Beyond the bench 18+

Chapter 1

To understand the absolute wreck my life became, we need to rewind a bit.

When I first met Loren, I was working as a waitress at the very bar he frequented. I know it sounds like the opening chapter of a cliché romance novel. But unlike those books, our story didn't get a happily ever after. It was pretty much doomed from the very start.

I mean, look at the math. A billionaire heir marrying a broke waitress? It had catastrophe written all over it in bold, neon letters. Yet, despite every single red flag screaming at me to run, I hesitantly let myself dive into the deep end with him.

I didn’t even like Loren at first. To me, he was just another wealthy customer in a tailored suit occupying a stool at my bar. I was polite to him because, well, tips paid my rent and management expected a smile. But Loren? The man literally could not take his eyes off me. Every time I looked over, he was staring. The only reason I didn't call security was because his gaze didn't feel creepy; it was just this pure, intense fascination. So, I did what any sensible girl working for hourly wage did - I ignored it.

Until the night he asked me to help him celebrate a major business win.

He sat at the counter, looking incredibly pathetic, and whined that all his friends had bailed on him at the last second. It was a total lie, of course, but I was naive enough to buy it hook, line, and sinker. I felt so genuinely bad for this rich guy sitting all by himself on his big night that I actually agreed to a drink after my shift ended.

That one drink turned into a routine. Celebration by celebration, the walls I’d built up started to crumble, and we became close. Too close.

It got to the point where, when he offered to drive me home after a grueling double shift, I didn't even try to decline. And later that night, idling in the quiet dark of his car outside my tiny house, I didn't push him away when he leaned across the console.

Instead, I met him halfway. I reciprocated that kiss, that beautiful, catastrophic kiss that sealed my fate and started the countdown to my own destruction.

We didn't just jump into dating right away, though. Far from it. Even though that car kiss had definitely sparked something inside me, the massive gulf between our bank accounts and lifestyles was a glaring reality check. It was more than enough to make me pull back and turn him down. I knew my place, and it wasn't in his world.

But Loren? He didn’t care about our differences. He completely brushed them aside, chasing me with this stubborn determination that completely wore me down. He looked me in the eyes and made me truly believe that we could bridge the gap. He made me believe that love alone could make us work.

If I'm being entirely honest, though, pure, fluttering feelings weren't the only reason I finally agreed to be his girlfriend. It was the way he swept into my chaotic life and suddenly made everything easy. For the first time in as long as I could remember, every crushing problem I had just... vanished. Late rent? Handled. Car breaking down? Fixed. Tuition stress? Taken care of.

Because of him, I could finally breathe. He untangled the knots of my everyday survival with such effortless ease that I found myself completely leaning into him, utterly addicted to the comfort and stability he provided. It was an intoxicating safety net, and that alone was enough to let me lower my guards completely. Before I knew it, I had fallen entirely, head-over-heels in love with him.

And how do these fairytale love stories usually end? In marriage, of course.

So, we got married. We rushed into it despite a wall of fierce disapproval from both sides of our families. His high-society parents were absolutely livid because a former waitress wasn't a suitable match for their golden-boy heir. On the flip side, my parents were totally against it for a completely different reason. They kept warning me that ultra-rich people are clinical, heartless assholes. They told me Loren would think of me as a temporary shiny toy and wouldn't hesitate to discard me the exact second I served my purpose.

I remember feeling so deeply offended by their words at the time. I defended him fiercely, convinced they just didn't understand our love. I had no idea that they were completely, devastatingly right. His world was a shark tank, and it was never meant for me.

I fought tooth and nail with my parents. Despite their begging and their warnings, I chose him, packed my bags, and married him anyway.

And for a long time, our married life was exactly what I’d dreamed it would be. I didn't have to worry about a single thing. My only job was to love him and be his completely pampered, adored wife. Looking back, I completely let the comfort blind me. I grew soft, complacent, and entirely dependent on the luxurious safety net Loren kept spreading out beneath my feet.

