Broken Contract

POV: Valeria.

I wanted to believe his horrific suggestion of divorce was merely a figment of my imagination. I took a hesitant step back, trying to give him space, but his next words stopped me in my tracks.

"I will have my lawyer send over the divorce papers later today."

He announced it from the doorway of the bathroom, his tone devoid of any warmth. I swallowed the thick knot of tears forming in my throat. I could not ignore his cruelty, not now when I needed his support the most. I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand and faced him.

"You cannot divorce me. We still have two full years remaining on our contractual marriage."

"I knew you were dumb, but I did not realize you were stupid."

I flinched at the insult. As usual, I swallowed my pride, knowing a retort would only make the situation worse.

"I hold the power here. I can terminate the contract whenever I am unhappy with your performance, which I am. I have only tolerated your presence all these years for the sake of my public image. But now that Sylvia is willing to marry me, I am ready to cast you aside."

"Do you truly intend to marry her?" I asked, my voice cracking under the weight of my broken heart.

"Like that is even a question." He retorted with heavy sarcasm, acting as if the answer was obvious.

He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door in my face. The loud thud echoed through our massive bedroom.

To distract myself from the searing ache in my chest, I dug my fingernails into the soft flesh of my palms. I welcomed the sharp physical sting. I dragged my trembling legs toward the vanity and forced myself to sit down on the plush stool. I grabbed my foundation and applied heavy makeup, needing to conceal the dark, swollen circles left behind by crying myself to sleep the night before. I poked my eye with the eyeliner pencil, wincing at the sharp pain, but I refused to stop. I could not afford to break down right now. I still had to fulfill my duties.

I needed to rush over to Roman’s mother’s house to complete her household chores, simply because the stubborn woman refused to hire professional maids. I was expected to scrub her antique floors and polish her silver. His mother's estate was ten minutes away, and I was already running late to serve her morning coffee. I could not give her another reason to complain, especially not when Roman was threatening divorce.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, reflecting on the painful reality of our union. It was never a real marriage. It was a transactional contract. I needed financial salvation, and he required a respectable wife for his corporate image. He made his lack of love for me clear from day one. Yet, within the first few months of living together, I had foolishly fallen in love with him. I accepted this unrequited affection. I harbored a silent, desperate hope that his feelings might one day change. I had five years to make him love me, and three were already gone.

That fragile delusion shattered on our third anniversary a few weeks ago. He stumbled home drunk that night and dragged me into our bed. He shoved my legs apart and pushed into me. While I was straddling his hips, taking his hard cock deep inside my vagina, he closed his eyes and passionately called me Sylvia in the heat of the moment.

He vanished the next morning before I even woke up. He claimed to be on an extended work trip, but I knew it was a lie. Ever since that agonizing night, I tortured my mind by stalking Sylvia's social media accounts. I watched her flaunt a luxurious, carefree life financed and accompanied by my husband. I saw her posting pictures from five-star hotels and exclusive resorts, doing all the romantic things he never once did with me. I knew I should not stalk my husband's mistress. But when you sit alone at the kitchen counter, clinging to a cold mug of coffee and waiting for a man who is currently with another woman, desperation takes over. I needed to know he was alive, even if it killed me to see him with her.

Gathering what little strength I had left, I grabbed my phone and headed downstairs to the living room. I needed to wait for Roman to drive me to his mother's estate since I did not have my own car. The heavy silence of the house shattered by a sharp, demanding knock at the front door.

I assumed it was someone important, perhaps his assistant or a courier with documents. I walked over and pulled the heavy oak door open. I was confronted by Sylvia herself.

Her gaze was intimidating, sweeping over me with disdain. Her curly black hair draped perfectly over her shoulders. Her ombre lips served as a cruel, visceral reminder of the exact lipstick stains I constantly washed out of Roman’s dress shirts. The strong scent of her designer perfume invaded my home. I averted my eyes, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me.

"Good morning." She had the nerve to greet me cheerfully.

"What are you doing here, Sylvia?" I demanded, my hands balling into tight fists at my sides.

"You know I cannot drive. I am here to collect Roman because we are running late for work together."

She flaunted her teeth in a sickeningly sweet smile. I felt an overwhelming urge to punch her right in the mouth and knock those perfect teeth out. She was not just fucking my husband. She was taking his loyalty, turning him against me, and orchestrating misunderstandings to ruin my life. I wished I could fold her up like a piece of worthless paper and toss her into the trash can.

"Let me in."

Without waiting for an invitation, she pushed past my body and invited herself into the foyer. I took a deep, shaky breath before closing the front door and following her inside. Her judgmental eyes scanned the living room.

"Wow, you are not bad after all." She complimented the space with a condescending tone.

I had scrubbed and cleaned every inch of this room the night before. I did it in anticipation of Roman's return, hoping he would bring good news. Instead, his assistant informed me he had never shown up at his company. I went to the apartment he originally purchased for me, the one Sylvia was now occupying, only to realize he was busy sleeping with her there. All my hard work in this house was for nothing.

"But when I officially take over the household, I will not permit flowers in the living room."

Sylvia dusted off my pristine sofa with her manicured fingers before taking a seat. I rolled my eyes in disgust. I walked over and sat directly across from her, biting my tongue to prevent a screaming match. I did not want to cause any more trouble while waiting for Roman.

Then, she raised her hand to brush a stray curl from her face. My heart skipped a beat.

Resting perfectly on her engagement finger was Roman’s grandmother’s priceless ring. It was a sacred, guarded family heirloom. Roman had protected that specific piece of jewelry for years and refused to let me wear it or even touch it. The intricate diamonds caught the morning light, blinding me with the harsh reality of its presence. It was not just sitting on any random finger. She was wearing it exactly where an engagement ring belonged.

My mind spiraled into a dark abyss of panic. Did this mean Roman had officially proposed to her? Was he serious about discarding me with this divorce?