Chapter 2: Let's Divorce

(Anna’s POV)

What am I doing here?

Did he really just ask me that?

Maybe I heard him wrong.

My husband of five years asking me what I was doing in his office?

The man I gave my heart, soul and even body to.

I wasn't so sure about the body aspect as he had stopped touching me a long time ago.

I looked over to Jessica.

Her face was red with embarrasment, her hands shaking as she was still trying hard to fix her clothes.

“Mr. Anderson, I should… I will just—” she said nervously. 

She started walking toward the door, toward me, but she could not look at my face.

Richard stopped her.

“You don’t need to leave.”

His voice was sharp and cold.

Jessica froze and looked at both of us with fear in her eyes.

“Sir, I really think I should—” she tried again.

“I said stay, Jessica.”

His voice left no space for argument.

Then he looked at me again, his cold blue eyes filled with irritation.

“Anna, I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”

Something inside my chest broke. It felt like ice cracking.

“I… I came to collect my purse. I forgot it with you.” I mumbled weakly, pointing to the purse on the desk.

He looked at the purse that was inches away from him and then back at me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I’m your wife, Richard.” I said softly. “I didn’t think I needed permission to see my own husband.”

He grabbed the purse and walked towards me and quickly grabbed my arms, and pulled me out of the office into the hallway.

“Richard, let go. You’re hurting me—”

“I have warned you many times, Anna not to come to my office without telling me first. This is my workplace. There are boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” I laughed, but it sounded broken.

“Richard, I just caught you pants down fucking your assistant like a sex-starved animal and you’re talking about boundaries?”

“How dare you!” he shouted, his eyes brimming with anger as he pushed me hard against the wall, his grip moving to my neck.

I grabbed his arm, scratching and struggling to break free but he held me tightly. 

“You seem to forget your place, Anna,” he said coldly. “You are nothing but a trophy wife.”

His words cut deep.

“You go to events with me, look beautiful in pictures, smile at the right people and give me a positive public reputation. That is your job. That is all it has ever been.”

It felt like someone punched my stomach. I could not breathe.

“Richard…” My voice broke as tears ran down my face.

Suddenly, he let me go.

I fell to the floor, holding my bruised troath as I gasped for breath.

“Let me make this clear,” he said calmly, but his voice was dangerous.

“Do not ever come to this building without my explicit permission and do not ever barge into my office like that, ever again. Do you understand?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Do you understand?” he asked again, louder this time.

"Yes." I cried out in fear.

“Good.”

He fixed his tie and wiped Jessica’s crimson red lipstick from his mouth.

“Now go home,” he said throwing my purse at me.

He then called someone.

“Robert? My wife is here. Come get her now and take her home. Yes. Now.”

Then he turned and walked back into his office.

I felt a deep pain in my chest. A sob came out of me.

Five years.

Five years of trying to be what he needed, trying to be the perfect wife.

Five years of trying to be enough, trying to make this marriage work.

The lonely nights, the cold bed, eating dinner alone, staying up all night waiting for someone who never came home.

Five years of lying to myself that things would get better and he would eventually change.

That he was just busy.

That after the next deal, the next project, the next expansion that we would finally be together. 

The truth hit me hard. I was wrong.

He will never love me.

I am just one of his many possessions. Something pretty to show people.

A trophy wife.

That is all I will ever be to him.

“Mrs. Anderson?”

I looked up with blurry eyes. Robert was standing there. 

He looked worried seeing me sprawled on the floor.

"Is everything alright?" He said kindly.

His kindness almost made me cry again.

“I’m fine,” I lied as I tried to stand. My legs felt weak.

He held my arm to support me.

We went into the elevator. We did not speak.

I looked at my reflection in the shiny door. My mascara was ruined, my eyes were red and my well done hair now messy.

Looking at my pitiful image something in me suddenly snapped.

I couldn't take it anymore. I've had enough and that was it.

As soon as Robert got off I pressed the elevator button for Richard's office and went back up.

Without caring to knock I barged into the office.

Jessica was gone now.

It was only Richard, sitted and looking shocked by my outburst.

"Have you finally lost your mind Anna? What the hell is wrong with..."

"I want a divorce Richard." I interrupted coldy, my eyes holding only pain and frustration.

Richard blinked, clearly taken aback.

"What did you just say?"

I repeated myself without mincing words. "I want a divorce, and I want it now."

The word hung between us like thick smoke.

I watched Richard’s face change from shock to a cold, amused smile as he laughed softly.

Was this a joke? Did I say something funny?

“A divorce,” he said again slowly, like he was tasting a sour flavour. “You want a divorce.”

“Yes.” My voice was calmer than I expected. “That’s what I said. A divorce.”

Richard tilted his head and looked at me the way he looks at his employees making an absurd business suggestion.

Then he reached into his tuxedo jacket and fixed his cufflinks.

“You have really grown a thick skin, I see. But I think you should sit down for this.”

“I don’t want to sit.”

“Sit. Down.” He growled, his eyes flashing a warning I knew too well.

I quickly sat down, not only because I was scared, but because my legs felt weak and tired.

He opened the drawers of his big wooden desk, searching for something.

I frowned. “What are you—”

“Here.”

He handed me a thick set of papers held together with a black clip.

I recognized it immediately.

The exclusive marriage contract.

My stomach dropped and my hands became sweaty.

I had totally forgotten about it.

The contract that has kept me a prisoner in my own marriage.