Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Soft light filtered through the curtains when I opened my eyes, and for a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.

Not the floor. I was on the bed, covered with a blanket I didn't remember pulling over myself.

My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and my cheek felt swollen and tender where Alex had struck me. Every breath sent sharp pains through my ribs, reminding me that I should still be in a hospital bed, not lying on the floor of my bedroom bleeding.

The door creaked open, and I tensed, expecting Alex's fury or Tyler's contempt.

Instead, Sophia appeared, carrying a bowl of something that smelled like chicken and ginger. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale with worry.

"You're awake." Her voice cracked with relief. "Thank God, you're awake."

She set the bowl on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. Her hands were shaking as she reached out to touch my face, her fingers ghosting over the bruise.

"How long?" I croaked, my throat dry and raw.

"Three hours." She pulled back, her jaw tight with barely contained rage. "I found you on the floor, unconscious and bleeding. Again."

I tried to sit up, and she immediately moved to help me, propping pillows behind my back with gentle efficiency.

"I brought you some porridge," she said, reaching for the bowl. "You need to eat something."

The thought of food made my stomach turn, but I took the bowl anyway, holding it in trembling hands. The warmth seeped into my palms, grounding me.

"Sophia, how did you—"

"I called you," she interrupted, her voice sharp. "Multiple times. When you didn't answer, I panicked and drove over here thinking something terrible had happened."

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I was right, wasn't I? I found you unconscious on the floor with blood pooling under your head. I was literally dialing 911 when you started to stir."

I looked around the room properly now, noticing the first aid kit open on the dresser, the bloodstained towels in a heap by the door.

She'd cleaned me up. Moved me to the bed. Stayed with me.

"Where are they?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Who the fuck knows?" Sophia's voice turned vicious. "And who the fuck cares? Your husband hit you hard enough to knock you unconscious, Krista. He left you bleeding on the floor and went out to dinner."

She stood up, pacing the room like a caged animal. "I should call the police. I should report him for assault and abandonment and—"

"No." The word came out stronger than I felt. "No police."

"Krista—"

"Please." I set the bowl down, my hands still shaking. "Just help me up."

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression torn between fury and resignation. Then she moved to my side, offering her arm for support.

I stood slowly, every muscle protesting the movement. The room spun for a moment, but I gritted my teeth and waited for it to pass.

"Why do you have separate bedrooms?" Sophia asked suddenly, her voice quieter now. "You're married. Why aren't you sharing a room?"

I looked at her, at my best friend who'd stood by me through everything, and managed a small, bitter smile.

"Because we're not really married, Soph. Not in any way that matters."

She frowned, confusion crossing her face.

I limped to the closet, pushing aside the hanging clothes to reach the false panel at the back. My fingers found the latch, and the panel swung open.

"We've never shared a bed," I said quietly, pulling out the metal lockbox. "Not once in seven years of marriage."

The lockbox was heavier than I remembered, or maybe I was just weaker. I carried it back to the bed and set it down, my hands fumbling with the combination lock.

"What are you talking about?" Sophia sat beside me, her eyes fixed on the box.

"The marriage was never real." The lock clicked open, and I lifted the lid. "It was always just a contract."

Inside were documents I'd been hiding for years. The marriage contract, signed and notarized. Bank statements showing the money Alex's family had paid my father. Medical records from Tyler's birth. And beneath it all, a packet of papers I'd picked up from a lawyer's office on my way home from the hospital.

Divorce papers.

"Alex needed to get married to secure his inheritance from his grandfather," I explained, pulling out the marriage contract. "His grandfather had this old-fashioned requirement that all heirs had to be married before they could access the family trust."

Sophia's eyes widened. "You're joking."

"I wish I was." I set the contract aside and reached for the divorce papers. "Monica had just broken up with him, broken his heart actually. He was desperate, and my father's business was failing. So we made a deal."

The words felt strange saying them out loud, like I was talking about someone else's life.

"I marry him for seven years, play the dutiful wife, and in return, he pays off my father's debts and gives me a lump sum when the contract ends." I laughed, the sound hollow and broken. "Everyone wins, right?"

"Krista." Sophia's voice was soft with horror. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was ashamed." I picked up a pen from the nightstand, testing its weight in my hand. "Because I thought maybe, eventually, it could become real. Maybe he would fall in love with me. Maybe Tyler would be enough to make us a real family."

