Falling Marriage

Valerie's POV

The harsh yellow glare of the passing streetlights flickered inside the dark cabin of my car, casting long, moving shadows over the passenger seat. I kept my foot pressed against the accelerator, my hands gripping the leather steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. Beside me lay a scattered, chaotic pile of damning photographs. Glossy images stared back at me, capturing my husband, Gideon Vance, tangled in passionate embraces. I could see his hands wandering over different waistlines, his mouth pressed hungrily against strange lips, his eyes heavy with the same lust he used to reserve only for me.

My marriage to Gideon had started as an accidental one-night stand six years ago. Since that fateful morning, he made it his personal mission to punish me, treating our wedding vows like a disposable joke while parading a never-ending string of mistresses through his life.

The sheer volume of his betrayals pressed down on my chest like a physical weight, crushing the air straight out of my lungs. I gasped for breath, the silence of the night thick and suffocating. Ahead of me, the empty highway stretched into a massive black hole. It looked inviting. It looked like peace. Instead of fear, a dark, morbid thrill curled in the pit of my stomach. The urge to swerve the steering wheel, let the car slam into the concrete pillar of the approaching overpass, and end the miserable existence of this toxic marriage almost consumed me. If I just jerked my hands to the right, it would all be over. I wouldn't have to look at those pictures anymore. I wouldn't have to feel the stabbing betrayal. Would Gideon even care? Would a shred of remorse pierce his cold heart if he had to identify my mangled body?

I closed my eyes. The roar of the engine and the wind outside blended into a deafening roar. The concrete pillar was seconds away. The heavy burden of my life was about to shatter into nothingness.

Then, a face flashed against the darkness of my eyelids. Soft cheeks. Innocent, sleepy eyes. Maisie.

The image of my young daughter hit me harder than any collision could. My eyes snapped open, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs. I couldn't die. I couldn't leave Maisie alone in this cruel world to be raised by a man who didn't even know how to love.

At the very last second, right at the precipice of destruction, I gripped the wheel with sweating palms and jerked it hard to the left. The tires squealed in loud protest, leaving thick black tracks on the asphalt as the car swerved wildly. The side mirror practically grazed the rough concrete of the pillar before the vehicle stabilized in the left lane. I sat there gasping for air, my whole body shaking, but I was alive. Sparing my own life felt less like a victory and more like an obligation. I couldn't let Gideon's mistakes push me to the brink of self-destruction.

I drove the rest of the way back to our shared home in a state of emotional paralysis. The adrenaline from the near-crash faded, leaving me hollow. I pulled into the driveway of the familiar villa, the engine cutting off and plunging me into silence. I gathered the glossy photographs into a thick stack, my fingers brushing over the images of Gideon’s handsome, cheating face. Exiting the car, I walked straight to the secluded corner of the backyard where a small stone fire pit sat cold in the night air.

I tossed the pile into the center, struck a match, and dropped it onto the top photo.

The bright orange flames licked at the edges of the paper, curling and blackening the glossy finish. I stood in the dead silence of the yard, watching the fire consume Gideon's perfect features and the tangled limbs of his women. The smoke drifted up into the dark sky. A profound realization washed over me as the last photo turned to ash. The excruciating, chest-crushing pain that usually accompanied his infidelities had stopped. My heart didn't ache. My hands didn't tremble. I was numb. The deep, agonizing love I once harbored for my husband died right there in the ashes. The funeral was quiet, but it was final.

I turned away from the fire pit and let myself into the silent house. In the hallway, only the nanny's sensible flats and my daughter's tiny sneakers sat on the shoe rack. Gideon hadn't come home. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I used to track his every movement, desperate for scraps of his time. Now, his absence felt like a reward.

"Valerie, your husband's not home yet," Rosa, our household nanny, said as she stepped out of the kitchen.

I nodded, kicking off my heels. "I know."

"Where's Maisie?" I asked, glancing toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

"She's fast asleep," Rosa sighed, a distressed look crossing her lined face. "She kept asking when Mr. Vance would be home today. I didn't know what to tell her."

