My CEO husband, Damian Thorne, promised to take me to the ocean for our wedding anniversary. But then a hurricane hit. I waited for over two agonizing hours in the fierce wind and rain, and he never showed. Finally, a text popped up: *emergency business trip, can’t make it.* Yet, moments later, Chloe Summers, his intern, posted a video on Ins: My usually pampered husband was barefoot, helping local workers transport seafood. Her caption read: “My CEO husband isn’t afraid of a little hard work!” I smiled, then liked and commented: “So diligent, a true role model for us all.” The company WhatsApp group instantly blew up, everyone wondering if I’d finally snap. Damian called, his voice tight with suppressed fury: “Seraphina! What was the meaning of that comment? Were you trying to humiliate Chloe?” “What’s wrong with me helping her family move some fish during a hurricane? You, with your silver spoon, wouldn’t understand real struggles.” “Delete the comment now. I’ll take you to the ocean in a few days.” A wave of nausea washed over me. I commented back: “No thanks. I’m not interested in watching the ocean with someone who’s already been *rolling in the muck with a certain swine*.” Yes, Damian Thorne was tainted. I was done with him.
“Seraphina, are you insane? I’ve been explaining this for ages, can you just stop making a scene?” “No need to say anything else. Let’s get a divorce.” I closed my eyes, my voice flat. “Why are you so jealous again? I told you, we’re just colleagues. During a hurricane, I couldn’t just leave a young girl to work in the rain, could I?” “The ocean isn’t going anywhere, but what if she gets sick from the rain?” He seemed to forget that I was the one who went to meet him. And now I was trapped on an isolated road, stranded by the hurricane. Icy rain, driven by the hurricane, lashed furiously against my face. I cut him off, seething. “I’m still stuck on Oceanfront Road, and the water’s up to my ankles.” Hearing I was in danger, Damian’s voice took on a hint of urgency: “Wait for me, I’m coming to get you right away.” What should have been a thirty-minute drive, Damian made in twenty. He got out, looking disheveled from the rush. The moment he saw me, his eyes filled with concern and worry. He strode forward, scooped up my soaking wet body, and started walking towards his car. But even in the twelve-grade wind, the cheap perfume scent clinging to his clothes wouldn’t dissipate. It stung my nostrils, wave after wave. I was about to speak, but then Damian’s phone rang. It was Chloe’s special ringtone. He almost instinctively dropped me, answering the call. “Oh, Damian, I think I have a cold. My head feels so dizzy.” Damian’s brows furrowed, his eyes filled with worry and concern. He fumbled frantically in his pockets for the car keys. Then he cooed softly to Chloe, a tenderness in his voice I’d never heard: “Sweetheart, wait for me at home, I’ll take you to the hospital.” The arm that had been holding me suddenly released, and I fell back into the mud with a splash. He opened the car door, got in, and without a backward glance, urged me: “Get in, quick!” Gritting my teeth against the searing pain, I struggled to my feet. Just as I was about to get in, the car door slammed shut automatically, catching my clothes. My heart clenched. I immediately pounded on the door, but Damian, desperate to reach Chloe, had completely forgotten I even existed. As the car started, I lost my footing and fell heavily to the ground. The vehicle dragged me, speeding off in the rain. Mud lashed at me like knives, tearing at my skin. The scenery blurred past, and it felt like my insides were being ripped out. The soul-piercing agony made me howl in torment. I was dragged for hundreds of feet until my clothes ripped, and I collapsed in the mud. Looking down, the flesh and blood on my legs mixed with the muddy water, and the pain was so intense I lost consciousness. I lay there on the ground, helpless and desperate, my last shred of illusion about Damian shattered. Later, a kind stranger who passed by drove me home. As soon as I got home, I saw Chloe @everyone in the SnapChat group: “My Ins post today was just a joke, I hope no one misunderstood. Thank you, Mr. Thorne, for not holding it against me and rushing to take me to the hospital.” This wasn’t an explanation; it was a blatant brag. I put my phone down and disinfected my profusely bleeding wounds. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging amidst the agonizing pain. “Seraphina, where did you run off to?” Footsteps approached, and Damian walked into the room, his voice accusatory, bringing with him the damp, chilling air. Seeing my bloodied, mangled wounds, his impending lecture died in his throat. He frowned. “How did you get yourself into such a state?” He stepped forward, about to inspect my wounds. I turned away, avoiding him, and sneered, “You really don’t know how I ended up like this?” Who invited me to watch the ocean during a hurricane? Who left me stranded by the sea for Chloe? And who dragged me for hundreds of feet with their car?! Damian nervously touched his nose, yet still adopted a self-righteous, ‘I’ve done nothing wrong’ stance: “I told you, Chloe and I are completely innocent. I just helped her because I felt sorry for a struggling small-town girl trying to make it in the city. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do!” Seeing I didn’t speak, his voice grew colder, and he questioned me as if I were the one in the wrong: “Seraphina, do you have to pick a fight with me today? And after all I did, preparing an anniversary gift for you.” He said, and with an angry huff, aggressively shoved a soaking wet gift box towards me. The box knocked over the iodine on the table, soaking my freshly bandaged wound. The flood of suppressed hurt and indignation finally broke. I swung the box with all my might, smashing it into Damian’s face: “I don’t want your damn gifts!” Every time he messed up, he’d buy me a gift to placate me, but I later found out they were always Chloe’s discards. Damian’s temple was gashed, and a trickle of blood immediately appeared. He cried out in pain, clutching his eye. I slapped the divorce papers onto the table: “It’s past midnight. Our anniversary is over.” “Our marriage is done.”
