Chapter 1

Five years into our marriage, Vincent had sent me to his business partners' beds a hundred and forty-seven times.

Every single night I was forced to stay with another man, he brought his young model home to party until dawn.

For the sake of the baby in my belly, I chose to swallow my pride and endure it again and again.

Then one night, that little model said she wanted to see the absolute limit of how much alcohol a human body could handle.

Vincent dragged me straight from my prenatal checkup at the hospital to a VIP lounge and forced bottle after bottle of hard liquor down my throat.

I threw up until tears and snot covered my face.

The model pointed at me and burst into hysterical laughter.

"Look at her! Doesn't she look just like a clown?"

Blood poured out from between my legs, running down my thighs and pooling onto the floor, but Vincent didn't spare me a single glance of concern.

He just looked at me in utter disgust, his lips curling into a sneer.

"Disgusting. Where did this filthy street beggar even crawl out from?"

"Do you bleed all over other men's beds too? Hahaha, you're right, babe—she's an absolute clown."

I stared at the pool of crimson spreading beneath me. There wasn't an ounce of heartache or guilt in his eyes.

Instead, he took his little model to the beach right after to celebrate the hundredth day since they adopted a hamster together.

He forgot that today was my birthday, too.

When I opened my eyes again, three days had passed.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time before dialing his number.

After a long stretch of mechanical ringing, he finally picked up. His voice was heavy with the breathless aftermath of intimacy.

"Vincent, let's get a divorce."

An overtly annoyed voice came through the receiver.

"Serena, what kind of pathetic stunt are you pulling now?"

"Can you go a single day without stirring up drama, or does your chest hurt if you don't?"

It felt as if salt water had been poured straight into my heart, stinging my eyes until they burned.

Vincent never asked about my feelings, and he certainly never cared about my health.

"Vincent, the baby is gone."

"I'm giving up my spot for Chloe."

Five years. Five years of being tortured until I was completely broken, body and soul.

This relationship had been held together by me alone, and I couldn't walk this path anymore.

Vincent clicked his tongue. I could tell he was forcing himself to stay patient just to talk down to me.

"Cut the crap, Serena. I'll have my assistant bring you a blank check. Fill in whatever number you want."

"Vincent, you still don't get it."

"I want a divorce."

Vincent's patience with me had always lasted two sentences at most. He instantly exploded into a rage, screaming through the phone.

"Serena, don't you dare push your luck!"

"You're nothing but damaged goods anyway. Who even knows if that kid in your stomach was mine!"

"It's gone, so what? You brought this on yourself. You never had any self-respect, completely trashed your own body, and that's why you miscarry every single time you get pregnant!"

"And now you want to pin this on Chloe too?!"

The breath was knocked right out of me.

Once upon a time, I genuinely believed I had married for love, that I had found the best husband in the world.

I truly thought I would be happy for the rest of my life.

Yet every single piece of these past five years felt like a blade plunging straight into my chest.

"Don't even dream about divorcing me. Even if you die, I won't let your ashes rest in peace!"

With that, he hung up.

My arm fell limply to my side, tears spilling over uncontrollably.

That was our seventh child.

Every single miscarriage had happened because of an unreasonable demand from him or Chloe.

After my sixth miscarriage, the doctor had pleaded with me over and over.

"If you lose another one, your chances of ever carrying a child again will practically be zero."

I had told Vincent more than once that we had to protect this seventh baby with everything we had.

Just last month, when I handed him the ultrasound, I begged him to be careful this time.

Vincent had only rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Stop being so dramatic."

"Your little attention-seeking tricks haven't improved one bit."

He had slapped the ultrasound paper against my face and slammed the door behind him, leaving to go see Chloe without looking back once.

After that, he still treated me like a party favor, shipping me off to the beds of his business partners without a second thought.

I had even held a pair of scissors to my own throat, threatening to end my life, but it never earned me an ounce of mercy or understanding from him.

He ordered his bodyguard to knock the scissors away, then slapped me across the face with everything he had.

"Stop making a scene."

"You just don't want to be useful."

"You're a used-up whore anyway. Who are you trying to play pure and innocent for?"

I had glared at him through bloodshot eyes, but there wasn't a flicker of emotion in his gaze.

It was cold. Detached. Just like looking at an animal bred for slaughter.

Every single memory tied to him was drenched in the stench of blood and bitter screaming matches.

A crushing sense of helplessness wrapped around me, pulling me into the abyss, choking the life out of me inch by inch.

With trembling fingers, I filed a petition for divorce set for a month later, took a screenshot of the confirmation, and sent it to Vincent.

The message sank into silence, like a stone dropped into the ocean.

Maybe he saw it.

Maybe he just thought it was another one of my pathetic tantrums.

Except this time, I was truly letting go.