Alpha, Prince, Revenge: Which Comes First?

Despite the chill in the room, an air of unrest and despondency persisted. Valentine Anderson stood by the wall, his distinctively curly hair and pointed nose giving him a handsome yet troubled appearance. Despite his good looks, his face bore a darkness, with furrowed lines creasing his forehead. As he gazed at Andrea Singers who was sitting on the bed, barely gripping the pen, his disgust only deepened.

"How much longer will you stubbornly refuse to sign the divorce papers, ugly fatty? I don't love you anymore, and haven't you had enough of my infidelity?" Valentine Anderson's voice carried an edge of anger as he addressed Andrea Singers.

Gone were the days of endearing names; instead, the mention of divorce had become a frequent occurrence, yet Andrea Singers remained steadfast in her resistance. Valentine had even gone so far as to bring his mistress, Rose Ferguson, into their marital bed in an attempt to disgust Andrea into agreement, but still, she resisted.

Andrea Singers looked up and met the gaze of the man she had devoted her heart, body, and soul to for the past five years. All that remained on his face was disgust and contempt; the man who had once loved her passionately seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Her cheeks trembled as she spoke, "Honey, I don't want to end our marriage; I still love you."

Valentine Anderson's expression darkened at Andrea's words.

She quickly lowered her head in fear, tension filled the room, and Valentine's chest heaved rapidly as he simmered with anger.

The ringing of a phone shattered the tense silence. Valentine reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone.

His dark face lit up in joy when he saw the caller, but as he glanced at Andrea Singers, a look of disdain crossed his sharp features. "Fatty, if you think we're staying married, wake up from your delusion. I won't live with someone who just eats and gets fat," he sneered, his words cutting deep.

With that, Valentine Anderson strode toward the door, leaving Andrea Singers in tears, her forehead glistening with sweat. She stared at the papers on her lap, her distress growing.

She threw the pen away and tossed the divorce papers, the divorce papers fluttered briefly before scattering across the polished marble floor.

Andrea Singers struggled to her feet, her movements resembling that of a rolling meatball as she dashed toward the door. Despite her efforts, it took her three agonizing minutes to reach the door, which was only five feet away from the bed where she had been sitting. 

By the time she burst out of the once-loving, glorious matrimonial bedroom, she was drenched in sweat from the exertion.

As she stumbled out, Andrea overheard Valentine Anderson speaking on the phone as he moved closer to the staircase from the doorway. "Rose, I promised you I would divorce that meatball; if my wife hadn't resisted, I would have divorced her long ago," he said.

Andrea stood frozen, unable to comprehend how her marriage had deteriorated so drastically in just five short years.

A few months ago, despite her efforts to regain her shape by hitting the gym, she rapidly gained a significant amount of weight. As a result, her husband, Valentine Anderson, began to distance himself from her. They no longer shared kisses, and their once passionate sex life grew cold.

Valentine started coming home late, sometimes drunk, with the lingering scent of feminine perfume. When Andrea Singers confronted him about this, he mentioned the possibility of divorce.

The more Andrea thought about the situation, the more anxious she became. She ran to the gate, startling the gatekeeper. "Water!" she gasped as she struggled to speak. Her legs, which had grown significantly in size, trembled from the brief run.

After gulping down three mouthfuls of water, she hurried out of the gate and hailed a taxi, leaving the gatekeeper shocked. "Number 23, Downhill Street," she told the taxi driver, breathing heavily and sweating.

Without a word, the taxi driver nodded and started the car. An hour later, he pulled up at the address Andrea had given him.

Anxious and nervous from the lengthy drive, Andrea bolted out of the car, completely forgetting about the fare.

"Miss, you haven't paid," the taxi driver called after her as she made a beeline for the gate.

Halfway there, Andrea halted in realization, her body quivering. She turned back, acknowledging that she had left her purse behind and had no means to settle the fare.

"Miss, please settle the fare," the taxi driver urged as Andrea Singers stood before him, feeling disoriented.

The gate creaked open behind them, and two elderly women emerged. Andrea's energy surged as she turned and called out, "Mother-in-law!"

Mrs. Anderson's expression soured as she instinctively covered her nose, asking impatiently, "Andrea, what are you doing here, looking so dishevelled and sweaty?"

Andrea Singers blushed in mortification as the taxi driver's irate voice cut through their exchange. "Miss, you still haven't paid. How can you enter my taxi and refuse to pay? I assumed you were wealthy, stopping me in an affluent neighbourhood. Who would have thought you were just a fraud? I'll involve the police if you persist in refusing to pay."

Mrs. Anderson, already upset that her fat ugly daughter-in-law had arrived unannounced after she had just finished boasting about her son to her neighbour, grew even more frustrated upon hearing the taxi driver's comments. 

She fixed a piercing gaze on Andrea Singers and admonished, "Andrea, if I had known you would turn out this way—overweight and unproductive—I would never have allowed my son to marry someone like you. Aren't you tired of bringing shame upon the Andersons? If word gets out that my son's wife is attempting to defraud a taxi driver, how do you think the media will respond? Show a little dignity, Andrea."

Andrea felt embarrassed and wished she could disappear.