1 “If you don’t wear this tracker, you are not leaving this house!” I was in the middle of aggressively forcing the device onto my husband when glowing text suddenly materialized in the air right before my eyes. [Is she insane? This villainess’s desire for control is absolutely suffocating!] [Just wait. Once the female lead shows up, the male lead will realize how sweet freedom is. He’ll dump this psycho first thing!] [Once they divorce, she’ll be absolutely nothing. Who does she think she can control then? She’s going to end up freezing to death on the streets like a stray dog!] I swallowed hard, my hand trembling as I tossed the tracking device straight into the trash can. “Actually, never mind. You can go. Have a safe drive.” The moment those words left my mouth, my husband’s expression shifted. He leaned down, stepping into my personal space, a dark, turbulent storm brewing in the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say that if I don’t wear it, you’ll burn my car and lock me inside? Why are you letting me go, huh?” My shoulders ached under the weight of his intense gaze, and my mind was still spinning from the words freezing to death on the streets flashing in my mind. If this had happened yesterday, I would have blown a fuse. How dare he talk back to me? I would have confiscated his car keys, locked him in the bedroom, and made sure he didn’t even see the front door today. But now, I forced myself to swallow the venomous words rising in my throat. I pushed gently against his chest, trying to soften my voice as much as possible. “I just read an article saying those trackers emit a lot of radiation. It’s bad for your health.” Asher’s brow furrowed even deeper. His eyes locked onto mine, searching. “That’s not what you used to say. You used to demand that I remain within your sight twenty-four hours a day.” I choked on my words, especially as the floating comments started flashing rapidly again. [Oh, look at her pretending to be sweet and caring! She’s definitely plotting something else, just watch!] [Don’t believe her, Asher! The female lead is waiting for you at the office right now, don’t waste your time on this crazy woman!] My chest tightened. I quickly took a step back to put some distance between us. “I was immature before. I won’t do it anymore.” “You should get going. Don’t keep your clients waiting.” With that, I turned and walked toward the bedroom, not daring to look back. Behind me, Asher stood frozen for a long time. As I closed the bedroom door, I caught a glimpse of him picking the tracker out of the trash, his face incredibly dark. I leaned against the door and let out a long, shaky breath. After a few tense moments of silence outside, the heavy sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. He was finally gone. My marriage to Asher was a business alliance. Having grown up relying on the charity of others, I had learned the hard way that the only way to feel secure was to keep everything under my absolute control. I was ten years old when my mother married into the Gregory family. The relatives called me “the young heiress” to my face, but behind my back, they treated me like useless baggage. My food, clothes, and living space were constantly monitored, and even the house staff looked down on me. Our marriage only happened because the Gregory family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. They needed Asher’s family to bail them out, and only then did they suddenly remember my existence. So, from the first day of our marriage, I did everything I could to hold onto him. For three years, I controlled everything. I managed his clothes, his meals, his social circle, and even who he talked to each day. I genuinely believed that as long as I held on tight enough, this marriage wouldn’t fall apart. If it weren’t for those strange floating comments, I would have died without ever knowing I was just a tragic villainess in a story. The text claimed Asher was the male lead, and his secretary, Isla, was the destined female lead. It warned that once he grew entirely sick of my suffocating control, he would divorce me, leave me penniless, and ruin my family’s business. In the end, I was destined to freeze to death under a bridge on a bitter winter night. The mere thought made me shiver. I sat on the edge of the bed and unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered habitually over the hidden tracking app. I used to check his location every thirty minutes, making sure he wasn’t anywhere he shouldn’t be. But as the map loaded his location at a private dining club on the outskirts of the city, the text flashed again. [Here we go! The control freak is checking up on him! She’s about to call and scream at him, which will only drive him closer to Isla!] My hand shook, and I immediately uninstalled the app. No, I couldn’t look. If I kept doing this, I was going to end up dead. I tossed my phone aside, grabbed a