Chapter 3

My chest heaved, every breath sharp, as my heart twisted in painful spasms.

Michael knew I had a heart condition and that heatstroke could threaten my life, yet he still locked me in a sweltering warehouse where the temperature hit over a hundred degrees.

My clothes were soaked through, sweat pouring until I was faint, the edges of my vision blurring.

I don’t know how much time passed before the heavy door finally swung open.

Michael walked in, calm and indifferent. He peeled the tape from my mouth and loosened the ropes.

"Lauren, don’t let this happen again."

My brows knitted in confusion until I saw Nora lounging against the doorframe, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Lauren, I accept your apology."

I clutched my chest, my voice hoarse and ghostly, "What apology?"

The ropes hit the ground, and my body gave way. I collapsed against Michael’s chest. His tone softened instantly, "I’ll take you home."

Every muscle in me went rigid. With what little strength I had left, I swung my hand across his face.

"Let go of me!"

His eyes turned to ice, daggers piercing through me. He clenched his fists, then, with a sharp exhale, he stormed off in fury.

Shaking, I braced myself against the wall and stumbled out of the warehouse, only to be met with stares. My coworkers looked at me with contempt, disgust twisting their faces. One even spat in my direction.

A second later, my phone buzzed endlessly. The company Slack channel exploded with notifications. A message was circulating. It was an alleged "letter of self-reflection" written by me:

"I was wrong. I apologize to Miss Nora Blake. Because of my suspicion, jealousy, and shameless behavior, I hurt her…"

My fists curled tight. Michael had forged the note, mimicking my tone and painting me as nothing more than a vile, low creature.

Once, I would have stormed into his office, furious, demanding justice.

Now? I was done. Nothing mattered more than the divorce.

I didn’t even bother packing. I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.

However, Nora blocked me at the doorway.

"Lauren, you’re so pathetic." Her smile was cruel. "Now everyone knows you’re a cheap witch. While you were locked in that warehouse, Michael was in the office taking me again and again. He told me he wished you’d just die of a heart attack in there."

She leaned closer, whispering venom, "We’ve done it in hotels, in his car, even on your bed at home. He never had this much fun with you, did he? Poor Michael, stuck with a dead fish like you for three years."

My jaw ached from how hard I clenched my teeth. Without a word, I slid my phone out and hit record. Every word she spat, I captured.

Then, I smiled coldly. "If you like my leftovers, take him. He’s yours."

I shoved her out of my way and walked off.

I contacted a realtor and listed the marital home for sale. Then, after a moment’s thought, I tagged both our parents in the family group chat.

"Please come by my house. There’s something important I need to tell you."

After that, I drove straight to the courthouse. At last, I held the divorce certificate I had dreamed of for so long.

This suffocating marriage was finally over.

However, when I returned home with the certificate still warm in my bag, raised voices drifted out from inside the house.