Rosa knew the truth of this household. She knew Gideon rarely graced us with his presence.

"You can head home, Rosa. Thank you for taking care of her." I didn't elaborate. There was no point in reopening the wound to show others the rot inside. The important part was that I didn't care anymore.

I walked down the hall and quietly pushed open Maisie's door. The nightlight cast a soft glow over her tiny, sleeping form. I moved to the edge of the bed and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her warm forehead. Her steady breathing acted as an anchor, pulling me back to reality. My tense shoulders relaxed. No matter how toxic and broken my marriage was, Maisie was my saving grace. She gave me the strength to keep breathing.

Exhausted to my very bones, I retreated to my own bedroom. I didn't even bother turning on the lights. I stripped off my clothes, pulled on a large shirt, and collapsed onto the mattress. I stared blankly at the dark ceiling. How long had I been trapped in this cage? I buried my face into the pillows, desperate for a few hours of undisturbed rest to heal my shattered mind. I needed sleep to prepare for whatever fresh hell tomorrow would bring.

The fragile peace did not last.

At exactly 4:00 AM, my sleep was brutally interrupted. Something warm and invasive pressed against my bare shoulder. I groaned, trying to roll away, but the sensation followed me. Feather-light kisses trailed from my collarbone up the side of my neck. Heavy breath fanned across my skin.

Gideon.

A wave of deep disgust washed over me. The bile rose in my throat. I snapped my eyes open, grabbed his solid chest, and shoved his body hard away from mine. He shifted back, giving me enough space to scramble up against the headboard.

In the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds, his eyes mirrored the sudden, explosive tension between us. He let out a frustrated hiss.

"What the hell?" he snapped, his voice rough.

I glared at him, my voice dripping with venom and exhaustion. "I am exhausted, Gideon."

He sat up on the edge of the mattress, running a hand through his dark hair. "That is always your excuse."

"Because it is the truth!" I fired back, my volume rising. "I work all day to keep myself sane. Do you expect me to stay awake all night just so you can quench your late-night thirst? No way. I refuse."

He scoffed, his gaze darkening as he leaned closer.

"I am not one of your many bitches who desperately crave your shameless cock," I stated explicitly, my tone furious and uncompromising. "Don't come to my bed after you've been busy with someone else."

Instead of showing an ounce of remorse for his blatant cheating or his invasive touch, a cruel sneer twisted Gideon's handsome face. He leaned forward, hurling his usual toxic venom right back at me.

"You have a lot of nerve acting like a victim," he spat, his voice dropping into a mocking register. "You forced me to marry you with your whorish behavior. What right do you have to deny me in my own bed?"

My chest tightened. He was callously resurrecting the past, ripping open old wounds without a second thought.

"You framed me," Gideon continued maliciously, pointing a finger at my face. "You orchestrated that accidental one-night stand six years ago. Your parents died, you lost everything, and you saw an easy target. You deliberately manipulated the events, trapped me with a pregnancy, and tied me to this unwanted marriage just to secure your own future!"

Hearing this deeply ingrained accusation shattered whatever tiny fragment of sanity I had left. I had explained it to him a hundred times. The night my parents died in that crash, I was numb, lost in a haze of grief. I walked into a bar to drown the pain, and I still didn't know how I ended up in his bed. But he never listened.

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. Gideon didn't just hate me. He fundamentally and deeply distrusted my very core and my honesty. He actually believed I was a calculating monster who used my own parents' tragic death to trap a rich man. The past six years of my life felt like a massive, disgusting lie.

Suddenly, an overwhelming, suffocating exhaustion overpowered my anger. I felt nothing but a bone-deep weariness. I was tired of this toxic, endless cycle of bickering. I was tired of defending myself to a brick wall. This marriage was going to mentally destroy us, and worse, it was going to destroy Maisie.

My face went blank. The rage and sorrow stripped away, leaving behind an empty shell. I looked directly into his dark, hostile eyes. I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice. I finally delivered the four words I had held back for years, letting them hang heavily in the cold air of the bedroom.