pillow, and forced myself to watch a comedy. Halfway through, my phone vibrated. It was my best friend. “Evelyn, isn’t your husband out tonight? I heard Isla went with him. Aren’t you going to check up on him?” Normally, I would have lost my mind and spammed Asher with a dozen calls. But now, I bit my lip and forced a casual laugh. “Why would I? He’s a grown man. He knows what he’s doing.” My friend’s voice changed instantly, dripping with shock. “Evelyn, do you have a fever? Last week you threw a massive scene at his office just because Isla handed him a cup of coffee!” Before I could think of an explanation, a new notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram post from Isla. The photo showed Asher holding a glass of whiskey, his brow slightly furrowed. The caption read: The boss works too hard. He drank almost half a bottle tonight. My heart breaks for him. My fingers trembled with sudden anger. I was about to dial Asher’s number when the floating text flooded my vision. [Haha! I knew she would snap! She’s definitely going to crash the dinner, embarrass him in front of everyone, and he’ll demand a divorce tonight!] [Finally, he can get away from this psycho! Congratulations, Asher!] [Isla, get ready to comfort him! This is your moment!] I took a deep, shuddering breath, closed the app, and sent Asher a simple text instead. Don’t drink too much. Your stomach can’t handle it. I’m going to sleep first, no need to check in. I muted my phone and pulled the covers over my head, but my mind was racing. I tossed and turned, desperately wanting to reinstall the app to see where he was. But the image of my tragic end kept me glued to the mattress. My phone screen lit up again with another notification from Isla’s account. I flipped the phone face down, my chest tight with anxiety. Normally, I would have already driven over there to flip the table. But now, I had to keep telling myself: Evelyn, you can’t go. If you go, you lose everything. Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep. I woke up to the sound of keys jingling at the front door. I checked my phone: 2:00 AM. Normally, I would have been waiting in the entryway, ready to search his pockets, sniff his collar for perfume, and scroll through his entire chat history before forcing him to stand in the living room to sober up. But tonight, I simply pulled the blanket tighter and turned over to go back to sleep. Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open with a loud thud. Asher stood in the doorway, smelling of cold air and expensive whiskey. He marched over and tossed his phone onto my pillow, the screen glowing brightly. I sat up, blinking sleepily. “What’s wrong?” “Why aren’t you checking my phone?” His voice was incredibly hoarse, his eyes slightly bloodshot from the alcohol. “Ask me who I drank with tonight. Ask me if I got too close to Isla. Search my messages. You always do.” My heart did a sudden leap, especially as the text flared up again. [Here it is! She’s going to use this as an excuse to scream at him! Ask for the divorce, Asher!] I quickly pushed his phone back toward him, forcing a reassuring smile. “I trust you. There’s nothing to check.” “Besides, I left some hangover soup warming on the stove. If you’re not feeling well, go have a bowl. I’m going back to sleep.” I pulled the blanket back over my head, facing away from him. For a long time, there was absolute silence. I thought he had left, but then the bedroom door slammed shut so hard the walls vibrated. I stared at the closed door, utterly baffled. Wasn’t he supposed to hate my constant nagging? Now that I was giving him space, why was he furious? Whatever. The text said he was going to dump me anyway. Survival was my only priority. The next morning, I woke up early. As my feet hit the floor, I instinctively walked toward the walk-in closet. Usually, my first task was selecting his outfit for the day: which shirt, which tie, even which pattern of socks. If he wore anything else, I would argue with him all day. Just as I reached the door, the text flashed warningly. [Warning! She’s about to force him to wear that pastel pink shirt again! He absolutely hates pink. This fight is going to trigger the divorce!] I froze, immediately turning on my heel and heading toward the kitchen instead. That was close. Almost stepped on a landmine. While I was frying eggs, I heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. He stopped right by the door. “What am I supposed to wear today?” Without turning around, I flipped an egg and said casually, “Whatever you want. Wear your favorite. I don’t mind.” “You said I look old in gray, and you insisted I wear the pink one,” Asher said, his voice sounding tight, almost like he was grinding his teeth. My hand slipped, nearly burning the egg. I quickly offered a peace-offering smile. “I had bad taste back then. You actually look incredibly sharp in gray, seriously.” When I looked over, I saw him toss the pink shirt directly into the trash can before pulling on a dark charcoal suit jacket. I let out a soft breath. Thank goodness I didn’t push him, or I would have triggered the bad ending right then and there. 