The Billionaire's Addiction

Chelsea’s POV:  “Divorce Asher or I’ll make your life a living hell.” “Divorce Asher or I’ll make your life a living hell.” “Divorce Asher or I’ll make your life a living hell.”      Nine words. Just nine words, was all it took to put my life; a carefully and perfectly planned life, into a heartbreaking and shattering halt, pouring it’s intangible pieces into a bottomless abyss of mental anguish. I stared at the text, where those emotion taunting four words had been engraved behind the screen of my phone, I stared at it like my life depended on it and oh, it really did.  I squirmed my eyes, trying to find an iota of logical meaning behind those nine words and I couldn’t get anything tactile. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.       That was how I felt when I saw this text a month ago, but the more times I read through the same text sent to me again today, by past midnight, the more I wondered how a fellow woman like me could be so d**k-drunk to the extent that she was willing to stoop as low as fighting her fellow woman just to have my own husband all to herself.       Well, I wasn’t too shocked this time anyways— it wasn’t the first time I was seeing such, I was rather gliding along the disappointed horizon as I couldn’t phantom why the desperate woman just couldn’t let go of what wasn’t hers, and off course, the lengths at which she had explicitly stated that she would take just to ensure she took my husband.       The threatening text was from none other than Rachael I-smile-at -everything Sterling, the desperate ex-girlfriend of my husband, Asher, who didn’t know when she was overstepping her boundaries. The pretentious woman feigns being a sweetheart, wearing the façade of a nice girl but deep down, her heart was a bottomless pit of evil and cruelty.       And as I said before, this wasn’t the first time the wicked witch was sending me such a text. No. This all began about a month ago, on a bright Tuesday afternoon, after one of my shifts at the hospital where I work. I had received the same text—completely identical, from the choice of words to the punctuation and even the cruel and ruthless desperation could be felt through the phone, almost tangible enough to slice with a knife.       The text was from an unknown number, the sender off course was anonymous. On reason the text, I was immediately thrown into a state of utter shock and bewilderment; someone was threatening me to leave my husband and that didn’t sit well with me at all. Well, by the next moment, I was already driving back to the mansion, frenzied and panicked with a million thoughts clouding my brain as I rushed back home to show the man in question, my husband, the text I had received.       I can remember vividly that day, I was so frantic with confusion that I dashed out of my car without turning off the ignition or shutting the door and quickly made my way into the mansion and then into our bedroom where I knew Asher would be. He would most likely be sat on the bed, a mug of black brewed coffee beside him and the day’s newspaper.      And I was right. The moment I came flying into the room, he kept his newspaper aside and furrowed his brows at my panicked state, his face scrunching into a demeanor of confusion as I came to him, almost knocking over his coffee.  “Asher, you need to see this!” I divulged in a breathless blurt and he stared at me unfazed.  He crinkled his nose, “Is that how to greet your husband?” He questioned, a dissatisfied look etched to his face.      It made me pause in my tracks. His wife had just came in looking so distressed and worried and that was all he had to say? Pointing out the fact that I hadn’t greeted him? Nevertheless, I apologized and greeted him then went on to prompt open the text I had received. I showed him the text and he immediately sprang up from the bed, fiddling for his phone in the pockets of the bathrobe he was putting on. He requested for the number and immediately dialed the number. A hint of a smile played on my lips as the phone rang, I was happy. Asher had never treated any of my matters with such urgency and I was glad that he valued my safety and the safety our marriage.  Or so I thought,       The moment Racheal picked up, Asher, my own husband, acknowledged her with such a romantic title that I could only dream of him calling me. And the wicked witch giggled, calling him a pet name of her own. My jaw slacked on hearing the romantic exchange of pleasantries between the both of them. I was perplexed and a feeling of mortification immediately flooded my veins.  What the actual f**k?       Racheal confirmed that she was the one who sent the message and that was when I knew the identity of the sender as her, my husband’s ex-girlfriend who had always been in the picture. Somehow, some way, all of Asher’s business trips, seminars and whatnot were always connected to her. They even go as far as posting pictures of themselves after these business meetings on i********:. And Asher had assured me it was nothing, well until now.      As if all that wasn’t enough, Asher pacified Racheal and told her everything would be alright. That she didn’t have to go through the hassle of threatening me, that he himself was going to dump me. Asher said he was going to be divorcing me soon.  On hearing those words roll off my husband’s tongue so casually and leisurely, I felt like I was trapped in some surreal mirage, or maybe it was just the bad, uncanny reality that I was fated to be entangled with. I didn’t understand why or what I did to deserve this kind of treatment from him? I know he had always despised me and treated me like I was some piece of trash, simply because our marriage was sort of a contract marriage; being that he offered me one million dollars to marry him, but this? I didn’t deserve this.       My eyes fogged up in tears and I immediately ran out of the room with hot saltiness trickling down my eyes. I went into my car, turning on the ignition and driving straight to the only person I knew had my back in this kind of situation, my elder brother, Matteo.  My older brother, the psychologist, on telling him everything that happened was pitifully pacifying me, begging me not to think too much about the matter as I could develop a mental case and probably run insane.  Run insane?  Run I-N-S-A-N-E?!     For God’s sake, I was already on the slippery brink of insanity as it is. It was like a black hole of madness had stretched it’s vehemently fiery hands of emotional pain, wielding a strong gravitational pull which violently tugged me into it’s abyss.  