The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Chapter 4 4

Word Count: 635 | Released on: 20/01/2026

floor, her laptop balanced on her knees. She was on t

pped a band-aid around the cut,

hanged. A video cal

da P

he 'Decline' button. But a morbid curiosity took over

cked 'A

bed, surrounded by ridiculous bouquets of white lilies.

ida cooed. Her

you want,

hair from her face. The movement was deliberate

family heirloom. Jackson had told h

miring the ring. "Jackson said you were hysterical las

y took a screen

tina said. "You won

t, you know. Sleeping in the chair. He told me he's g

"He's all yours, Dee. The late nights, th

that Cristina wasn't crying. She reache

ee. As soon as she's gone, we'll go

vida repeated

another man's treasure, Davida. But in this case, I thin

ld respond. She immediately blocked

n's side was still full. Rows of Italian suits, cust

red them, but that was petty. That wa

suits off the hangers, folding them roughly, and stu

my pickup line. "I have a donation," she said into the phone. "From

of his presence. When the porters hauled the b

. She popped the SIM card slot open with an

pped it

flushed. The swirling water took away her n

ing room. Her suitcase was

remembered th

k in the study when she wa

behind. It had the prototypes for the Spring Collecti

nd and headed t

Chapter End

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The Scars Behind My Golden Dress

Catherine Modern

“I spent four hours preparing a five-course meal for our fifth anniversary. When Jackson finally walked into the penthouse an hour late, he didn't even look at the table. He just dropped a thick Manila envelope in front of me and told me he was done. He said his stepsister, Davida, was getting worse and needed "stability." I wasn't his wife; I was a placeholder, a temporary fix he used until the woman he actually loved was ready to take my place. Jackson didn't just want a divorce; he wanted to erase me. He called me a "proprietary asset," claiming that every design I had created to save his empire belonged to him. He froze my bank accounts, cut off my phone, and told me I'd be nothing without his name. Davida even called me from her hospital bed to flaunt the family heirloom ring Jackson claimed was lost, mocking me for being "baggage" that was finally being cleared out. I stood in our empty home, realizing I had spent five years being a martyr for a man who saw me as a transaction. I couldn't understand how he could be so blind to the monster he was protecting, or how he could discard me so coldly after I had given him everything. I grabbed my hidden sketchbook, shredded our wedding portrait, and walked out into the rain. I dialed a number I hadn't touched in years-a dangerous man known as The Surgeon who dealt in debts and shadows. I told him I was ready to pay his price. Jackson and Davida wanted to steal my identity, but I was about to show the world the literal scars they had left behind.”