That comfort was the reason I never doubted him. Not even once. Not when he started coming home in the dead of night, muttering about late-night board meetings. Not when his business trips stretched from a couple of days to weeks on end. Not even when the intimacy between us completely plummeted into a cold, transactional silence.

I made excuses for everything. I was his loyal cheerleader, believing every single corporate lie he fed me.

I didn't even doubt him when he completely forgot our fifth anniversary. I remember sitting at home, staring at the clock, convinced he was just being secretive. I actually convinced myself that he was planning a massive, romantic surprise and playing dumb to keep me off the scent. Like the world’s biggest fool, I spent hours getting ready, putting on my best dress, and driving down to our old bar. It made perfect sense in my delusional head, that bar was where we celebrated everything.

When I walked through the doors, the first person I ran into was Mr. Quinton, my former boss. But when he looked at me, his face wasn't cheery and welcoming like it usually was. Instead, he looked completely pale, his eyes darting anxiously toward the VIP private quarters, the exclusive rooms people reserved for high-end, confidential parties.

I gave him a confused look, my smile faltering. Sensing my ignorance, he walked over to me, looking like he wanted to swallow his tongue.

“Your husband is here, Elena,” he said, fumbling over his words, unable to look me in the eye. “You… you need to go see it for yourself.” He practically shoved the master keycard into my palm and walked off, leaving me standing there alone.

I couldn't even name the emotion that hit me in that exact second, but my stomach dropped through the floor. A heavy, suffocating dread settled over my chest. With shaky hands and a completely chaotic mind, I swiped the card and pushed the heavy door open.

What I saw on the other side of that threshold violently broke me.

Loren was in there with someone. And not just some random girl, it was his personal assistant. They weren't talking about business. He was buried deep inside her against the leather sofa. When the click of the door echoed, Loren actually looked up. He saw me standing there. But what shattered my soul into a million unfixable pieces was what he did next: he just looked away. He completely ignored me, pretending I was nothing but a ghost in the doorway, and casually continued what he was doing.

I stumbled backward in absolute horror, gasping for air and clutching my chest as if I’d just been physically shot. The room spun. Mr. Quinton appeared out of the shadows, steadying my trembling shoulders and gently guiding me toward the exit. He kept whispering how sorry he was that this happened, but I couldn't even process his words.

I couldn't say a single thing to him. The sheer, blinding humiliation of my old employer witnessing my utter degradation burned through my veins like acid.

The rest of the night was a blurred nightmare. I don't even remember driving home. Hours later, the front door clicked open, and Loren strolled into our bedroom, literally smelling like her perfume. When he saw my red, puffy face and the tear-stained dress I was still wearing, he didn't even flinch. He just frowned.

He didn't rush over to console me. He didn't try to deny it. He didn't give me the typical, pathetic cheater’s script of “it was a mistake, it’ll never happen again.” No, he just stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at me like I was an annoying, inconvenient burden he was sick of carrying.

“What the hell did you expect when you married me?” Loren scoffed, his voice completely devoid of a single ounce of guilt. “Instead of actually putting in the effort to be a proper wife, you stayed home and turned into a fat pig.”

A fat pig.

The words felt like a physical slap. That was what he truly thought about the stress weight I had gained over the last two years. In that horrific, frozen second, my entire reality glared back at me in the harsh light. My beautiful, glittering fairytale was officially dead and buried.

I served him the divorce papers that very same week. Loren didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second; he signed them so fast the paper nearly tore. It was blindingly obvious he wanted to get rid of me as quickly humanly possible.

But what I will never understand was his sickening desperation to utterly ruin me on his way out. It wasn't enough to just leave me; he hired a monster of a lawyer, Rune Vance, to portray me as a greedy, money-leaching parasite in front of the judge. Together, they made sure I was violently dragged back down to the dirt I came from. By the time the gavel fell, I was stripped of everything, left with absolutely nothing but mounting debts, a shattered body image, and a cruel, brutal fight just to survive.

~•~