Chapter 2

Abigail'S POV

I let out a shaky laugh that sounded nothing like me. “This is ridiculous.” 

Alexander couldn’t want a divorce. I hadn’t done anything. I’d never cheated, never disobeyed, never even raised my voice at him. For three years, I’d been his silent, loyal, desperate wife. I’d endured everything. 

He was the one who hurt me. Not the other way around.

There must be an explanation for all of this, I thought to myself as I stormed into his bedroom, my pulse hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. The pregnancy test report was crumpled in my sweaty palm. 

But the moment I stepped into the living room, the air turned razor-sharp.

“Alexander, you’re thirty-three,” My mother-in-law's voice came from Alex's inner office. “Three years of marriage and no child to show for it. I mean the initial plan was for her to give birth and then file for a divorce, but now that the divorce is already here maybe you could consider a surrogate. Any child with Whitford blood will do.”

I froze where I stood, the edges of the paper digging into my palm.

Alexander's voice followed quickly. "While we really wouldn't blame her, I've slept with her just three times since that hell of a marriage."

“And who brought that curse into our family? The Hales never had such disgrace before. Other wives pop out children like it’s nothing. But our precious Abigail? Nothing! But then she had the guts to sleep around. Humiliating!”

“Fine, I will consider the surrogate,” he said simply, almost like he was talking about the weather. “Let her come back and sign the papers, and then we can proceed with that.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Shock rippled through my body, numbing my fingers. I stood outside that doorway, invisible, listening to the man I once loved weigh my life like a medical report. I had thought that a child might save what was left of our marriage. Maybe if I gave him a son, he’d finally look at me the way I want him to.

But in that moment, I realized the truth I’d been avoiding: to Alexander, I was nothing but a breeder, a body that could bear his heir.

The room blurred. Their voices became muffled, fading into distant echoes, until only a heavy, ringing silence filled my ears. My lips curved into a bitter smile, one that tasted like salt and loss. I had given them everything and in return, I had become a ghost haunting my own marriage.

I glanced down at the pregnancy test in my hand. The inked lines mocked me. For a fleeting second, I wondered if this child deserved to come into a world where love had already died.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

Alexander was never going to love me.

I lifted my gaze, and that was when I saw the massive framed portrait of Sophia hanging above Alexander’s bed. Her perfect smile. Her perfect eyes. Her perfect everything.

That painting had watched over every second of my marriage. Over every night I’d spent alone. Over the few times he’d touched me. And even those times weren’t really me he wanted.

He had moaned her name right into my ears while making love to me.

He had looked at her face with his d*ck buried deep inside me.

My chest heaved, my body trembling uncontrollably. “Why?” I choked out, staring at her picture through tears. “Why was I never enough?”

My vision went red. I stepped closer to the frame, my nails digging into the wood.

“You ruined my life,” I whispered. “You took everything.”

With a scream, I ripped the frame from the wall. The glass shattered, raining across the floor.

“Abigail!”

His voice thundered behind me. I turned just in time to see Alexander storm out of his office, his face twisted in rage.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

He shoved past the broken glass and yanked me back by the arm, his grip bruising.

“Why will you lay your filthy hands on that picture?"

The ridicule was too obvious and he wasn't even trying to hide his hatred at me.

"What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Why are you doing this Alexander? What have I done wrong to you?! Is loving you a crime?" I screamed back at him.

The next moment, Alexander slapped me so hard that I landed on the floor.

"How dare you ask me stupid questions or have you forgotten how you lured your way into my life right after your friend died? You cheap slut!" 

I stared up at him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Is that really what you think of me?"

“Yes!” he cut me off, his eyes blazing. “I will never love a woman like you! You could be the last woman on this earth, Abigail, and I still wouldn’t choose you!”

He bent down, picked up something from his desk, and threw it at me. A photograph. It hit my chest and fluttered to the ground.

My eyes widened when I saw that it was me, with that same strange man from the fake article.

“You disgust me,” Alexander spat. “You couldn’t even keep your legs closed, could you? You’re nothing but a cheap, desperate whore.”

The words echoed in my ears until everything around me went silent.

I stared at him and something inside me finally snapped.

My lips quivered. My hands clenched. I raised my arm and slapped him across the face.

He froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

I was shaking as I whispered, “Go to hell, Alexander. You and your entire wretched family can burn for all I care.”

He said nothing, but the hatred in his eyes said enough.

I laughed bitterly through my tears. “You want to think I slept with him?” I spat. “Fine. I did. That man was damn good he put me in twelve different positions in one hour. And guess what? They were the hottest, most beautiful hours of my life. I enjoyed every second of it.”

His mother gasped, and before I could react, she slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped to the side.

"Shameless slut!” she shrieked. “How dare you speak to my son like that?”

My cheek burned, but I straightened slowly, meeting her gaze with a glare that could cut glass.

Then I turned to Alexander.

The divorce papers were still on his desk. I walked over, grabbed them, and shoved them hard against his chest.

“Is this what you want?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “You want me to sign this?”

He didn’t answer.

So I grabbed his pen, scribbled my name across the paper, and flung it at his face.

“There,” I hissed.

My voice shook, but the fury behind it didn’t waver. “You know what? I regret wasting years waiting for you to see me. You don’t deserve me, Alexander! I gave you my love, my life, my everything and all you ever gave me was pain.”

I turned and picked up the journal from where it had fallen, holding it up between us. “I hope this haunts you for the rest of your miserable life.”

Then I threw it at his feet.

Without another glance, I spun around and stormed out of the room, my vision blurred with tears.

I didn’t remember running down the stairs or grabbing my car keys. I just knew I had to get out.

I started the engine and drove, faster than I should have. The road ahead was dark and endless.

Then my phone buzzed.

I swiped quickly, my hand shaking.

“Go on with the plan,” I said into the receiver, my voice low and steady despite the chaos inside me.

The plan. The one I’d kept buried in the back of my mind for over a year. The one that would finally free me.

They’d take a car identical to mine, same model, same fake plates, same little scratches on the bumper. They’d drive it down the ravine, light it up until it was nothing but ashes and metal. There’d be a few of my things inside, a bracelet, a hairbrush, a burnt photograph. Enough to confirm I was dead.

To the world, Abigail Whitford-Whitford would be gone.

Forever.

I kept driving as fast as I could. Then, out of nowhere, a truck appeared, its headlights blinding.

I slammed my foot on the brake. Nothing happened.

Panic shot through me. I pressed harder, still nothing. The pedal jammed uselessly against the floor. My breath came in frantic gasps as realization hit me.

The brakes had been tampered with.

“No… no, no, no!”

The truck’s horn blared. I swerved, but it was too late. The next thing I saw was darkness.

When I came to, everything hurt. My ears rang. Smoke filled my lungs. The smell of gasoline clung to my skin. I tried to move, but my body screamed in pain.

Then I heard someone approaching.

I blinked through the haze, and my blood ran cold.

Alexander’s stepmother.

Her lips curled into that same cruel smile I’d seen too many times.

She crouched down, bringing her face close to mine, her perfume sickeningly sweet.

“I just came to make sure you didn’t survive this,” she whispered softly.

My heart stopped.

Her hand lifted. The metallic click of a gun echoed through the silence.

She leaned closer, her voice almost tender.

“Say hello to the devil for me, dear.”

The gun pressed against my shoulder.

And then—

Bang!