Chapter 3
His words struck me like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t react. I simply hummed in response, indifferent to the venom in his voice as he stormed out of the room.
For five years, our fights had always been the same. Whenever Ryan was upset, whenever things went wrong, he took it out on me. He’d yell, blame, and demand. I would apologize–even when I hadn’t done anything wrong–hoping the storm would pass. I would try to comfort him, ease the tension, because I understood the pressures he faced. But today, I was done. I pulled the covers over my head and fell into a peaceful sleep, untouched by the chaos.
The next morning, I didn’t cook. I didn’t want to. I ordered takeout for myself, something
Chapter 3
15 Points
simple, something that required no effort, no
care.
Ryan emerged from his room in a foul mood, his eyes dark when he saw me eating alone. His gaze turned cold as he glared at me.
“Prepare lunch today,” he ordered, his tone hard and dismissive. “Don’t just sit there.”
I didn’t look up from my meal.
“I don’t want to.“”
“Enough with the drama, Helena!” he snarled. “You’re my wife. All this household stuff is your responsibility!”
I remained silent, staring at him as he stood there, clearly taken aback by my lack of response.
Chapter 3
+5 Points
When I first married Ryan, his mother had given me a set of rules to win his affection. One of the most important was to learn how to cook–simple, savory meals, because Ryan couldn’t stand anything too spicy. Over time, I had cooked not just for him, but for his mafia associates as well, preparing lavish meals for business meetings, always at his beck and call, no matter how sick or exhausted I was.
But today was different. Today, I knew exactly why he wanted me to cook. It wasn’t for him–it was for Catherine. The date on the calendar was circled in red–her birthday -and he was going to make sure she got everything she wanted.
She was the princess. I was the servant.
“Ryan” I said, my voice calm, though a bitter edge seeped through, “since I’m nothing
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+ 5 Points
more than a bedwarmer who has to obey you, I’ll listen to you this time, too.”
His eyes widened, his body freezing as my words sank in.
“Helena…” He was at a loss, but I didn’t care.
In that moment, he wasn’t my husband. He was a stranger, someone I had to obey without question, without any room to argue or complain. There was no more connection between us, no more love–just a cold, hollow space where my heart used to be.
“Helena, wait-”
“Since you’ve blocked my number, email me if you need anything” I said, my voice flat and unfeeling.
He stood frozen, stunned by my indifference,
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+ 5 Points
but I didn’t give him another look. I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me with quiet finality, leaving him in the silence of his own realization.
I opened my phone, trying my best not to let it affect me. But when I saw the hundreds of calls I had made–most of them either ignored or missed by Ryan–a bitter laugh escaped my lips.
This would be the last meal I ever prepared for him.
Late into the night, I received a call from an unknown number. Ryan had tried reaching me earlier, but all his calls went straight to voicemail. My stomach twisted with a mix of dread and frustration.
“Helena! Where are you? Why haven’t you been picking up?” His voice was tinged with
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+ 5 Points
something that almost resembled concern- as if he cared whether I was alive or dead.
I was sitting in my attorney’s office, collecting the divorce papers he had expedited for me.
“I’m at the headquarters. Is there something you need?” I asked, my voice flat, almost mechanical.
There was a long pause, as if Ryan couldn’t quite process the fact that I wasn’t elated to hear from him. I suppose he always assumed I would be hanging on his every word, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
‘I just… wanted to thank you for the meal,” he said, his tone almost sheepish. “It was as delicious as ever.”
I could almost hear him trying to sound
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Chapter 3
genuine, though the effort fell flat. But he wasn’t finished. He continued, the words dripping with insincerity.
“Helena, I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize your on the phone earlier. I’m… well, I’m childish, I know. My parents never let me cook, so I’ve never really appreciated food the way I should. But your cooking… it’s heavenly.”
I forced a smile. It was the kind of smile people give when they’ve finally accepted the truth about someone. The truth that, deep down, he was no different from the person I’d always feared he was- manipulative, self–centered, and calculating. Just like him.
Before I could fully process the exchange, my phone buzzed with a message, one that made me laugh through clenched teeth.
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[If you want to come so badly, then do. But don’t cause a scene.]
I didn’t need another invitation. I went.
When I stepped into the grand dining room, it was as if everything had been designed to mock me. The table was beautifully set for two, and the only people occupying it were Ryan and Catherine. He was holding her hand with that same tenderness he used to show me, while she smiled up at him shyly, playing the part of the adoring woman.
The moment Ryan saw me, his expression soured. He hadn’t expected me to show up, especially after the way he’d dismissed me with that condescending message.
“You’re really here to ruin my mood” Ryan snapped, irritation evident in every word. I had interrupted their moment–their
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picture–perfect little scene.
“Helena!” Catherine greeted me with a too–sweet smile, extending her hand for a handshake but not bothering to stand. Her attempt at politeness felt like a slap in the face. Ryan’s gaze sharpened, a silent challenge in his eyes, as though he expected me to slap her hand away.
I didn’t. I merely took her hand in mine, my touch cold and indifferent, matching the emptiness inside me. I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Without a word, I pulled out the divorce papers. I opened them to the page where Ryan’s signature was needed. He wanted this. He wanted to be free of me. I would give him what he wanted–no resistance, no hesitation.
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“Ryan” I said calmly, my voice steady, “the French mafia has agreed to cooperate. I just need your signature.”
The soft classical music playing in the background did nothing to soothe the tension in the room. My gaze remained locked on Ryan as he reached for the pen, his hand steady as he signed his name. No pause, no remorse. Just a quick, careless scribble.
It was as if he was signing off on a business deal, not the end of a marriage.
I stared at him as he set the pen down, the atmosphere thick with unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings. I reached to take the papers back, but before I could, Catherine spoke up.
“Helena, wait-”