“Seraphina! Don’t push your luck!” Damian warned, his voice low and dangerous. I retorted, “*I’m* pushing my luck?” Whether it was the searing pain in my legs or the chilling realization in my heart, large tears streamed down my face. Seeing me cry, Damian’s expression softened: “Let’s not talk about that now. I’ll take you to the hospital.” He started to reach for me, but I instinctively recoiled. My wound hit the table leg, and the bandage instantly turned crimson. “Get out! I don’t need you to take me! Remember this: we’re already divorced!” The moment he abandoned me, gravely injured, to take Chloe, I stopped trusting him completely. Damian’s fists clenched, his body trembling. Then, with a roar of suppressed fury, he slammed the door and left. After Damian left, I drafted my resignation letter and sent it to HR. HR was incredibly shocked, replying with a dozen messages, saying he couldn’t approve it without Damian’s permission. I braced myself for a standoff with Damian. But within a minute, my resignation was approved. It seemed Damian no longer had any feelings for me whatsoever. The next morning, I went to the office to pack my things. All my colleagues were gossiping about my resignation. I ignored them, focusing on my packing. Suddenly, Chloe slammed a half-empty bubble tea down in front of me, her lipstick stain still on the straw: “Seraphina darling, can you print this contract for me? I’ll buy you a bubble tea.” Chloe looked at me with a smirk of provocation. I stood up and immediately splashed the bubble tea onto her face: “I’ve resigned, and I’m divorced. Stop with your roundabout attempts to flaunt that trash Damian and disgust me!” The sticky bubble tea dripped from Chloe’s hair, and she looked pathetic, her eyes welling up. Damian rushed over, his heart aching as he meticulously wiped her face with tissues. His gaze turned icy, sharp as a blade, when he looked at me: “Seraphina, you’ve gone too far! Apologize to Chloe, now!” A flicker of triumph crossed Chloe’s eyes. Then she tugged at Damian’s sleeve, shaking her head: “It’s not Seraphina’s fault, Mr. Thorne. I just wanted to share my favorite bubble tea, but I forgot she’s a sophisticated city girl and, well, *different* from me.” Damian looked at Chloe’s tearful face, veins throbbing in his neck, and raised his voice: “Just because you were born in the city makes you superior? Gives you the right to trample on others’ kindness?” “Drink that bubble tea off the floor!” Hearing his words, the colleagues, who had been openly eavesdropping on the drama, all turned to stare. My eyes reddened as I looked at Damian, backing away step by step. He grabbed my wrist and forced me down onto the floor. The bubble tea on the ground was now a muddy mess. “Apologize!” Damian commanded. I bit my lip hard, shaking my head. Damian suddenly remembered something, his eyes hardening, his voice turning chilling: “Seraphina, why are you always defying me lately?” “If you still refuse to apologize to Chloe… you’ll need to *reflect* on your actions.” He tightened his grip on my wrist and dragged me towards the warehouse. I pulled with all my might to free my hand, but his grip only grew tighter. Damian yanked me into the hot, cramped warehouse. He looked around, then pinned both my hands with one of his, while picking up a dusty rope from the corner. My eyes reddened, and I shook my head, “Damian, you can’t.” Before I could finish, Damian had already tied my hands, securing them with a knot that was impossible to undo. He lightly bit the back of my hand: “Seraphina, you’ve been too spoiled lately. You can stay here and think about what you did wrong…” “I didn’t do anything wrong…” He placed his index finger over my lips, making a shushing gesture: “Shh, think clearly before you speak.” Then, with a sharp *rip*, he tore off a piece of duct tape and sealed my mouth. I twisted, trying to run while he adjusted the tape. But he yanked the rope, pulling me back and pushing me onto a chair. He brutally secured me to the chair, the rope wrapped dozens of times around me. I writhed and struggled, but I couldn’t move. The wounds on my legs bled again. Damian slammed the heavy metal door shut. From beyond the door, his voice, muffled but cutting like an icy blade, drifted in: “You better reflect deeply. You can come out when you realize your mistake!”
I gasped for air, my heart spasmed violently. Damian knew I had a heart condition and that heatstroke could be fatal, yet he deliberately locked me in a 104-degree Fahrenheit (40-degree Celsius) warehouse. My clothes were drenched in sweat, and I was so weak I was on the verge of collapsing. I don’t know how long passed before the warehouse door finally opened. Damian walked in, his expression neutral. He removed the tape from my mouth and untied me: “Seraphina, don’t let it happen again.” I frowned, confused, then saw Chloe leaning against the door, watching me with a taunting smirk: “Seraphina dear, I accept your apology.” I clutched my chest, my voice, dry and frail, was like a ghost’s whisper: “What apology?” As the rope fell to the floor, my body went limp, and I collapsed into Damian’s arms. His voice softened: “I’ll take you back.” My whole body tensed. I used all my strength to slap Damian across the face: “Let go of me!” Damian’s icy gaze pierced me. Seeing my pale face, he clenched his fists and stormed out in a fit of pique. Full of confusion, I leaned against the wall and walked out of the warehouse, only to find all my colleagues looking at me with strange, contemptuous eyes. Some even spat at me with righteous indignation. Moments later, my phone vibrated incessantly. The entire company WhatsApp group was buzzing about the ‘confession letter’ I supposedly wrote: “I was wrong. I apologize to Ms. Chloe Summers. My suspicion, jealousy, and shamelessness have hurt her…” My fists clenched tight. Damian had forged my confession letter, painting me as a shameless, vile wretch! In the past, I would have gone ballistic and confronted Damian. But now I was tired. Nothing mattered more than getting divorced. Ignoring my belongings, I grabbed my bag and left. At the exit, Chloe blocked my way: “Seraphina dear, you’re so pathetic!”
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