Chapter 2

I locked my bedroom door and slid down against the cold, solid wood paneling until I hit the floor.

It wasn't until I was absolutely certain that no sound could be heard from outside that I bit down hard on the back of my hand, finally letting my suppressed tears burst the dam.

For the past half year since my return, I had acted like a pathetic, devout follower, walking on eggshells just to please them.

Yet, in this billionaire Hart family, I would forever remain the dubious, poverty-stricken “outsider,” while Vivienne was their flawless, precious pearl.

My husband, Alex, viewed our arranged marriage as a vile stain on his true love, executing me daily with the cruelest form of cold violence.

I wiped my tears away and numbly pulled out my suitcase, preparing to pack my things.

But when I unlocked my phone to check my bank account, a surging wave of bitterness completely swallowed me.

The balance was practically zero.

Over the past three years, the core scripts for nearly every blockbuster movie produced by Crowe Pictures were heavily revised—or entirely ghostwritten—by me through countless sleepless nights.

Yet, every time I asked for my screenwriting fees, my parents would brush me off with a tone of feigned disappointment: “The family company needs cash flow. Just leave your money in the account for now. We’re family, why draw such clear lines?”

I had foolishly compromised.

Only now did I realize that in this twisted game of replacement, I hadn’t just lost my dignity. They had even drained me of the capital I needed to leave with grace.

Click.

The door handle turned as the bedroom door was unlocked from the outside with a spare key.

Alex stood in the doorway, staring down at me on the floor with his usual haughty arrogance.

He didn't ask about the tear tracks on my face, nor did he look at the bloodstains on my body. He just stared at me, expressionless.

“Vivienne’s new movie premiere is in three days,” his voice lacked any warmth, as if he were processing an expired corporate document. “After the premiere wraps up successfully, we’re getting a divorce.”

I stared intently at the wood grain on the floorboards, my fingernails almost piercing my palms.

“Fine. I'll agree to the divorce. But give me back the screenwriting fees I’ve rightfully earned over the past three years. Once I get the money that belongs to me, I’ll leave immediately.”

Alex let out a cold sneer, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“You still have the nerve to demand money?”

He paused, a look of extreme disgust flashing in his eyes.

“After the premiere is over, I’ll give you the money. And the second you get it, you get the hell out of Los Angeles.”

“Fine.”

I looked at the man I had once loved so deeply with hollow, empty eyes.

“The second I get the money, I won’t stay a single second longer.”