Free me, Lucien Volkov

(Aria's POV)

I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring at the screen of my phone, trying to convince myself that the video I was seeing had to be fake. That it had to be some kind of edited nonsense or maybe some disgusting prank someone played on me.

But all I could see was my husband--Lucien Volkov was having sex with his secretary on his office desk, his secretary's hands were around his shoulders, her soft moans filling the audio like a mocking soundtrack.

His voice, his familiar voice, the same voice that once whispered “I love you” into my neck at night, was grunting in pleasure, praising her, touching her the way he used to touch me. His face was buried in her neck, just the way he knew I loved and his fingers held her waist like she was something precious, like she was something he wanted to keep forever.

I felt my chest tighten hurtfully that it almost knocked the breath out of me. My lips parted, trembling and my throat burned. For a moment, I couldn’t even blink, my eyes just stayed open, refusing to process the reality in front of me.

And then the first tear slid down my cheek with the weight of all the years I’d spent loving him, trusting him, defending him. Before it could fall to my jaw, I pressed my lips together tightly, trying to hold myself together. Because I needed a second, just one pathetic second to pretend that the man in that video wasn’t my husband.

Despite everything I had asked him, every single time he treated me badly, every time he dismissed my feelings, every time he came home with someone else's scent, every time I asked him if something was wrong, if he didn’t love me anymore, if he had someone else, he always looked me in the eye and lied.

“You’re overthinking things,” he would say, brushing his lips on my forehead, “You are the only woman I love.”

And like a fool, I believed him and I kept believing him.

He was good at making me feel like the problem.

Anytime I reacted to something he did, anytime I pointed out his sudden coldness, anytime I cried because I felt unwanted, unappreciated, invisible, he always turned it around.

“You’re too sensitive. You’re imagining things. You love drama.You need help, Aria. You overreact. How many times do I have to say it? You’re my wife, stop acting insecure.” he'd always say.

He gaslighted me until I started questioning my own sanity. I began apologizing for things I never even did. And the worst part? I defended him even when my own friends told me the truth.

“Lucien doesn’t love you, Aria,” they said. “A man who loves you wouldn’t treat you this way.”

I fought them. I defended him like he paid my soul to, because I trusted him, because I had already invested too much of myself into him, because I kept remembering the man he used to be.

The man he was when we first got married. The man who used to bring me breakfast in bed. The man who held my hand every night until he fell asleep. The man who kissed me in the middle of conversations just because he couldn’t help himself. The man who introduced me to people with pride in his voice. The man who looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

And all of a sudden, he started coming home late, ignoring my texts, refusing to touch me like he used to. When I asked him what had changed, he made me feel stupid. He made me feel like I was the one ruining the marriage.

He became toxic, manipulative, he belittled my feelings, minimized my pain, turned every conversation into an argument that ended with me apologizing.

Yet I stayed, I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave.I stayed because I thought marriage meant endurance. I stayed because I didn’t have the confidence to slam divorce papers onto his desk and walk out with my dignity.

I stayed because I still loved him...even when he made it so hard.

Another tear slipped down my face, I sniffed and sat on the bed, my body heavy with exhaustion.

The disrespect had been echoing for months. And not just from him, his mother always had something to say about me, sharp, poisonous remarks that pricked at my confidence.

“You’re not doing enough as his wife. You should try harder to make him happy. Lucien deserves better. You don’t even look like someone who takes care of her husband.”

And he let her say it. He let her reduce me, step by step, until I hardly recognized myself.

Sometimes he came home with a scent that wasn’t mine, a woman's perfume, floral and too sweet, clinging to his shirt. When I asked, he’d laugh.

“You’re paranoid. It’s from the office.”

But this video, this wasn’t paranoia, this wasn’t an overreaction, this was proof, proof of the betrayal I had felt in my bones long before I ever saw it.

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, even though the tears kept falling. My chest rose and fell shakily. My breath stuttered. I felt like something inside me was breaking, splintering into pieces and I wasn’t sure before I could put it back together.

My mind drifted to the earlier days of our marriage. The days he’d call me three times just to hear my voice. The nights we stayed up talking until morning. How we danced in the kitchen while cooking. How he’d carry me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch.

How he’d tell me, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

What happened to that man? Where did he go? Who is this stranger wearing my husband’s face?

We’ve been married for two years. Two long, suffocating, confusing years filled with moments of love and moments of agony. I kept hoping he would go back to the man he used to be. I kept giving him chances. I kept thinking my love could fix him, heal him, bring him back.

But love doesn’t fix someone who chooses to break you.

Love doesn’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Love doesn’t magically erase toxicity.

I wiped my tears again, though they kept falling stubbornly. Because this time… this time, I think something in me finally snapped.

Maybe it’s not too late to walk away. Maybe it’s not too late to choose myself. Maybe I’ve been holding onto a man who let go of me a long time ago.

He clearly doesn’t want me anymore. And I deserve more than this. I deserve more than lies and manipulation and being made to feel like I’m unlovable.

But walking away, even thinking about it hurt so deeply. I can’t even imagine my life without him. He has been a part of every single dream I built, every future plan I had, every prayer I whispered at night.

And loving him wasn’t the problem, loving him was easy.

The problem was that he stopped loving me back.

The tears finally burst from me, no longer slow or controlled. They ran down my face freely as I hugged my arms around myself, trying to self-soothe myself.

It hurts too much, too much for one heart to bear.

He’s cheating, gaslighting, manipulating, hurting me. And he’s doing all of it for no fucking reason.

And maybe the truth is, maybe he fell out of love a long time ago, and I just didn’t want to see it.

And it's high time I walk away.