I clicked the pen, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

"But he never forgot about Monica. She's always been there, in the background, the one that got away." I positioned the pen over the signature line on the divorce papers. "And Tyler? He learned to hate me because his father does."

The pen hovered over the paper, and for a moment, I hesitated.

This was it. This was the moment I took my life back.

"We never shared a bedroom because Alex couldn't stand to touch me," I continued, my voice steady now. "After Tyler was born, after he'd secured his inheritance, I became nothing more than a housekeeper. A slave, like you said."

I thought about the nights I'd lain awake in this room, listening to Alex come home late, wondering if he was with Monica. I thought about the mornings I'd made breakfast for a family that barely acknowledged my existence.

I thought about bleeding out on the pavement while my husband walked away.

"Not anymore," I whispered.

I signed my name on the divorce papers, the pen moving across the page with swift, decisive strokes. Each letter felt like freedom, like reclaiming a piece of myself I'd given away.

When I finished, I set the pen down and looked at Sophia.

"Help me pack."

She didn't ask questions, didn't try to talk me out of it. She just nodded and moved to the closet, pulling out my suitcase.

We worked in silence, folding clothes and gathering toiletries. I took only what was mine, only what I'd brought into this marriage or bought with the small allowance Alex gave me for groceries.

The designer dresses he'd bought me for company events stayed in the closet. The jewelry his mother had given me stayed in the drawer. The wedding ring on my finger came off and dropped onto the nightstand with a soft clink.

I packed my sketchbooks, hidden at the back of the closet where Alex had never bothered to look. My fabric samples, my sewing supplies, all the tools of the trade I'd abandoned when I married him.

Fashion design. That had been my dream once, before I'd sold it away along with everything else.

"Is this everything?" Sophia asked, zipping up the second suitcase.

I looked around the room one last time. Seven years of my life contained in two bags.

"Almost." I picked up the divorce papers and the marriage contract, folding them carefully and tucking them into my purse. "Now it is."

Sophia grabbed one suitcase, and I took the other, my body screaming in protest. We made our way downstairs, each step deliberate and measured.

The living room still smelled like Monica's perfume, expensive and cloying. I could see the indentation in the couch where she'd been sitting, the wine glasses on the coffee table, evidence of their afternoon together.

I didn't feel angry. Didn't feel sad. Just empty and exhausted and ready to be anywhere but here.

"Krista." Sophia stopped at the door, her hand on the handle. "Are you sure about this?"

I thought about Alex's hand connecting with my face. I thought about Tyler calling me dramatic while I bled on the floor. I thought about seven years of being invisible, unloved, unwanted.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

She opened the door, and we stepped out into the fading sunlight. The red BMW still sat in my parking spot, a monument to my replacement.

We loaded the suitcases into Sophia's car, and I climbed into the passenger seat, my ribs protesting every movement.

As we pulled away from the curb, I looked back at the house one last time. The house where I'd tried so hard to build a family, where I'd given everything and received nothing in return.

"They're going to pay for this," I said quietly, my hands clenched in my lap. "For everything they've done."

Sophia glanced at me, something fierce and approving in her expression.

"Damn right they are."

I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes. Revenge would come later, I promised myself. Alex thought he could discard me like trash, thought I was too weak and broken to fight back.

He was wrong.

But first, I needed to heal. I needed to rebuild myself, to remember who I was before I became Mrs. Alex Hayes.

I needed to resurrect the dreams I'd buried seven years ago.

Fashion design. My own label. The career I'd sacrificed for a man who'd never loved me.

"Where to?" Sophia asked.

I opened my eyes and looked at my best friend, at the woman who'd never abandoned me, who'd picked me up off the floor twice now.

"Your place, for now." I touched the divorce papers in my purse, feeling their weight like a promise. "Then I'm going to rebuild everything I gave up for him."

Sophia smiled, fierce and proud. "That's my girl."

As we drove away, I felt something stirring inside me. Not hope exactly, but something harder, something with teeth.

Alex Hayes had made a mistake when he left me to die. He'd underestimated me, dismissed me as weak and worthless and easily discarded.

He was going to learn just how wrong he was.

But right now, as the house disappeared in the rearview mirror, all I felt was relief.

I was finally free.