Page 114 of My Dark Divine
He’s fucking laughing at me. It’s funny to him.
I’m funny to him.
“I’ve killed for you,” I say, the words a final, chilling confession, marking the beginning of my descent. “Can she say that, Zayden? Can she do something like that? Will she ever be able to?”
He releases a weary sigh, his expression reflecting profound indifference as he hunches his shoulders once again.
He doesn’t care. He never did.
Why did I ever think he would?
“Fuck this,” he mutters, wearily rubbing a hand across his face. “I need something to eat. I’m so fucking exhausted from this pointless arguing.” He shoves past me, brushing me aside with his shoulder. The world around me spins, fading into a static ringing.
Divorce means I’ll lose the connections I’ve built with his company and all the people outside of it. It means less money for my sick mother. It means Stella will take him away from me, laughing behind my back.
There’s no going back now. It’s real, it’s happening, and I have to do something. For the first time in my life, I need to make a choice for myself. And I choose this.
If I can’t have him, no one can.
The iron I’d set aside to cool after pressing his shirt catches my eye, and a strange, suffocating sensation grips my insides. It’s like my soul is detaching, leaving my body behind as I move on autopilot, guided by my mind’s commands. Grabbing the iron, I follow him to the kitchen. He sits at the empty table, completely oblivious, waiting for me to serve him something.
Of course he does. He believes it’s my only purpose—to serve him day or night, whenever he pleases to come home.
Seizing the moment while he mindlessly stares at his phone, I swing the iron through the air and smash it against his head. His body goes still in an instant, his forehead colliding with the wooden table with a loud thud.
That was easier than I expected.
I press two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Relieved yet devastated to feel it, I pick up the phone that has fallen to the floor, my eyes scanning the screen. My lips twitch as I read through their texts, my thumb scrolling upward to take in everything they’ve been discussing.
Zayden’s half-destroyed brain aligns perfectly with hers. Logically, they make an ideal couple.
I type a quick message, sending Stella an invitation to this house. I don’t have much time, but strangely, I don’t feel paranoid or scared. I remain composed as I look down at his body, his chest barely rising and falling in slow movements.
It will take her around twenty minutes to get here.
The plan has been a phantom in my mind, a haunting whisper that has finally taken form. Now, it’s a solid presence, its tendrils tightening around my thoughts, urging me toward a new beginning.
Time to reclaim my life.
The doorbell rings,sending a wave of trepidation and excitement through my stomach. I place the napkin between my lips, checking my red lipstick one last time. Once I confirm it’s dry, I run my fingers through my hair, letting the long waves cascade against my chest. Inhaling the bittersweet scent of my cherry perfume, I stand up and slowly approach the door.
I’m surprised at how quickly I’ve made myself look decent. It used to take me hours to even out my foundation, as it creased and settled into the wrinkles under my eyes from all the salty tears. I won’t even mention how long it took to apply fake lashes or just put on mascara.
But today is different. Today feels like I have all the time in the world, and I’m filled with desire to choose myself and to make myself feel better.
Swinging the door open, I watch as the smile on Stella’s face fades before our eyes meet. Her frustration deepens as she takes in my appearance, raking her gaze over my face and body—the person I used to be before Zayden, the person she’s about to replace.
“Come in,” I urge softly, nodding for her to enter. “He’s waiting for you.”
“I—Uh—” she stutters, blinking rapidly as confusion washes over her. I can sense her questioning my intentions.
Eventually, she steps inside, and I close the door behind her, my hand reaching for the gun tucked in my waistband.
The gift I’d gotten myself for Valentine’s Day.
Stella remains oblivious to my plans as she turns her back to me, her head whipping around the room in search of Zayden. A startled gasp escapes her lips when I press the barrel of the gun into her back and disengage the safety with an audible click.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” I instruct, my voice cold and calculated. I’ve never fired a gun or threatened anyone before, but somehow, this feels instinctive. Maybe I’m not as spineless as I thought I was. “Walk.”
