Queen Of His Twisted Betrayal

rey

precise, almost clinical. Each stroke was a severance, cutting ties, severing the last threads

reets were busy, people rushing to their jobs, their lives. I wondered if a

was grave but professional. "The postnuptial agreement is ironclad, Audrey," she c

atory cooling-off period of thirty days

on. "I am," I said, my voice steady, betray

ting grief in my chest. As I stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, my phone vibr

ft and decisive. I disconnected the call. He called ag

other, the turquoise sea sparkling behind us. My smile in that photo was wide, genuine, full of a joy that now felt alien

e. My own reflection in the photo seemed to mock me. That happy woman, so

devoid of faces, devoid of emotions, devoid of him. It was like tearing out a part of myself

And again. I cont

real, as if my soul had already begun to detach. T

earching for me. When he saw me standing there, a ghost in my own living room, a palpable wave

oice a mixture of fear and irritation. "Why weren

und. "Worried sick? Or worr

ew too well. "Don't be ridiculous, Audrey. You know I care about you." His tone was sharp, tinged wi

et froze. I stared at him, my mind r

weight, my body a hollow shell. I would scream at him, hit him, anything to make him feel a fraction of t

the cold wind whipping my hair, tearing at my resolve. I had wanted to jump, to end the suffocating pain, to simply cease to exi

dured my silent rage. He vowed to never leave me, to be the man I deserved. He suffered my mot

that desperate hope. I had bel

my suffering as a weapon against him. The realization hit me with the for