Chapter 2

Clarissa

I sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing my throat gently. His grip had been tighter than usual tonight. My fingers traced the tender spot just under my jaw, where his thumb had dug in. The ache pulsed with every breath I took, raw and sharp like a bruise blooming beneath the skin.

The sound of his footsteps faded up the stairs, and only then did I allow myself to move. I stood up slowly, carefully, ignoring the shards of glass at my feet, and walked to my bedroom. 

I flicked on the light and walked straight to the vanity mirror. My breath caught in my throat the moment I saw myself.

Red. Dark red smudges. Angry-looking prints shaped like fingers.

I tilted my chin slightly and leaned in closer.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered under my breath.

I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo. The flash lit up the room, highlighting the mess of my emotions I was trying desperately to keep buried. Then, without a second thought, I sent the photo. My hand shook a little as I hit send, but my jaw was locked tight.

No name saved. No words exchanged. Just evidence.

And then, I pulled out my suitcase from under the bed, the wheels scraping against the wood. I didn’t even bother to fold my clothes. I just tossed them in. Underwear, jeans, my black silk dress, a pair of boots, my charger, the folder with my documents. The bare minimum, but just enough for the meantime.

I was reaching for my passport when the door creaked open.

Ugh. It was Sasha.

Leaning against the doorframe in one of my robes, a smug little grin painted across her lips. Her eyes scanned the room like she owned the place, and I swear she even wrinkled her nose like my scent offended her.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Did I finally push you too far, wifey?”

I didn’t answer. I preferred to ignore her than exchange words. 

She stepped further into the room, her heels clicking dramatically on the hardwood floor. “Packing already? You’re not even going to say goodbye? That’s rude. After everything we’ve shared?”

I clenched my jaw and continued packing but she kept going. “You know, you could’ve just admitted you were never good enough for him. I mean, look at you. Still pretending you matter. That’s really cute.”

I turned and gave her a long, cold stare. “Is this what you do, Sasha? Pick fights with women whose husbands you’re screwing?”

She chuckled. “Not just screwing, darling. He loves me. He actually tells me I’m beautiful. Can’t say the same for you, huh?”

I paused, my hand hovering over a pair of jeans. Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. But I swallowed it. Swallowed it all. Until I couldn’t.

I straightened up and walked to her, stopping only inches away. “You will always be nothing but a mistress,” I fired back in a low tone. “No matter how many times he takes you to bed. No matter how many silk robes you steal from me. You will never be more than his side piece. His backup plan. His dirty little secret.”

Her smirk faltered. But only for a second. “Let’s see how that goes,” she said, tilting her head. And then without warning, she let out the most dramatic, high-pitched scream I’d ever heard.

I blinked, confused. “What the hell—?”

She started yelling Nicho’s name like she was being stabbed. She even dropped to the floor, grabbing her ankle and groaning like she was auditioning for a daytime soap opera.

“What are you doing?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

Then I heard Nicho’s footsteps pounding down the stairs like a bull charging into a fight.

Perfect. Exactly what she wanted. 

He burst into the room, shirtless, eyes scanning the scene like a madman. “What the hell happened? Sasha, are you okay?”

“She—she pushed me!” Sasha wailed, pointing at me like a scared little bunny. “I came in to talk and she attacked me!”

I blinked again. I couldn’t even laugh.

“She’s lying,” I said, calmly.

But Nicho didn’t even look at me. “Sasha, don’t cry,” he cooed, crouching next to her like she was some precious porcelain doll. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

And then he turned to me, “What the hell is wrong with you, Clarissa? I told you to stop coming at her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

I scoffed. “You want to talk about what someone deserves? You want to talk about how I came running to you when my brother got wrongfully arrested for drug possession?”

His face darkened.

“I begged you for help,” I continued, “and you didn’t lift a finger until you gave me a condition to marry you before you help me. Let’s not rewrite history now.”

He stood up slowly, his hands curled into fists. “I saved you from your trashy life. I gave you a new life. You were nothing before me. Nothing. I picked you up off the streets.”

“Right,” I snapped. “Not because you’re kind or noble. But because you’re a manipulative son of a bitch who loves power. You helped me because you saw someone weaker than you and that turned you on.”

He took a step toward me, but I didn’t flinch.

“You’ll regret saying that,” he warned.

“No,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Did you forget?” I asked, crossing my arms. “The contract ends in two days. I’ve played this pathetic game of house with you for seven years. Seven! And for what? My brother still died. You didn’t save him. You just trapped me here with your lies and threats.”

I walked over to my suitcase and zipped it up slowly, deliberately. Then I looked back at him.

“Two days,” I said. “And I’m done. For good.”

I opened my drawer, pulled out a thick cream-colored envelope I’d been saving for this exact moment, and held it up.

With one flick of my wrist, I swung it toward him. It landed on the floor at his feet with a soft thud.

“There,” I said, my voice icy. “In case your memory’s as bad as your temper.”

Nicho looked down at the envelope like it might explode. He didn’t bend to pick it up. He just stood there, his chest was heaving, his jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might crack.

“You kept a copy?” he asked.