Beg no more married to his enemy

Chapter 1: Elena’s POV

The air inside the Civil Affairs Bureau was heavy and suffocating, smelling of old paperwork, harsh cleaning chemicals, and bad coffee.

I stood at the polished wooden counter, my eyes fixed on the two official forms resting side by side. The clerk behind the glass partition stamped a yellow document with a thud, then slid the papers toward us without looking up.

"There is a mandatory five-day cooling-off period," the clerk announced, her voice dull and rehearsed. "If both parties still wish to proceed with the divorce after five days have passed, the final procedures will be completed."

Before the clerk could even finish her sentence, Damian stepped forward. He reached out, his long fingers locking tightly around my chin, forcing my face up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were bloodshot, and his breath smelled faintly of expensive whiskey.

"Come on," Damian whispered coldly, his thumb pressing harshly against my jaw. "Don’t bother acting pitiful this time. I won't withdraw the application."

He shoved my face away with a flick of his wrist, turning around to button his coat as he strode toward the exit. He discarded me like trash, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the crowded civil affairs bureau.

As soon as the glass front doors swung closed behind him, the two staff members behind the counter burst into open laughter, not bothering to lower their voices.

"Omg, they came back again?" the younger clerk mocked, leaning over her computer screen with a smug grin. "Isn't this the ninety-ninth time she's tried to drag him here to force a scene?"

"That’s her," the older clerk scoffed, shaking her head as she organized a stack of files. "Last week he brought her here because she bought the wrong flowers for his desk. Women like her never actually leave."

Listening to their open mockery, I kept my head down, forcing back the burning tears that threatened to spill over.

Ninety-nine times. Over the last seven years, I had swallowed my pride for him. I had endured his cruel outbursts, his public humiliation, and his cold games just to hold onto a dying marriage. I had even gotten down on my knees, begging him not to leave me, convincing myself that if I just endured a little more, he would remember who he used to be before the fire ruined us.

I had given up my music, put away my camera, and buried my own life to stay by his side. Yet, he still ended up holding my stepsister, Chloe. He didn't love me at all.

I stared down at the yellow form on the counter. This time, I would not hold onto someone who didn't love me. It was truly over.

I let out a long, quiet sigh, wiped my eyes, and walked toward the exit in silence.

The afternoon sun hit my eyes as I stepped out into the parking lot. Standing right near the front entrance by his sleek black sports car was Damian, surrounded by his usual group of arrogant wealthy friends.

The moment I stepped onto the pavement, Greg spotted me and let out a loud, mocking laugh.

"Look at her," Greg snickered, nudging the man next to him. "Her hand is trembling so hard she can barely hold her own purse. A cripple like that actually thinks she's worthy of standing beside Damian?"

"Get your bad luck away from us and hurry off," another friend added, glaring at me with open disdain. "Chloe is waiting for Damian right now."

Damian stood in the center of the group, a cold, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he looked down at me. "Don't play pitiful, Elena," he said, tapping his fingers against the car door. "I won't be withdrawing the divorce this time. I'm really curious to see what tricks you still have up your sleeve to win me back."

I didn't answer him. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg. I walked right past them without giving any of them a second glance, keeping my head held high as I made my way down the sidewalk.

Once I was a block away from the bureau, out of their line of sight, I pulled my phone from my bag. My right hand trembled slightly as I tapped the screen, but my resolve didn't waver. I dialed a number I had kept buried in my contacts for years.

The line rang twice before a deep, steady voice answered.

"Elena?"

"Carter," I said, keeping my tone clear and unwavering. "I will be divorced in five days. If you still plan to invest in the project my mother left behind, as we discussed before, I am willing to marry you in five days."

Silence filled the line for a long second. I could hear the faint sound of papers shifting on his end.

"Is this real, Elena?" Carter asked, his voice calm, grounded, and completely serious.

"It's real," I replied.

A short pause followed before Carter spoke again. "Okay. See you in five days."

After hanging up the phone, a wave of relief washed over me. My mother’s unfinished project—her life's work—was the only reason I had endured so much. Before her death, she had poured everything into those files, only for Damian to seize them under his company's control after we married. I had to retrieve those documents and fulfill her final wish, no matter what it took.

BZZZ.

A notification chimed on my screen. A text message had just come through from Greg.

I unlocked the screen and opened the image he had sent. It was a photo taken inside their usual luxury VIP lounge. Damian was sitting in a booth, his arm wrapped tightly around Chloe’s waist. But what made my blood instantly run cold was the small, shimmering piece of jewelry pinned to Chloe's chest.

It was a silver bird brooch—my mother's last surviving keepsake, the one thing she had left me on the night she died.

A wave of sharp, suffocating rage crashed over me. My trembling fingers tightened around the phone as I spun around on my heel and rushed frantically toward the bar