She Doesn’t Beg, She Destroys

Sabrina’s POV

The man I loved for six years—the father of my child—broke his promise to marry me, rather getting tangled up with his aunt, giving her a baby and a wedding.

He thought I’d stay quiet. That I’d wait, loyal and obedient, while he played house with someone else.

What he didn’t know?

I was already planning my escape.

And in just a few days, I’d be gone—with our daughter. He won't be able to find us ever again.

After I tucked Elly back into bed, I pulled out the laptop and booked two tickets to Las Vegas. It was close to Christmas, so nearly everything was sold out.

The earliest flight I could get was on Christmas Eve—three days from now. I guessed most people would already be home by then, celebrating the holidays with their families.

Christmas had always meant something to me. It was the day I met Archie. Our anniversary.

Funny, how fate liked to twist the knife with a smile.

Because this year, Christmas would be the day I left him—with our daughter.

I was still staring at the screen, lost in thoughts I couldn’t afford to feel, when a pair of arms slid around my waist from behind. Strong. Familiar. Reeking of whiskey.

Archie’s.

He murmured something about kissing me. His lips brushed the side of my neck, warm and coaxing. Then he kissed me on the lips, this time slower, heavier—hands starting to wander, already tugging me toward the bed.

I pushed him away, the scent clinging to his shirt knocking the air from my lungs.

It was Betty’s smell. The scent of her on him made me want to vomit.

I stood and turned away, heading for the living room. “Take a shower,” I said flatly. “You reek.”

He sniffed himself, laughed. “Do I? Sorry, babe. They made me drink at the casino. You know how it is—business.”

His voice trailed off under the hiss of running water.

Archie drinking wasn’t new. He drank to close deals at casino. The Valez owned a casino chain. And since he managed the family business now, most of his nights would spend on drinks.

A little while later, he reappeared in pajamas, fresh-faced. He flopped next to me on the couch and turned on some dull TV show.

“You mad at me, babe?” he asked, lips pouting in that boyish way of his. “You haven’t said much tonight.”

Archie always played innocent around me. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. But he did.

God, he always did.

I didn’t answer. My eyes stayed glued to the screen.

He sighed and wrapped an arm around me, “I’m sorry, babe. If the whole Betty thing is upsetting you… I won’t go to her these next few days, okay? I’ll stay. We can do whatever you want.”

The Betty thing. As if she were some harmless mistake.

And why did it sound like he was scared of her? Like she had the real power?

Oh. Right. Betty was pregnant. Soon they’d have a child of their own. A pure Valez heir.

I turned to look at him. His bare chest, that infuriatingly perfect body—just the right blend of softness and strength. Those warm, honeyed eyes that always made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.

And just like that, staring into those familiar, honey-brown eyes, I was dragged back to the night he asked me to be his girlfriend.

We’d just had one wild, glittering night at a downtown club in Las Vegas.

Music thumped so loud the walls seemed to pulse, bodies moved like waves on the floor, but he pulled me aside, away from it all. His hands cupped my face. His lips brushed my ear.

“Sabrina,” he whispered, barely audible beneath the beat. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

He looked at me with those same soft, hopeful, too-good-for-this-world puppy eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I said, breathless.

Then he pulled me in, and we kissed—long, heated, messy. The kind of kiss that left ones legs shaky and their heart pounding like the bass line.

The crowd disappeared. The music faded. For a minute, it felt like the universe had emptied itself just for us.

Back then, I believed in that magic. I believed in him. I thought, Hell yes. This boy is mine. This man is my future.

Now, looking into those same eyes, all I could smell was Betty’s perfume—cheap and sticky-sweet. The kind that clung to skin and wouldn’t wash off. The kind that made ones stomach turn.

Archie winked, inching closer. “Why waste a night just staring at me when there’s so much more we could be doing… like…”

He didn’t get to finish. Because his phone rang—sharp and jarring—and just like that, the illusion shattered.

He hit speaker, lips still hovering near mine.

“Boss, Miss Betty says she’s not feeling well,” came the voice of one of his men.

The name alone flipped a switch in him.

Archie jerked upright, voice sharp. “Call the doctor. Now. I’m coming over.”

By the time he changed clothes, he was halfway to the door before even glancing my way.

“Babe… Sorry. I have to check on Betty. No one’s there with her.” He paused, looking torn. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. You’re the best.”

The best? Yes. For enduring eight months of silence, of broken promises, of sleepovers with his aunt Betty—who, let’s be honest, was just another Valez cover for scandal.

Yes. I was the best.

The fact that I stayed this long? That was my best mercy. A final chance for him to right the wrongs.

He didn’t take it.

I stood up, walked to him, and handed over the one thing he almost left behind.

“Your phone,” I said quietly. “You forgot it.”