2 For the next week, my behavior was entirely different. When he worked late, I didn’t spam his phone. I simply sent a single text before bed: Don’t work too hard. When he went out to a lounge with his friends, I didn’t ask who was there, nor did I demand photos of the table. Meanwhile, Isla posted photos of him daily on her social media: the side of his face while he worked, his hand holding a document, each caption more suggestive than the last. I pretended not to see any of it. The floating comments kept insisting I was just gathering strength for a massive explosion, waiting for my breaking point. But in reality, I was quietly meeting with a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. I had already decided on the terms. I didn’t want a single penny of the Sinclair estate. I would only keep the small apartment I owned before our marriage. Once we split, he could date Isla, marry her, or do whatever he pleased. No one would smother him ever again. On Friday evening, he texted to say he was meeting clients at a private club. I replied with a simple Okay and curled up on the sofa to watch a reality show. Around ten, my phone rang. It was an employee from the club, saying Mr. Sinclair had had too much to drink and asking if they should arrange a ride. Before I could answer that I would drive over myself, Isla’s voice cut through the background of the call. “No need to bother Mrs. Sinclair. I’m heading that way anyway. I’ll take him home.” I paused for a second, then smiled into the receiver. “Thank you for the help, then.” I hung up, and the screen instantly filled with rapid-fire comments. [Oh my god! The female lead is bringing him home! The psycho wife is going to lose her absolute mind!] [Last time Isla just brushed past him, Evelyn slapped her. This time she’s going to claw her face off!] [Let her rage! Once she causes a scene, Asher will kick her out of the house for good!] I took a deep breath, went to the kitchen, and prepared a warm glass of honey water, waiting calmly for them to arrive. Around eleven, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Isla holding Asher up, her hair slightly messy, her face flushed. When she saw me, she spoke in a sweet, soft voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, he drank quite a bit tonight. He kept calling your name on the ride over.” Normally, I would have slapped her for letting him lean on her like that. But instead, I gently took Asher from her, retrieved his coat, and handed her the warm honey water. “Thank you so much for bringing him back safely. It’s late, so please drive carefully.” Isla’s sweet smile completely froze. She clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. Before she could say another word, I offered a polite nod and shut the door. I helped Asher onto the sofa and poured him a glass of water. “Drink some water. You smell like a distillery. Go take a shower.” The moment the words left my mouth, I worried I sounded too controlling again. I quickly corrected myself. “Or don’t. It’s up to you. Do whatever you want.” As I turned to walk away, my wrist was suddenly grabbed in a tight, firm grip. He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice incredibly hoarse. “You’re not mad?” I blinked. “Why would I be mad?” “Isla brought me home. She was leaning all over me. You’re not angry at all?” He demanded, his grip tightening. “Before, if she even handed me a file, you’d give me the cold shoulder for three days.” My heart hammered against my ribs, and I quickly pulled my hand out of his grasp. “I was immature back then. She’s your employee, there’s no reason for me to get upset over work.” I didn’t dare look at his expression as I quickly made my way toward the study. He had to be completely exhausted by my past behavior. If I brought up the divorce now, he would surely agree. I pulled the draft agreement from the desk drawer just as the study door pushed open. Asher had followed me. He stood in the doorway, watching me. I looked up at him, forcing a gentle smile as I slid the papers across the desk. “Asher, since you’re here, take a look at this. I’ve drafted a divorce agreement.” “I only want my old apartment. Everything else is yours.” “From now on, you’re entirely free. You can be with whoever you want, and no one will ever check up on you again.” The moment the words left my mouth, Asher’s face darkened completely. He gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with anger. “Do you really think I want freedom? Evelyn, I want you!” “What kind of game are you playing lately?” “You stop checking on me, and now you want a divorce? Tell me the truth: is there someone else?”
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