in the bathroom and scrubbed my body with a sponge, trying to remove the filth he left behind.

I stand up and grab a towel to cover my body. I walk to the mirror and look at my silhouette; I'm a mess. I still can't believe I'm no longer a virgin and that I lost it in such a cruel way.

I always dreamed of the day William would touch me, but I never imagined it would be like this. I comb my hair and put it in a bun before applying makeup to cover the dark circles.

"Though I can't cover my sadness."

I apply a wine-colored lipstick that I love and head to my room. I dress in a business dress and put on high heels.

"Even though I always look short."

I grab my bag and head to the kitchen for something for the pain. I rummage through the shelf and take two painkillers, which I immediately swallow with a glass of water just as I hear him enter the kitchen. His hair is completely disheveled, his lips are red, and the freckles adorning his face make him look adorable.

"Though he's scum."

"Here are the divorce papers, Valeria," he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

I grip the glass tightly as I watch him place the papers on the kitchen island before leaving as if nothing happened.

I glare at the spot where he left with hatred and pour myself a cup of coffee, which I bring to my lips as tears fall down my cheeks again.

"I hate him."

I hate that my father died, I hate that I believed he was a good man and loved him so much that my father left me in his arms. I hate myself, and I hate being so weak.

I wipe away my tears and mentally thank the waterproof makeup I'm wearing today; otherwise, I'd have to touch it up again.

Nevertheless, I grab my bag and get into my black sports car; my father gave it to me a few months before he died for my twentieth birthday, and since then, I've taken care of it like it's my baby.

I put on my headphones and play pop music at full volume. Although I try not to let the scenes from the previous night torment me, it's almost impossible, and every time the music violently pounds in my ears, a scene flashes in my mind, causing me to squint. I grip the steering wheel and slam on the brakes when I feel a sudden impact. The car's collision safety system activates, covering my face from any harm, but I doubt the brand-new black car I just rear-ended fared as well.

I watch as a tall man with black hair and a thick beard steps out, adjusting the buttons on his vest; he has a wine-colored scarf around his neck and a Rolex on his left hand. My chest tightens, and my throat goes dry as I see him approach, not just because of his imposing figure but also because of the deep frown on his face, indicating he's angry.

"And very angry."

He confirms it with a small tap on my window as he exclaims irritably:

"Good morning, sir," he says seriously. "Would you be so kind as to open the damn car door and tell me why the hell you hit me?" he shouts, exasperated.

I frown, annoyed because first, I'm not a man, and second, it wasn't my intention to crash into him for him to be yelling at me like this.

"It just happened."

I open the door abruptly, letting my black Louis Vuitton heels resonate. I stand in front of him and, without giving him a chance to react, I slap him and retort:

"Don't you dare yell at me! First, I'm not a man; I'm a woman, a woman, do you hear me?" My hand hurts, and I have to clench it to hide the pain.

"Capisco, dovevi essere una donna," he says, rubbing his cheek.

"What the hell did he just say?"

"Look, I don't know what you just said, but same to you," I reply, trying to turn away, but he immediately pins me against the car door roughly.

I find myself face-to-face with him, noticing his eyes; they're gray like lead, and his perfume smells refined, expensive, and above all, addictive.

"I just said that besides being pretty, you're very feisty," he says, looking at the trail of freckles on my neck.

I push him away roughly, and he immediately clears his throat while adjusting the Rolex on his hand.

"I think I deserve at least an apology. Look at what you did to my car," he points to the dented trunk.

My face turns red when I see the scraped lower part of the trunk.

"I... I'm sorry, I was distracted, but look," I take out my card and hand it to him, "I'm an editor at this publishing house. Stop by tomorrow, and I promise to pay for the damages."

As soon as he sees the name of the publishing house on the card, he frowns angrily, and without giving me a chance to react, he hands it back before turning away. He leaves me standing in the middle of the road, with my hand burning and without his phone number.

"Who is he, and why don't I have someone like him?"