Bound By The Tyrant's Obsession

Annabelle’s POV The heavy oak doors of the master bedroom flew open, banging loudly against the wall. My chest heaved, gasping for breath, but I didn't care. I slid my suitcase again the door, my heart was hammering a frantic, joyous rhythm against my ribs. I had just come back from my trip and I could contain this information anymore. In my right hand, I clutched a small plastic stick so tightly my knuckles turned white. Seven years long years of trying, of doctors shaking their heads at me, of high-society sneers calling me the “barren orphan wife.” And finally, I was pregnant. “Dylan! You won’t believe—” The words died in my throat. The plastic stick slipped from my fingers, clattering uselessly against the hardwood floor. The scent of expensive perfume hit me first before the sight on the bed shattered my world into a million jagged pieces. Dylan, my sweethearts-since-college husband, was tangled in the silk sheets with the last person I’d have expected to see if I ever doubted he was being faithful to me. Silhouetted against the headboard, her hair a wild mess, was Clara. My best friend. The woman who had held my hand through every failed IVF cycle. “Annabelle?” Clara gasped, but there was no real shock in her voice. She pulled the sheet up over her bare shoulders, a slow, malicious smirk spreading across her lips. “Well. This is awkward.” Dylan didn't scramble. He didn't even have the decency to look panicked. He slowly sat up, running a hand through his dark hair, his blue eyes turning toward me. I waited for the shame and the frantic apologies, but they never came. Instead, his gaze was completely, terrifyingly dead. “You're back early,” he said, his voice level and cold. “Dylan...” My voice leaked out as a pathetic whimper. I stepped forward, my legs shaking so violently I thought I would collapse. “What is this? What are you doing with her?” “Oh, sweetie, use your eyes,” Clara purred, leaning her head against Dylan’s bare shoulder. “What does it look like?” “Shut up! Shut up, Clara!” I screamed, the tears finally bursting free, burning my cheeks. I looked back at my husband, the man who had fought his wealthy family tooth and nail just to marry a poor girl like me. “Dylan, please. Tell me this is a sick joke. Tell me she forced herself on you. Please!” Dylan sighed, pushing the covers off and stepping out of bed. He slipped into his silk robe, tying it with slow, deliberate movements. “Stop screaming, Annabelle. It’s unseemly,” he muttered. “Unseemly?!” I choked on my own breath, pointing a trembling finger at the bed. “You are in our bed! With my best friend! After seven years, Dylan!” “And those seven years were a mistake,” he said flatly. The words felt like a physical blow to my chest. I staggered back a step. “What?” Dylan walked over to the nightstand. He didn't look at the positive pregnancy test resting near his slippers. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a thick, crisp white envelope. He turned around and tossed it carelessly onto the mattress. “These are divorce papers,” Dylan stated. “I had them drafted for a long while. You sign and we can keep things civil. You walk away with a small settlement, and we cut ties completely.” “Divorce?” The word tasted like hot ash in my mouth. “Because of an affair? Dylan, we can fix this. We can go to counseling. I—” “It’s not just an affair, Annabelle. I’m in love with Clara.” He walked over, standing directly in front of me. The warmth I had basked in for a decade was entirely gone. “I fell out of love with you a long time ago. To be honest, you should be grateful I stayed this long.” “Grateful?” I whispered. “Look at yourself,” Clara chimed in from the bed, laughing softly. “A penniless orphan who couldn't even give him an heir. Did you really think a man of Dylan’s stature would bind himself to a barren woman forever? You're defective, Annabelle.” The word pierced my heart like a silver dagger. Defective. I dropped to my knees, burying my face in my hands. The dignity I had spent years building stripped away in seconds. “Dylan, please,” I sobbed, begging through my tears. “Don't do this. I love you. We can try again. We can adopt. Please don't throw me away...” Clara burst into loud, mocking laughter. “Oh my god, look at her! Have you ever seen anything so pathetic? She’s literally groveling!” I waited for Dylan to defend me. I waited for him to tell her to stop laughing and for him to pick me up. But when I looked up through my blurred vision, Dylan was just staring down at me with profound disgust. “Stand up, Annabelle. Have some self-respect,” he said sneeringly. “I am done wasting my prime years on a woman who can't provide a family. Sign the papers. Clara is already pregnant with my child. She will give me my heir.” Clara is pregnant. The words echoed in my skull, louder than thunder. My supposed best friend was pregnant with my husband’s child. Something inside me snapped. The suffocating grief instantly calcified, turning into a freezing, blinding rage. I stood up and wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, staring directly into the eyes of the monster I had called my husband. “An heir,” I whispered, my voice suddenly deadly calm. “Yes,” Dylan said, adjusting his collar. “So sign it and leave. I don't want your things cluttering up my house by tonight.” I walked over to the bed. Clara flinched slightly at the coldness in my eyes, losing her smirk for a fraction of a second. I snatched the thick envelope from the mattress, ripping the papers out. I grabbed the pen sitting on the nightstand, my hands shaking despite how much I tried to keep them under control. With sharp, aggressive strokes, I scribbled my signature on the dotted line. I slammed the pen down onto the table. “There,” I spat, tossing the signed documents directly at Dylan’s chest. They fluttered to the floor. “You want your freedom? Take it. You deserve each other. A coward and a snake.” Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Watch your mouth.” “Or what? You'll kick me out? You're already doing that,” I snapped, turning on my heel. My eyes fell on the floor near the door, where the plastic stick lay hidden in the shadow of the dresser. My hand instinctively hovered over my stomach. A tiny, innocent life was growing inside me. I was carrying his child, yet here he was, abandoning us both for another woman. A few minutes ago, I would have used it to beg him to stay. Now? He didn't deserve to breathe the same air as my baby. He didn't deserve to ever know this child existed. He wanted Clara’s baby? He could have it. But he would never, ever lay eyes on mine. “Goodbye, Dylan.”