"I want a divorce."

The declaration acted as a spark to a powder keg.

Gideon froze. His thick eyebrows pulled together. "What?"

"We are not going to work out, Gideon," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "I am done. Let's just divorce."

His lips parted. He stared at me for several agonizing seconds. Then, he let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh. He turned his head away, running his fingers aggressively through his hair, before his gaze snapped back to me. The mockery in his expression vanished, replaced by a terrifying, dangerous fury. His face flushed a dark, violent red.

"You think I will let you go?" he growled, stepping off the bed and looming over me. "You think you can just put an end to this? Right after you ruined my life?"

"You don't want this marriage either!" I yelled back, pushing myself up. "You are constantly cheating on me! I want out! Just wait for the paperwork, and you can finally be free to screw your mistresses!"

"No one is divorcing, Valerie!" Gideon erupted.

He swung his arm and punched the bedroom wall with terrifying force. The sound of his knuckles colliding with the plaster cracked through the room. I flinched, my breath catching in my throat as he stalked aggressively toward me, his chest heaving.

"Don't even dream of leaving," he promised, his tone chillingly sincere. "Since you ruined my life by trapping me, I will ruthlessly ruin yours. I will never allow you an ounce of happiness."

Blinded by a surge of defensive fury, I reached for the bedside table. My fingers closed around the heavy base of the brass lampshade. Without thinking, I hurled it directly at his head. He brought his arm up just in time. The sharp metal grazed his forearm, tearing the fabric of his shirt and leaving a red mark, before crashing onto the floor.

He looked at the weapon, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He took another step toward me, the violence in his eyes escalating to something irreversible.

"Go on!" he hissed. "Ruin everything. But you will never get away—"

"Mommy, daddy... fighting?"

A small, sleepy, and trembling voice drifted from the open doorway.

The terrifying rage contorting Gideon's face vanished in a split second. It was like flipping a switch. The furious, violent monster disappeared, immediately replaced by the flawless, sickeningly perfect mask of a gentle, loving father.

He turned toward the doorway. Maisie stood there in her pink pajamas, rubbing her eyes with a tiny fist.

Gideon crossed the room in three long strides, scooping the small girl into his strong arms. He pressed soft, lingering kisses to her chubby cheek.

"Of course not, princess," Gideon murmured, his voice smooth like velvet. "Mommy and daddy aren't fighting at all."

He lied so effortlessly it made my stomach turn. I sat on the edge of the bed, trapped by this psychological charade. I couldn't scream. I couldn't expose him. I was desperate to protect my daughter's innocence. I had no choice but to play along.

"Let's go back to your room, sweetie," Gideon cooed, carrying her out into the hallway.

I followed them, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. We entered Maisie's nursery. Gideon gently placed her onto the small mattress, pulling the floral blanket up to her chin. He looked across the bed at me, his expression unreadable, waiting.

I climbed into the small bed beside my daughter. I wrapped my arm over her small waist and started singing a soft, soothing lullaby to lull the frightened child back to sleep. Gideon lay down rigidly on the other side of the bed. We maintained this agonizing tableau of a perfect, happy family. His presence opposite me felt like a physical threat, a dark shadow looming over our child.

I stroked Maisie's fine hair, my voice steadying as I sang the familiar words. Minutes dragged by in suffocating silence. Finally, Maisie's breathing evened out. Her little body relaxed into the mattress, signaling she had fallen into a deep slumber.

The very moment the child was asleep, the loving father facade dissolved.

Gideon shifted on the mattress. His eyes turned pitch black, piercing through me in the suffocatingly dim light of the nursery. The air grew heavy, thick with unresolved rage and possessive control. He leaned closer, his face mere inches from mine, ensuring his voice wouldn't wake our daughter.

His voice dropped to a lethal, suffocating whisper as he issued a final, unbreakable promise.

"Don't ever bring up divorce again, Valerie. There's no way I'll let you go and escape this miserable life. You are destined to suffer with me. You are mine."