I'm Divorcing with You, Mr Billionaire!

I received a pornographic video.

"Do you like this?"

The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts.

"Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response.

"You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!"

The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed.

I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella.

I let the video play, watching and listening to the two of them having sex, my disgust being provoked time and time again. Every time I hear their moans, my heart feels like it's being stabbed.

The cheating continues. After a few more slaps, he grabs her buttocks, thrusts his penis deep into her vagina, and starts pounding vigorously.

After a few more thrusts, Mark and Bella moan together as they climax. They collapse on the bed, kissing and caressing each other's faces.

"Do you treat my sister like this in bed too?" Bella's coquettish voice rings out,

"Don't mention her," Mark's ruthless voice echoes, "I haven't even kissed her, she can't compare to you at all."

"I knew you only loved me!" Bella smiles satisfied, hooking Mark's neck, leans in to kiss him, and says, "I want to do it again!"

Seeing them rolling together again, I feel a wave of nausea and can't watch anymore. I angrily press the pause button, swallowing hard.

I am very clear, this video must have been sent by Bella. She wants to tell me that she still holds Mark in her grip, and I am powerless against it. Apart from a certificate and title, Mark and I don't resemble a married couple at all. Bella indeed knows how to twist the knife further.

Three years ago, on that fateful day I never imagined was going to begin the worst turning point of my life, all was made ready to celebrate the union of Bella and Mark. It was only mere minutes to the wedding when Bella disappeared (or at least found out she was gone. Bella was nowhere to be found.

My parents, who were desperate to salvage the embarrassment and save face in front of the guests or whatever it was they were trying to protect that day, turned to me. They told me to put on my sister's wedding dress, to take Bella's place at the altar.

There was no room for argument, neither was I given the choice to say no. I was to be the figurehead, the stand-in bride who'd fulfill the ceremony in Bella's absence. There were no words of blessing and no well-wishes for a happy future. Instead, all I received were instructions to “be a good wife.”

This was how it all started.

I was left numb, standing there in the borrowed wedding dress to exchange vows with a man I barely knew. It felt as though my dreams and aspirations were suddenly overshadowed by the harsh reality of my circumstances. Like my life had been snatched away from me in an instant, and I barely recalled what happiness felt like after that day. I was constrained in every sense of the word.

Did I say this was how it all started?

No, I think it actually dated way back to when I was three and had unfortunately gone missing. For eighteen long years, I lived away from my home and family. Growing older. As I grew older, from being a child, to a teenager and then a young adult, I kept searching for my roots again. And when my long-awaited dream of reuniting with my family became reality, it was nothing like I'd expected.

There was no joyous reunion, no tears of happiness.

Instead, I was met with something close to indifference.

As if I were a stranger who had wandered into their lives. My parents seemed to have moved on from me after all those years I was gone. All the love they had was for Bella; barely any left for me.

I guess there was nothing left, in fact, because if there was, I would at least be pitied enough to have been told that Bella had returned from abroad and had somehow found her way into my husband's arms.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with an incoming video call from Bella. I didn't want to answer it at first, but ended up swiping green. Bella's face popped up on the screen, sitting in the same room from the video with a towel wrapped around her body.

"Hi, hope you're having a happy day over there," Bella chirped with a smug smile.

She moved the phone's camera around to show more of the room, and in the background, I caught a faint glimpse of Mark walking into the bathroom.

"Guess who's going to die a pathetic old virgin? Not me!" She laughed callously.

I silently clenched my teeth. I was reeling with annoyance from the insult.

"He doesn't deserve you," she added "He deserves better. And I'm what's perfect for him, darling."

There was no way I was going to listen to any more of that. I angrily ended the call and flung the phone to the bed, then burying my head in my hands.

I'd had enough. I wasn't going to sit still and let myself he dragged to the ground like a piece of rag any longer.

By the time Mark would return to the house, it was already well into the night. I sat on the cold tiles of the living room, hanging my chin on my palm and nearly dozing off when I heard the sound of the front door clicking. That familiar musky scent of his followed him in as well, and I could swear I could smell Bella on him too.

My eyes blinked open, and I raised my head, locking a blank gaze with his face. There was that brick-hard look on his face which he always had when I was around. To think of how he was grinning from ear-to-ear earlier with Bella.

After our marriage, everything I'd been told by my parents to do, I did. Both taking care of his food, his daily life, and several other things that couldn't be counted, all for three years. It started happening frequently, that it became a ritual, like a dance of habit ingrained in my daily routine. Mark also accepted it without question. But not for one day did Mark spare me as much as a second glance.

Mark shut the door behind him and began walking into his room. Treating me as usual like I was invisible, and for the first time, I spoke.

"I want a divorce."

He turned to face me, an incredulous look on his face.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want this title of wife anymore,” I answered without mincing words.

That day three years ago, when I stood in that white dress, and him in his tuxedo, a congregation behind us and a preacher in front of us and saw that calm look of restrained anger in his eyes when he saw that it was not Bella behind the veil, but me.

I remember my chest tightening behind the diamond necklace I was wearing. The way his stare burned. How stupid and helpless I felt in that dress. How my parents smiled like they'd not just pushed me out there against my will and the congregation cheered with probably no idea of what was going on.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the pastor announced.

Mark leaned closer towards me, but not for a kiss, he merely brushed his face past my cheek and spoke into my ear, “The only thing you can get is the title of wife."

And that title is what I was giving back to him. I didn't want it anymore. I wished I'd never let myself take it in the first place. I'd let go of too much of myself and endured more than I needed to. It was the height of it already.

“I want to get a divorce, Mark,” I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time—even though I knew he'd heard me clearly.

He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!"

How typical of him to believe that I was trying to get his attention. I hadn't attracted that so-called attention of his for over three years and it when I mention a divorce he remembers it.

The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him.

"I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster.

He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. Don't even ask why I had it on in the first place.

I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house. The wind outside felt different afterward, like a heavy burden was being lifted off my shoulders for the first time in a very long while. The feeling of the night breeze blowing through the strands of my hair was immaculate.

Grabbing my phone from my purse and swiping my fingers quickly across the screen, I put the phone to my ear, hearing it ring.

"I am divorcing, come pick me up.”