Chapter 2

LISA’S POV

“Lisa, please, just listen to me.”

That voice again.

It filtered through the room like the noise from the television screen I’d been staring blankly at. “He’s not a man you can marry, please. This isn’t the man you want to spend the rest of your life with.”

Those voices... they haunt me every night. They’ve been haunting me for the past five years relentlessly, echoing louder lately, refusing to be silenced.

It was my mother’s voice.

She’d warned me, warned me with a trembling voice and weary eyes that marrying Dominic would be the dumbest decision I’d ever make. But I didn’t listen. I never did. I was blind. Stupidly, hopelessly blind.

I stared at Dominic’s smile on TV and remembered the first time he smiled at me that way, in the school courtyard, when I thought it meant something real. Back then, I believed red flags were just fireworks. He was handsome, no, he was devastating. I told myself it was a crush. That it would pass. But it didn’t.

What started as casually stalking his social media turned into a full-blown obsession. I checked every post, tracked his likes. Until one day, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I walked up to him, heart pounding, dignity slipping and confessed everything.

He laughed. His friends laughed too.

But when he saw the determination on my face, and saw I wasn’t joking, he asked me, “Can you afford me?”

And like the fool I was, I said yes.

Why wouldn’t I? My father was the wealthiest man on the continent. I could afford anything, including him.

From that day, our toxic fairytale began. I paid for everything. Weekly allowances of no less than $10,000. Lavish gifts. Trips. Tuition. I was his sugar mama before I turned 21. By the time we finished college, I’d funded his entire life.

But love isn’t sustainable when it’s one-sided.

When my father found out I was giving all my money to a man, he cut me off. And with no money, I told Dominic the allowance had to stop.

That’s when everything changed.

He used to kiss my forehead and tell me I was his miracle. Even after the first affair, he cried harder than I did, swearing it was the only mistake he’d ever make. I wanted to believe him, because believing him hurt less than admitting I’d been wrong about him all along.

I tried to leave. God knows I did. But he’d look me in the eye and say, “It’s because I’m broke, Lisa. I’m trying. You just don’t understand what it’s like to grow up with nothing.”

And I believed him. Again.

So we switched to a monthly allowance instead. And for a while, he behaved. He was sweet again. Stable. I thought we were okay. We got married after college, against my parents’ wishes.

They begged me not to. I insisted he had changed.

But the thing about people? They rarely do.

Three years into the marriage, I started noticing the signs. Lipstick stains. Empty condom wrappers. Phone calls in the bathroom. Secrets.

I confronted him.

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even flinch.

“Do your worst,” he said.

No remorse. No guilt. Nothing.

And now here I am. Six years gone, three days without food or water, watching the man I gave my life to declare his love for another woman on live TV.

He looked happy. Genuinely happy. Like I had never meant anything more than misery to him.

I watched, numb, as the headline flashed:

“Billionaire Businessman Declares Love for Model Girlfriend Months After Divorce”

And the fact that I wasn't aware? Wait… something about the woman beside him tugged at my memory.

Her face. That face—

I grabbed the remote and paused the screen. Then I reached for my phone and opened I*******m, hands trembling. I searched for the name that flashed at the bottom of the news report.

No... it can’t be...

But it was.

Her.

The same woman he cheated with years ago. The same one I forgave him for.

I felt my chest cave in. I wanted to scream. Break something. Instead, I just sat there.

Of course it was her. I knew it. Deep down, I always did. But I’d lied to myself for years, thinking I still had a place in his heart.

But money can’t keep a man. Neither can beauty. Nor character. Not if he doesn’t love you.

I should’ve known that.

Tears fell freely now as I folded the few clothes I hadn’t already torn apart in rage. The last three days had been a blur of silence and breakdowns. And for what? A man who used me and discarded me like a receipt?

“I can’t live with this shame,” I whispered to myself. “I can live with this shame…”

But the pistol on the table said otherwise.

It had been sitting there since yesterday. Quiet. Waiting. I reached for it slowly, fingers grazing the cold metal.

I closed my eyes.

And then, a knock.

I froze. Who would be knocking now?

Certainly not Dominic. He was too busy being in love.

Dragging my feet across the cluttered living room, I opened the door.

“Mrs. Lisa.”

That voice.

I looked up.

It was him, my old driver. He used to drive me everywhere back when I was still the precious daughter of a wealthy family, before I chose love over sense.

I didn’t need him to say why he was here. I already knew.

“Your parents asked me to bring you home,” he said carefully.

Home. The one I abandoned for a man who wrecked me.

“I’m sorry, Mrs., but I was told to bring you by all means—”

“I’ll go,” I said.

Before he could react, I slipped the pistol under my clothes.

I walked past him and sat down in silence. He stared at me for a long time. I could see the shock in his eyes. My reflection in the black screen grinned at me, wide-eyed, messy-haired, like someone who’d lost a bet with life.

We said nothing as we left the apartment. He locked the door behind us.

I slid into the back of the BMW, the leather cold against my skin. The moment the car pulled out of the estate, the wind hit my face through the half-open window. For a second, I imagined it washing everything away, the shame, the noise, the hollow ache in my chest.

But it didn’t.

My mother’s voice crept in instead. Don’t marry him, Lisa. He’ll ruin you. She was right, and I hated her for it.

I caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He kept glancing back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. The car drifted too close to the median once, then jerked back. He was nervous. Maybe scared of me. Maybe scared for me.

I turned my gaze to the window, pretending not to notice him. Anyone looking at me right then might’ve thought I was calm, maybe even composed. But inside, my thoughts spun so violently they felt like they might tear me apart.

My hand slipped under my jacket, fingers brushing the cold metal of the pistol.

One squeeze. That was all it would take. One second, and the noise would stop.

I looked down at the gun resting in my lap.

Then I pulled it out.

The driver saw it in the mirror. His eyes went wide.

“No…” he muttered under his breath, almost like a prayer.

I raised the gun to my head.

And then—

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

He lunged sideways, one hand snatching at the gun as the other yanked the wheel. The BMW swerved hard, tires screaming against the asphalt.

The gun slipped from my grip, clattering to the floor. I dove for it, but he was faster.

“No!” he shouted, wrestling it from my reach.

The car spun out of control. A horn blared somewhere to our left.

Then, a crash.

Pain hit me all at once sharp, blinding, everywhere at the same time. My head smacked against something hard, and for a second, I couldn’t even tell which way was up. Everything went blurry, like the world had cracked in half.

And then—

Darkness.