Chapter 7
“This is what you deserve.”
I said to Lucien, who had just woken up, “I just want a divorce.”
I don’t get it.
Funny how marriage only needed an ID, but divorce?
Marriage license, ID, household papers – the whole circus. Plus a thirty–day “cooling off” period.
As long as Lucien said no, I was stuck being Mrs. Congreve.
He lay there, annoyingly calm despite his perfect face being bruised.
“Over a few nasty words? Really, Sara? When have I ever not provided for you?”
His voice dripped disbelief. “Who else would treat you this well?”
Sure, materially, Lucien was generous. Two downtown apartments in my name. A walk–in closet the size of a house, packed with designer everything. A wall of luxury bags that cost
more than most cars.
But he kept me on a tight leash – $20k monthly allowance.
Chapter 7
Enough to live, not enough to leave.
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Our prenup made sure I’d walk away with nothing after divorce.
“Women get ideas when they have money,” he’d say, closing
every escape route.
“Besides,” he smirked, somehow still flirting with cops outside, “bedroom talk is just fun, baby. Not real insults.”
“Your idea of fun is sick.” I spat back. “Love without respect isn’t love – it’s control.”
“I’m just your favorite toy, Lucien.”
“Fuck…” He laughed darkly as the cops cuffed him. “You really got me good this time.”
That was his last words.
I watched snowflakes dance outside the window.
It’s snowing.
I took a deep breath.
Congratulations.
Sara, you’re free.
(THE END)
Chapter 7
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