Chapter 3. Divorce is the Goal.

Elena's POV

The silence in the car wasn't just awkward. It was suffocating. Like a storm building up in Lucien's chest, thunderclouds gathered behind his dark eyes.

"What did you just say to me?" His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the quiet like a knife. "Say it again."

I met his gaze, cold and piercing. My fingers tightened into fists, my lips trembling slightly, but I didn't waver.

"I said, Lucien, I want a divorce."

I didn't know what I expected—maybe a laugh, maybe silence. But not this.

The next second, the world tilted. Literally.

With two sharp moves, I was sprawled across his lap, stunned into disbelief.

 My breath caught as heat radiated from the backs of my thighs.

He actually spanked me.

"Are you out of your mind?! Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking, writhing. "You arrogant bastard! What right do you have to lay a hand on me?"

**Smack.**

Another hit, harder. My eyes watered, not from the pain but from the memory it clawed open.

I was fifteen again. Chest bound tight, suffocating under shame and cloth, afraid I'd grow into something ugly. 

He'd found out. Dragged me to the study. Spanked me raw, his face unreadable, the doctor's warnings still echoing in the hallway.

He said it was punishment. Said I'd ruined myself.

Back then, I was just a girl trying to stay invisible.

Now, I was his wife.

And he still saw me as something to discipline.

"Marriage isn't a game, Elena," he growled above me. "You think you can throw words like 'divorce' around just because you feel like it?"

I craned my neck and glared at him. "You're lecturing me on commitment? You who won't even touch your own wife?"

"Where's the earring?" he snapped.

"I lost it. Maybe you're too old to hear me the first time?"

The venom in my voice surprised even me. I wanted to hurt him—wanted to snap something in him the way he always snapped me.

His hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me up roughly. He didn't speak as he shoved me back against the seat, pinning my arms above my head with one hand. His other hand ran down my neckline—not gently. Not lovingly. Searching. Accusing.

"Stop it!" I shouted, writhing under his grip. "It's not on me! You think I hid it in my bra, you lunatic?"

He didn't answer. He just kept searching. Fingers on my skin, past chiffon, past dignity. Taking instead of asking.

 I heard something tear.

The dress split open, the fabric sliding apart like petals beneath a boot. 

I gasped, arms tugging against his grip feebly.

"Lucien—this is a public road!"

He didn't care. Rip. Rip.

More clothes are gone. My knees hit the leather seat. Cold air touched skin that was never meant to be bared here.

With a grunt, he pulled up, taking me with him and tugged my hands down so they fell entwined on my lap, the process barely taking a few seconds.

I was straddling him now, half-naked, shame burning so hot I couldn't even scream. 

The tinted windows weren't dark enough. Anyone driving by—anyone—could see. I tried to cover myself again. He held me down.

"Is this what this is about?" he said, voice drawling. "Because I refused to have a child with you?"

He scoffed, hands, tightening and cutting off the blood flow in my limbs, "You threw my earring away and now you're throwing away the marriage?" His voice was deadly calm, the kind of calm that made you wonder if you were talking to a human or a storm.

"I told you I didn't tamper with the condom!" I snapped.

"You sure you don't want to get pregnant now?" he snarled. "I'm right here. Take it."

I raised my leg and kicked. He caught my ankle mid-air and twisted it slightly. 

The pain lanced up my calf.

"Careful," he said. "You still want to dance, right?"

It was low. Cruel.

Even for him.

I could barely breathe, every nerve in my body humming like snapped piano wires. "I wanted a baby because I loved you," I whispered. "Now I want nothing."

"Nothing?" he scoffed. "You wanted everything. Elena. The mansion. The parties. The power. And now—divorce? After one tantrum?"

He laughed. Sharp, mocking. "You really think you earned the right to leave me?"

I stared at him. My jaw locked tight, my hands trembling against the seat.

In the distance, headlights beamed through the windshield, illuminating my skin like a crime scene.

Lucien didn't flinch.

I did.

I shrank back, finally giving up, and said the only thing I knew would stop him.

"..... I was wrong."

The silence after those words was colder than the air conditioning.

He reached behind me, grabbed the blanket from the back seat, and wrapped it around me. Just like that, I was dismissed.

He climbed out of the car without another word and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing down my spine.

I curled into myself, clutching the blanket, eyes wide and dry. I didn't cry. Couldn't. Not yet.

He didn't know what that earring meant to me.

Didn't know I stared at it for hours the first time I saw myself in the mirror after getting my ears pierced. 

How broken I felt when I found out it belonged to Raquel.

He didn't know anything.

**

At the house, it was dark. Aunt Janice was still at the hospital. 

The place felt abandoned—like even the walls had given up on us.

Lucien carried me upstairs like I was some broken thing.

In the bathroom, he dumped me in the tub like a sack of rice. The water was shallow. Cold.

My leg hit the porcelain edge. 

My robe flared open. I tried to close my legs—he pushed them back open.

"You want to play dead?" he said. "Treat your bruises. Don't wet your foot."

And then he left.

Just like that.

I stared at the water. My reflection was shattered. Weak. Pathetic.

For the first time in years, I wondered if I even recognized myself anymore.

**

Outside, I could hear him on the terrace. A lighter flicked. Smoke curled past the glass. He was calling someone.

"I want that earring back," he said, low and firm. "use any means to find it."

I smiled bitterly. Hopefully, the taxi driver was smart enough to sell it off.

**

When I finally stepped out of the tub, I limped into the bedroom, still wrapped in my robe. Lucien sat on the bed, phone to his ear, voice calm and affectionate.

"Alright, get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Raquel.

The clock blinked at 2:03 AM. And yet she still had the energy to sound like she'd just stepped out of a spa.

Before I could drop onto the couch, Lucien threw his phone down, strode over, and lifted me like I weighed nothing.

"Lucien, put me down—"

Too late.

He tossed me on the bed like I was nothing. "Let's get this over with." He groused, already sounding bored 

I glared, ready to scream.

And then—I gagged.

My stomach rolled. I lunged for the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor.

Lucien didn't say a word. Just handed me a tissue. Rubbed my back.

I hated him for that. For being gentle now. When it was too late.

I sat up, barely able to breathe.

Then came the question. Quiet. Like a knife sliding in.

"…Are you pregnant?"

I looked at him.

And for once, I couldn't tell if I hated him more for asking—or for the hope I heard in his voice.