The Post-Nup, His Fall, My Rise

a P

constant companion, a reminder of Jonathan' s casual cruelty. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the sterile white a canv

usually a curated stream of art and social events, was now a minefield. I found Kesha' s profile. She hadn' t post

an was by her side, holding her hand, his head bowed, looking devastated. The caption read: "Thank yo

ng me concussed and alone. My fingers trembled as I scrolled further. There were comments, hundreds of them, from their

had replied to Kesha' s post. "Always. You me

endorsement of his betrayal. My heart didn't just feel broken; it felt pulverized, ground into dust. The pai

y were shaking. What was I doing? Why w

. Block. Jonathan. Kesha. Anyone who commented. Anyone who celebrated thei

t, memories of their grunts and moans flooding my mind. No. No more. I deleted the app. Era

nful freedom. This was it. The end of the emotional ties. My heart had hardened into stone. I

, I was finally cleared to leave. My lawyer had already been busy. The divorce papers were

to clear my head. My driver was waiting, but before I could reach

slamming the door shut with a force that made me flinch. My driver

w, dangerous growl. He grabbed my arm, his fingers

till-aching head. "Let go of me, Jonathan." My voic

, Anya! I know you' re behind this! You always ha

"I' m not the one who cheats, Jonathan. I' m not the

ere hysterical! You always become so dramatic! Just like that stupid

. My near-fatal crash, framed by him as a manipulative suicide attempt whenever I dared to challen

my voice gaining strength. "And I didn'

nted?" He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. "She' s in absolute agony, Anya. She' s terrified. You' ve driven her away." He thrust t

piercing. "Now, where is she?

. And even if I did, I wouldn' t tell you. Y

w filled with a cold, murderous rage. He shoved me against the car, hard. The impact j

omething from his pocket. A small,

my left arm, pulling the sleeve of my pajamas up, exposing my forearm. He pressed

thin trickle of blood welled up. My body screamed in prot

w," I forced out,

rately carving a shallow cut across my forear

eath. It was a fresh wound on top of all the old ones, a physic

ot for myself, but for the sanity th

hs. He dragged the knife across my skin again, another shallow cut, parallel to the first. "Whe

head throbbed, my vision swam. I felt faint, dizzy. My past trauma, the accident, his

kin was now a canvas of his rage, an ugly testament to his possessiveness

knife, letting it clatter to the ground. Without warning, his hands shot up, wrap

he was too strong. His grip was an iron vise, stealing my breath, stealing my life. This was

, but of profound regret. I regretted every second I wasted loving him. I r