Chapter 1
837words
For five years I've risked my life for him without a single failure, building his empire one bloody mission at a time.
Until now, when a shipment he was dead set on acquiring slipped through our fingers to a rival.
His face darkened with rage, and in front of his crew, he pulled out a whip to make an example of me.
Meanwhile Mina, the dancer he'd dragged back from some seedy strip club, cowered in his arms with practiced fear, her voice breaking as she pouted: "Oh God, Sophia, I'm so sorry! It's all my fault for messing up the communication. Now you're taking the fall for me."
Her words only fueled Felix's anger.
"Mina's new to this world, but you? Making such a rookie mistake? Consider yourself lucky I'm not putting a bullet in your head!"
"The crew lost a fortune because of you. Someone has to pay!"
Crack! The whip bit into my flesh again and again, each lash more vicious than the last.
The men watched, some wincing, others smirking at my humiliation.
Mina made a theatrical display of holding him back.
"Felix, baby! Didn't you promise you wouldn't hurt her? You lied to me!" She stuck out her bottom lip. "I'm not talking to you anymore!"
The man who'd never shown weakness to anyone suddenly melted, his lips curving into a tender smile: "Alright, sweetheart. For you, I'll stop."
Something snapped inside me. As he turned to leave, I called out, my voice like ice: "Since you're so fond of your new toy, let's end this marriage."
"Really, Sophia?" His voice dripped with contempt.
"Using divorce as a cheap threat? That's pathetic even for you."
"You know how much I despise these childish female tactics!"
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to dignify his words with a response.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then stormed out without a backward glance.
That night, he'd barely crossed our threshold when his phone shrieked to life.
The caller ID flashed Mina's face—chestnut hair, gaudy pink eyeshadow, dressed like a cheap thrill but with that dewy youth that men like Felix couldn't resist.
He snatched up the call, grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door.
"Yes, baby, I'm on my way right now..."
Felix Foster—the man who moments ago sneered at "feminine tactics"—wore an expression of undisguised eagerness.
I shook my head and limped to the bathroom, my back on fire.
For days, the lacerations across my back had kept me from sleep, the pain a constant, throbbing reminder.
No matter how I contorted myself, I couldn't reach the deepest gash to apply the antiseptic.
There was no one to help me—not anymore.
Felix hadn't bothered coming home in days.
Another night of staring at the ceiling, counting heartbeats through waves of pain.
The next morning, I dragged myself to the office despite my body screaming in protest. The accounts wouldn't review themselves.
I'd barely settled at my desk when a flash of peach-pink burst through my door like a tacky firework.
"Wow, Sophia! You heal so fast!" Mina's eyes widened with mock concern. "Are those nasty whip wounds all better today?"
"I'll definitely talk to Felix about his temper. Violence is never the answer, right?"
I massaged my temples, fighting a migraine. "Whatever happens between my husband and me is none of your business."
She brushed off my coldness like water off a duck, thrusting a diamond-studded cross pendant under my nose with theatrical flair.
"Look what Felix gave me last night!" She practically sang the words.
"I don't know anything about jewelry. Could you tell me if this diamond is good quality, Sophia? Pretty please?"
I caught sight of it from the corner of my eye and froze, my breath catching in my throat.
Under the harsh office lights, the large diamond revealed its distinctive reddish glow.
It was unmistakable—my protective cross, the symbol of everything we'd survived together.
Five years ago, I'd betrayed my mercenary brotherhood for him, bringing their wrath down on our heads.
Cornered on the roof of a crumbling building, he'd pulled me against him so tightly I could feel his heartbeat hammering against mine.
"Sophia," he'd whispered, his voice raw with emotion, "if we survive this, I swear I'll never trust anyone but you."
I'd nodded, removed my cross—the one thing of value I owned—and placed it around his neck with trembling fingers.
He'd sworn a blood oath that as long as he drew breath, he would never part with it.
A promise made between heartbeats, with death breathing down our necks.
And now, five years later, he'd tossed it away like trash, handing our sacred token to a strip club dancer.
I didn't bother answering her question.
I simply took out my phone, snapped a photo of the cross, and sent it to Felix with three words:
"I want a divorce. This isn't a threat."
