The Wishful Bride

Episode 7: The Divorce He Refused

"He called it forever. I called it a prison."

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The silence that followed Damien's final words was suffocating.

"If I can't have you as my wife... no one else ever will."

The shredded divorce papers drifted across the polished marble floor like the ashes of a life Elaris had spent seven years trying to protect. Neither of them moved, and neither of them spoke. For the first time in years, she stopped seeing the man she had married. She was looking at the monster wearing his husband's face.

Damien reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. The gesture was so gentle it made her skin crawl.

"You've been crying," he murmured.

Elaris didn't answer. His fingertips lingered against the fading bruise on her cheek, tracing the exact mark he had caused. "I told you before, I hate seeing marks on your beautiful face."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "You..." she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at his thumb. "...did this."

Not a single emotion crossed his face. "You shouldn't have made me angry."

Something inside her finally snapped. With every ounce of strength she had left, Elaris shoved him away. "You disgust me."

The words echoed sharply through the dining room, causing every servant to freeze; Mrs. Collins nearly dropped the teapot in her hands. Damien barely moved from the shove. Instead, he smiled—not warmly, not lovingly, but with the smirk of a man watching his favorite possession finally break.

"There you are," he said quietly. "I've been waiting seven years to hear you tell me how you really feel."

Elaris stared at him, the tears burning her eyes. "You don't love me. You love control. You love obedience. You love silence. But you've never loved me, Damien."

For one brief second, something volatile and dangerous flashed across Damien's eyes before it disappeared beneath his facade. "You'll regret saying that."

"I already regret marrying you."

A vein pulsed in Damien's jaw. Still, he didn't raise his voice, hit her, or even blink. Instead, he turned toward the trembling staff.

"Everyone. Leave."

Within seconds, the entire dining room emptied. No one questioned him; no one dared. The heavy doors closed one after another until only Elaris and Damien remained in the suffocating quiet.

"You wanted privacy," Damien said, stepping forward. "Now we have it."

Elaris instinctively took a step backward, a movement he immediately noticed as his smile widened. "You're afraid of me."

"I should be."

"You weren't always."

"I didn't know who you really were," she spat back.

He sighed, looking almost genuinely sad. "You've changed."

"No." She looked directly into his dead eyes. "I finally opened mine."

His expression hardened instantly. "You think leaving me will make you happy?"

"I don't know," she swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "But staying with you will kill me."

Those words finally pierced whatever restraint Damien still possessed. In two quick strides, he crossed the distance between them and slammed his hand against the marble counter right beside her head. The violent impact echoed through the room. Elaris flinched.

"There," his voice dropped to a dark, menacing whisper as he leaned closer. "You flinched. You expect me to hurt you."

She let out a broken, hopeless laugh. "I stopped expecting anything else years ago."

For the first time, Damien looked genuinely unsettled, almost offended. "I've never wanted to hurt you."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You've broken my ribs. You've left bruises on my body. You've locked me inside this house and cut me off from everyone I loved."

Her voice cracked, raw with seven years of pain. "And you're telling me you never wanted to hurt me?"

He frowned, completely detached from reality. "I disciplined you."

She froze, then laughed again, though this time it was heavy with tears. "No... you abused me."

The word hung between them like a physical blade. Abused. Damien's eyes darkened instantly. "I don't like that word."

"I don't care."

"You'll stop saying it."

"No."

His breathing became slower, rhythmic, and infinitely more dangerous. "You really think you can leave? You'll lose everything. You'll have nothing."

"I'll have myself."

That single answer shattered the last thread of his patience. Without warning—CRACK!—a porcelain teacup exploded against the wall right beside her, scattering sharp fragments across the floor. Elaris gasped, but she didn't scream, cry, or beg. She simply looked at him.

And somehow, that absolute calmness terrified Damien more than her tears ever had. He took another breath, then another, forcing himself to regain control. "I'm giving you one chance," he said, his tone becoming frighteningly composed again. "Forget today happened. We'll burn the papers. You'll apologize, and everything goes back to normal."

Elaris looked down at the shredded divorce papers lying at their feet, then slowly shook her head. "There is no normal. There never was."

Another long, agonizing silence filled the space. Finally, Damien nodded once. "So that's your final answer."

"Yes."

He looked at her for what felt like eternity. A slow smile returned to his lips. "I see."

Without another word, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. The call connected almost immediately.

"Cancel everything. My wife won't be leaving the house. No visitors. No phone. No internet. No car. No staff is to assist her." His eyes never left Elaris as his smile widened. "And if anyone disobeys... they're fired."

He ended the call, and Elaris felt her blood run cold. "You can't do this."

"I already did."

"You can't keep me here! You don't own me!"

"As long as we're married, you're not going anywhere." Damien gave a faint smile.

He stepped closer, gently cupping her cheek. "The law won't save you."

Elaris slapped his hand away, the sharp crack echoing through the room. For the first time in seven years, she had struck him back.

Damien didn't move, nor did he touch the reddening mark on his skin.

He only stared at her.

Then he smiled.

"There you are. My beautiful wife... still trying to fight." He leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear, his whisper colder than winter. "Fight all you want. I enjoy breaking strong things."

He turned his back on her and walked toward the doors. Just before leaving, he stopped, and without looking back, delivered his final sentence: "No one opens a single door without my permission."

The doors shut behind him with a heavy, definitive click that echoed throughout the entire mansion. Elaris stood entirely alone amidst the shredded papers. The house suddenly felt much larger, quieter, and entirely like a prison.

She hurried to the nearest window and pulled the handle. Locked. She ran to the front entrance, only to see two heavy security guards standing outside. She tried another door. Locked. Another. Locked. Every path, every escape—gone.

Leaning against the cold wall, her breathing turned uneven as the reality sank in. For the first time, she realized something horrifying. Damien had never planned to let her walk out of this marriage. She wiped away the tear before it could fall.

"Then I'll find another way out."