The Revenge Of The Ragdoll

　　~4 years ago~

　　My breath caught as his tongue dragged a wet line up my neck from my collarbone. My eyes flew open.

　　Terror twisted my face.

　　The stench of alcohol on his breath made me gag, but that was the least of it. Whenever Richard came home like this, he became something else—more violent, more reckless.

　　I shoved at his chest, but I had never been strong. Fear kept me quiet—afraid of proving them right for hating me the moment I chose him, married him without their permission.

　　He kissed my neck again.

　　"No… please," I whispered, clutching his suit, trying to push him away.

　　He ignored me. His hand slipped beneath my nightdress, grabbing my breast, fingers tightening.

　　My jaw clenched. My eyes shut.

　　A sharp gasp escaped me.

　　He crushed his mouth against mine. His hand slid lower, down my stomach, between my thighs.

　　Tears burned behind my eyes.

　　This marriage had once known love.

　　Five months ago, we stood beneath falling red petals, reciting vows he never meant to keep. I remembered the applause, the warmth of his lips, the way I believed him.

　　I had been in love then.

　　Now, I felt nothing but disgust.

　　"NO!"

　　I shoved him.

　　My chest heaved as I stared up at him. "Not tonight," I whispered.

　　His expression darkened.

　　SMACK.

　　His palm cracked across my face. Then another blow—his fist slamming into my eye.

　　"You are nothing but a plaything!" he roared. "You exist to be used!"

　　I cried out as he tore my nightdress and panties away.

　　This wasn't new.

　　Behind makeup and practiced smiles, I told the press what they wanted to hear.

　　It was an accident. I fell down the stairs. Boiling water spilled on me.

　　I lied for the sake of a perfect marriage.

　　And cried when no one could see.

　　Five months of hoping he'd change.

　　He never did.

　　Until the day he grew tired of me.

　　I sat slumped against the bedframe in the dim room, the air thick with alcohol and smoke. The sheets were stained dark. The floor was littered with broken glass and splintered wood.

　　Each breath scraped my lungs.

　　A cut split my lip. Blood streaked my face. Bruises throbbed.

　　I wanted to scream. To beg someone to pull me out.

　　But nothing came.

　　My gaze fell to the papers in front of me.

　　Divorce papers.

　　A gold-handled pen rested beside them, gleaming in the candlelight.

　　After everything, I was being discarded like something worn out.

　　The door burst open.

　　Richard stumbled in, laughing. I didn't need to look—his scent gave him away. Cheap whiskey. Arrogance.

　　Then I heard it. The sharp click of red heels. My stomach turned.

　　Not the first time he'd brought a woman home, but this felt different.

　　Those heels were unmistakable.

　　I heard them kiss. Wet, careless. Her soft moans filled the room as he touched her like a man starved. Each sound twisted something deeper inside me.

　　I thought I had no tears left, but they came anyway.

　　Slowly, I lifted my head, and our eyes met.

　　For a split second, her lips curled in disgust. "Ew. What is she still doing here?" she spat. Her voice familiar.

　　I stared at her. For the first time, I truly saw her. My best friend.

　　Richard turned sharply. "You still haven't signed the divorce papers?!" He stormed toward me.

　　I tried to move, but the bed trapped me.

　　He drew his fist back.

　　In that final moment—staring into his burning eyes—I understood.

　　Marrying him had been the worst mistake of my life.

　　This was my punishment.

　　His fist came down.

　　~Present~

　　I felt dizzy staring up at the towering building. Its lit windows were hypnotic, drawing my eyes back again and again. Eight—maybe ten—stories high, every floor packed.

　　This party was bigger than I expected.

　　I climbed the steps and met Harold's gaze. His smile was bright—too bright. His eyes flicked over my dress, slow and deliberate.

　　The red fabric clung to my body, the slit revealing my left thigh. Embroidered flowers spiraled around my waist. The ruby-studded bodice lifted my chest just enough.

　　A lie. A disguise.

　　His attention returned to my face. "You… look amazing," he said.

　　"Thank you." Heat crept into my cheeks. "You didn't say it'd be this big. Or the limo. Who are you, exactly?"

　　He chuckled. "I should've explained sooner. Let me show you around." His hand rested lightly on my back as he guided me inside.

　　The party was quiet, refined. Soft piano music drifted through the air, mixing with wine and pastries. Guests spoke in low voices beneath golden chandeliers.

　　"My family owns a large share in one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in New York," Harold said. "I manage those shares. I also run a few labs in Brooklyn… and some real estate. Event centers too. This one's mine."

　　He waved to a few guests—most more interested in staring at me.

　　One woman stood out. Blonde, her gaze fixed on me. Something unsettled flickered in her expression. Red lipstick gleamed under the lights.

　　She was stunning. I looked away.

　　"So… you're one of the billionaires running this city, and you forgot to mention it?" I said.

　　"I didn't want that to matter," Harold said. "I wanted you to see me, not my money."

　　He stopped.

　　"And I think I've found someone who does."

　　My chest tightened.

　　Wait.

　　Pharmaceutical company?

　　A cold weight settled in my stomach.

　　Could Richard be—

　　"Harold," a woman called.

　　He turned. A woman in her forties watched from a nearby table.

　　Harold took my hand and led me over.

　　"Mother," he said, kissing her cheek.

　　Of course.

　　"Family, this is Angel Ramirez. My date."

　　"Good evening," I said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

　　"Ramirez?" his mother asked. "As in the Ramirez family?"

　　My pulse spiked.

　　"No. I'm just a surgeon from Queens."

　　A beat.

　　"I was… an orphan."

　　Harold's brows drew together slightly, but he said nothing.

　　"Well, nice to meet you," said a man a few years younger than Harold. "Make my brother happy. His life's boring, and he's a depressed fuck."

　　Laughter rippled. I smiled and nodded.

　　The music shifted—smooth saxophone threading through the room.

　　"Time to dance," Harold's mother said, rising.

　　His brother led her away. Two younger girls—twins—remained behind, quiet.

　　Harold turned to me, offering his hand. "May I?"

　　I smiled. "You may, Lord Harold Washington."

　　He laughed and led me to the dance floor, his hand settling at my hip.

　　We moved slowly, his eyes steady on mine.

　　"I'm sorry I lied to your family," I murmured.

　　"It's okay," he said. "I understand."

　　A pause.

　　"But… are you related to them?"

　　My throat tightened. "No. I'm just an ordinary girl from Queens."

　　The lie sat heavy in my chest.

　　"You're not ordinary, Angel," he said softly. "You save lives. You're strong… kind."

　　My vision blurred as I gripped his shoulder.

　　"I'm in love with you," he whispered, stepping closer. "I want to give you something better than what you had before."

　　My heart pounded, but I didn't pull away. I closed my eyes.

　　"Angel?"

　　The voice cut through everything. Sharp. Familiar.

　　My eyes snapped open. My stomach dropped.

　　"Oh, fuck," I muttered, turning. And there he was.

　　Richard Angelo.

　　Standing like a ghost dragged out of hell, his hand entwined with his wife's—Jennifer.

　　Both staring at me. Stunned.

　　Why didn't I see this coming?