When She Stepped In His Life

Chapter 2

ALIPTA TANAKA

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It was only after my third divorce that I realized marriage is not for me. Nope.

I am Alipta Tanaka - the most beautiful woman in this world. Well... at least to me. A famous reporter. An influential social media figure. A woman people either admire or envy.

My last husband called me a narcissist.

Well, he was right, of course. But it still hurt.

Though I prefer to call it self-love.

I lean back against the couch and open the front camera of my phone, tilting my head slightly. My short bob falls neatly along my jaw, exactly where it should. Not a strand out of place.

Brown eyes. Sharp but warm. Perfectly shaped eyebrows. Cute chubby cheeks that make people underestimate me at first glance.

I angle my face a little more. Light tan skin glowing under the soft lights of the penthouse. Cupid lips. A small button nose.

And a body sculpted by daily Pilates — slim, toned, disciplined.

Honestly, if you looked like this, you would love yourself too.

Right now, I'm sitting in the living room of my penthouse while my mother speaks frantically to an astrologer in the next room.

"Yes, Guruji, I think someone must have cast the evil eye on her. This is her third divorce. None of her marriages last. I don't know if it's her arrogance or ill fate. I'm sending you her kundli, please check it..."

I roll my eyes at her dramatic whispering.

I'm divorced because none of those men could handle me. Men. Emotional creatures. They think they're strong because they don't cry. But they're worse - they swallow everything until it ferments inside them, and then one day they explode. On their wives. On their families.

The only wise man I've ever known is my father - currently stirring sugar into my coffee with careful concentration.

"Here you go, Itoshii ko. Blow on it first. Take small sips."

He hands me the cup gently, like I'm made of glass.

"Dad, I'm not a child," I say, rolling my eyes - though I can't help smiling.

"For me, you always will be." He smiles back, warm and unbothered by the chaos of this household.

My mother's voice floats back into the room.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Guruji. I will contact you soon."

She storms in, dramatic as ever.

"Dear, will you drink tea or coffee?" my father asks her with a grin.

"Drink? No. Pour it on me. I think that's the only thing left. This girl will never let me rest in peace!"

"Stop exaggerating, Mom. It's just a divorce, not the end of the world. And it's not like it was my fault. He said I was too high-maintenance for him. Called me a narcissist. And then his family started pressuring me to have children. Who does that to their wife?"

My mother throws her hands in the air.

"And in return, you broke his leg. Now he's limping everywhere. Who does that to their husband?"

"Ex-husband," I correct calmly.

There's a brief silence.

My father clears his throat, stepping between us like a seasoned diplomat.

"Should I make some rice crackers and mochi?"

I nod happily, as if nothing catastrophic has just been discussed.

Because really... it wasn't catastrophic.

He shouldn’t have gaslighted me when he was the one with an inferiority complex about my success.