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I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!
I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.Chapter 1
The stark smell of bleach was overwhelming. Grace tried to fight the nausea rising in the pit of her stomach. She scrunched her eyes at the bright light that was sipping through her closed eyelids. The strong smell of disinfectant filled her nose. She could almost feel her lungs shrinking. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting, as she blinked severely in an attempt to sharpen the blurry images before her.
She heard the beeping of a machine and slowly turned her head toward the source of the noise. She groaned at the feeling of the stiff muscles at her neck; a massage right now would be heaven sent. She examined her surroundings. The room was pristine clean and gloomy, the walls were a sickly green color and the linens were grayish. The place looked nothing like a room where a patient should be motivated to get better. She gazed at herself through the transparent window and noticed she was in a hospital gown.
Her body was powerless and weak. She stared at her lower body, which was covered with a warm blanket, and she flung it aside. Her legs were covered with a thick whitish material that felt unnecessary. She tried to shift her legs, but they felt numb and heavy. She tried once more by shifting her head erratically, and due to the pressure she applied on her body, her head hung upside down at the tip of the hospital bed.
She recollected the last words she heard from a nurse before she was wheeled into the operation room.
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