And ever since that day, my life in this home has been a living, torturous hell. Asher abuses me emotionally and intensified treating me as a worthless piece of cumrag and I was on the verge of loosing it.       This time, Racheal had been generous enough to throw me a big piece of meet. Underneath the text she sent me today, she added that I meet her at the hospital tonight and she’d explain why Asher couldn’t leave her alone. For some reason, I really wanted to know what the secret was between the both of them and that was the sole reason why I was behind my steering wheel at midnight, driving to St. Peter’s Hospital, where I work.      The Hospital wasn’t too far from my mansion so I was there in fifteen minutes. I parked my car and alighted the vehicle in a haste, the parking lot was scanty being that it was almost 1am. The vicinity was quiet, up until the ambulance blared it’s sirens and entered into the compound just almost the same time I came in. A brutally injured lady was rolled out of the vehicle in a stretcher and nurses flocked around her and tried to user her into the intensive care unit.      I sped past them and walked briskly to the front desk and was greeted by Nurse Paula’s ever cherry smile.  We’ve been very close friends ever since I started working at the hospital. I work as nurse here underneath my brother, the psychologist. Though, her cheery smile faltered away when she met with the distressed look etched to my face, “What’s up Chelsea? Why are you here so late? You don’t have a night shift.” She questioned.  “I’m here to see one Racheal Sterling.” I breathlessly explained and the desperation in my tone was vividly unhidden.  Paula pursed her lips to the side in puzzedlnes before shrugging and going on to type something into her computer. Her eyes widened on seeing something but the expression quickly faded away and she turned to me, “She’s in Room 56, East Ward. But Chelsea I think you should—”         I didn’t even wait for her to complete her statement–and later on I wished a part of me actually did, I dashed out of her presence granting her a small parting wave and I made my way East Ward, to room 56 where the answers to my questions were waiting for me.  I arrived at the room and knowing the Racheal wasn’t sick or anything, I kicked open the door without curtsey and my jaw dropped at the sight.       On the hospital bed laid Racheal and my own husband, Asher, who hadn’t come home in three days. They both had their lips intertwined with each other in a very hot and passionate make out session. My orality was no where to be found as I had immediately been catapulted into an intense state of bewildered shock, confusion and surprise. The sad fact was that they were so engrossed in their activity that they hadn’t noticed me stepping into room.  I felt so bad. Terribly bad and mortified, plus the sight of them together churned my insides. I felt bad because never in our almost one year of marriage had Asher ever touched me or kissed me, he despised me to the core. But here he was kissing his ex-girlfriend he had previously swore he had nothing to do with any longer. I knew Asher had always despised me, treated me like a maid and a worthless piece of trash only because he knows me as nurse who tended to his wounds, so he held no regard for me. Well from the obvious looks of it, it was obvious he loved her and not me. And that made me furious. I was feeling all the vehement emotions that mean A-N-G-R-Y in every synonymous thesaurus dictionary one could lay their hand on. I was raving mad with anger, frustration and jealousy. I just wanted to crush the both of them into pieces.  I cleared my throat loudly and that was all it took to end the make out session. The both of them noticed my defeated presence standing in feebled shock at the door frame.  A brief mixture of shock and surprise swept pass Asher’s face, he indeed did look remorseful for a moment there, but in a split second it all faded away.  A nonchalant, unbothered and unconcerned expression settled on his face. And that was when he did an unbelievable, heart shattering thing that I’ll never be able to forgive him for.  Asher scoffed and looked away from me, like I was invincible- no, not that, he did see me. He looked away from me like I didn’t matter, like I was some piece of disgusting trash that had no relevance or an irrelevant beggar that needed to be paid no attention whatsoever.  Ordinarily, he’s supposed to be scared and afraid. I mean, wife, just caught him red handed cheating on her with his ex-girlfriend. He’s supposed to be begging and pleading for forgiveness. But no that wasn’t the case, instead, he showed no atom of regret or agenbite. And as for the wicked witch, her face contorted into a complacent demeanor with a gloaty smile on her face.  “You bloody bastards! Asher, how could you?”  I was even more furious seeing their unfazed reactions and I immediately felt a stream of  rushing anger and I impetuosity walked over to the two idiots, without granting them the liberty to answer my question and my hand violently met with Rachel’s face in a resounding slap.   “You f*****g b***h! How dare you slap me?” Racheal squealed clutching her paining cheek. She was mad.  She grabbed the nearby lamp on the bedside table and wanted to hurl it at me but Asher quickly got a hold of her hand and stopped her in her tracks. He dragged her behind him in some sort of protective way and then—much to my surprise, pushed me away from her with such a force that almost made me collide with the medicine cart nearby.  “Asher get her away from me. She slapped me. She’s a beat and an animal. How did you put up with her for so long?” Racheal whined her fit of tantrummy as she clutched to the hem of his shirt as she stayed behind him like a child.        He turned around and embraced her, hugging her tightly as he pat her head softly in pacification. He then turned to face me with an angry and menacing mug on his face, “Why did you lay your hands on her, Chelsea? What’s your problem?” I was completely shocked and dumbfounded. That was the height of it all. Not only had he humiliated, mortified, assaulted and disregarded me, he had the guts to ask me that stupid question. He was on her side here? I couldn’t take this anymore. And that was when it befell me, the confidence and the brazenesss to call a spade a spade and unsubscribe to his bullshit. I wasn’t going to take the abuse and the insults anymore. Never.  “My problem is you Asher. You are my problem and a hindrance to my mental peace. I hate you and wish you’d rot in hell. “ I seethed angrily. “And I’ll be getting in touch with my lawyers right now, were getting divorced tomorrow.”