Divorce Agreement

ALEXA

Mark halted mid-step, his broad shoulders tense as he turned to face me. His blue eyes, so sharp and cold, narrowed dangerously as they fixed on my smaller frame.  

“Excuse me?” His voice was low, quiet, but there was an unmistakable warning in it.  

I refused to back down. My heart was pounding, but I kept my chin high, my voice steady.  

“Let’s get a divorce,” I repeated, staring straight at him.  

For a moment, he just looked at me. Then, a slow scoff left his lips, his expression twisting into something between amusement and disbelief.  

“Is this your attempt to get back at me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.  

His gaze shifted toward the dining table, where the untouched meal sat—an entire evening’s worth of effort wasted. Then, just as quickly, he looked back at me.  

“Because what?” His voice dripped with condescension. “I didn’t spend your birthday with you? Or is it the anniversary?”  

There was no remorse, not even a sliver of guilt in his tone, and that hurt more than I wanted to admit. My heart clenched, the ache spreading like wildfire through my chest. Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I forced them down. I wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him.  

“Get back at you?” I let out a hollow chuckle. “I think it's setting you free, isn’t it?”  

Something in his eyes flickered, shifting into something darker. I swallowed but didn’t look away.  

“Ivy has returned to Paris, hasn’t she?” I continued, forcing my voice to remain firm. “Now, is there really any need to drag this farce out any longer?”  

The moment the words left my lips, Mark’s hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside him with a loud, echoing thud.  

I flinched before I could stop myself, but I forced my feet to stay planted. His glare was frigid, his entire presence radiating danger, but I had already come this far. I wouldn’t take my words back now.  

“So, that’s why you want to end this marriage?” His voice was eerily calm, but I could hear the restrained anger beneath it. “Because you’re insecure about your own sister?”  

He took a slow step forward, descending from the staircase with deliberate, predatory movements.  

I tried to hold my ground, but the way he moved, the way his piercing eyes bore into me, made me instinctively step back. He kept advancing, closing the distance between us, using his towering height as a weapon against me.  

Before I knew it, I was backed up against the dining table. His palms pressed against the surface on either side of me, trapping me in place. He leaned in, his face inches from mine, his presence suffocating.  

My breath hitched, my heart betraying me with its frantic pace. Mark, of course, felt nothing.  

“I never expected you to be so pathetic, Alexa,” he spat, his voice laced with contempt.  

I stiffened.  

“Everyone in this city knew that Ivy and I were meant to be together,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “And you knew it too. Yet, you jumped at the chance to marry me. And now you want to play the insecure card?”  

Bitterness flooded my chest, quickly followed by anger.  

Pathetic? Was that really what he thought of me? That I had married him out of desperation, out of greed?  

I clenched my fists at my sides. I had been the biggest victim in this entire mess, yet to everyone else, I was nothing more than a manipulative woman who had stolen another’s love. My sacrifices, my dedication, my years of care—none of it mattered. Ivy’s supposed heartbreak was the only tragedy that anyone acknowledged.  

For a brief second, I wondered—if Mark had never woken up, if he had remained in that hospital bed, lifeless and still—would Ivy have returned for him then?  

Of course not. She had run at the first sign of trouble, abandoning him when he needed her most.  

And yet, now that he was whole again, she had come crawling back.  

How ridiculous.  

I scoffed. None of that mattered anymore. I had chosen this marriage five years ago, but I wouldn’t continue to choose it now.  

Mark was watching me carefully, his irritation growing. I met his gaze head-on and, with a smirk that lacked any real amusement, I said, “Right. I’m thinking of quitting the game.”  

His expression darkened instantly.  

“I thought this was my ace,” I continued, my tone as cold as his. “But it turned out to be the worst ghost card ever.”  

Mark’s frown deepened. He thought this was just another game, another ploy to get his attention. I could see it in his eyes, the impatience, the disbelief that I was actually serious.  

“What do you want?” he asked finally, exasperated.  

I nearly laughed. He still thought I wanted something from him. He thought I was going to beg for scraps, for affection.  

How little he knew me.  

Contempt and exhaustion swirled in my chest, suffocating me. He had never treated me as an equal. Not once.  

It took me five years to finally see it. But I saw it now.  

I let my gaze drop briefly to his lower body before I looked him straight in the eye and said, “No one wants an impotent husband, Mark.”  

The words hit mark. His jaw tensed, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides.  

I seized the moment, pushing him away with all the strength I had.  

“They were the ones who sent the video to humiliate me first,” I said coolly. “Don’t blame me for returning the favor.”  

Mark’s grip on my wrist was immediate, his fingers tightening around my skin like a vice. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.  

“What did you just say?” His voice was eerily quiet.  

I smirked, though my pulse quickened. “I’m a woman, Mark. I’m tired of being in a sexless marriage. Let’s end it once and for all.”  

His lips curled into something almost like amusement, but there was nothing humorous about the way his grip tightened, pulling me closer.  

“Sexless, huh?” he murmured, his fingers tilting my chin upward.  

The unexpected touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.  

“So you mean to tell me,” he mused, pressing his thumb lightly against my lower lip, “you want a divorce because you’re sexually unsatisfied?”  

Heat rose to my cheeks, but I refused to look away.  

Mark studied my lips, his touch lingering just a second too long before he finally spoke again.  

“I didn’t know before,” he murmured, eyes locking onto mine, “that my wife was so eager to have another man between her legs.”  

Fury ignited in my veins. Before I could stop myself, my hand flew up, striking him hard across the face.  

His head snapped slightly to the side, his jaw tightening.  

“Before you lecture me,” I spat, “your dick should learn to get hard in the right place.”  

His eyes darkened, but I wasn’t done.  

“I’m doing us both a favor,” I continued, turning my back on him. “You said it yourself—Ivy is the one you’re meant to be with. So go to her.”  

A mistake.  

Mark grabbed me roughly, spinning me back around, his grip like iron.  

“You think you call the shots here?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You think you can marry me whenever you want and divorce me whenever you want?”  

His grip tightened. “What makes you think you have that power?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “You don’t. You’re nobody.”  

The words sliced through me like a blade, but I refused to let him see how deeply they cut.  

Finally, he released me, stepping back.  

“No longer pretend to be pathetic, Alexa.” His gaze was disgusted. “It’s repulsive.”  

Then, with one final look, he turned and walked away.  

The door to his study slammed shut.  

I stood frozen in place. My legs trembled, and when I finally moved, my knees gave out.  

I collapsed to the floor, my hand knocking over a silverware piece that shattered on impact. A sharp piece cut into my palm, but I barely felt it.  

Tears slipped down my cheeks as I curled into myself.  

This would be the last time.  

Mark Ronaldo would never hurt me again.