Chapter 003

Aneeka’s pov

For the first time in years, I’ve found the courage to leave my loveless marriage. The weight of this decision was heavy, like a stone pressing down on my chest, but it also thrilled me. I was choosing myself for the first time, my happiness, my peace. The thought of starting again, rediscovering who I was, terrified me. But what else could I do?

Who said good things came easy? No one.

Two hours had passed since my lawyer’s call, and my headache hadn’t gone away. The news he’d shared disturbed me, unsettling things I’d tried to bury deep inside. Memories I had longed to forget resurfaced, dragging me back to a place where I felt trapped all over again.

My mother was a control freak. We never had much of a relationship because of her constant need to dominate, to criticize, to demand the impossible. Her passing was bittersweet. It’s strange to admit, but the truth was undeniable—her death gave me freedom.

But guess whose mother couldn’t let go of control, even in death?

Mine.

For the first time since her death, I broke down. Not because I missed her, I didn’t, but because the weight of what she’d done to me still haunted me. The constant humiliation, the daily poison of ‘you’re not good enough’ and ‘no one man will ever want you like this’. The pills, the starvation, the extreme exercise routines… all of it. It all stopped when my body nearly shut down, but the scars remained.

She was a complicated woman, a hard woman, but she left me well-provided for. I’d give her that.

As I stepped into the walk-in closet, the familiar scent of Damon’s cologne hit me like a punch. His fragrance lingered in the air—a painful reminder of the years I’d wasted with him. I halted before his grooming table, now empty except for a few items, the collection of Oud perfumes I’d bought for him as a heartfelt apology was gone.

Twelve bottles, a gesture I’d thought was enough to make up for burning his favorite shirt—an accident that had sent me into a spiral of panic, fear, and desperation to make things right. The luxurious, exclusive perfumes, reserved for the elite, for royalty. I had given him the best, thinking it would erase my mistakes, that somehow it would heal the rift between us.

I sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly.

Being in a loveless marriage had derailed my life. The romance, the adventure, the dreams I once wrote about in journals seemed like they belonged to someone else, someone who didn’t have to endure this suffocating reality.

I am a prisoner, and I want out.

With determination, I headed to my lawyer’s office. This was the first step toward my freedom.

But when I saw Damon’s car in the driveway, I felt my pulse quicken.

“Hi Anne,” Lily’s voice grated on my nerves, irritating me in a way I couldn’t explain.

“It’s Aneeka,” I corrected, my tone sharp.

Damon opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off before he could get the words out. “Save it, Mr. Smith.”

His face fell, surprise and shock written all over it. I smirked inwardly. My inner goddess was performing a little dance of victory. Ha! she whispered smugly, pleased with the way I’d taken control.

I blew a strand of hair from my face, walking past them with a newfound sense of purpose.

Minutes passed, and I found myself once again forced to watch the nauseating display of affection between Damon and Lily. My stomach churned, but I remained silent. And then, just as I thought I couldn’t stomach another second of their intimate charade, the door opened, and Damon’s mother walked in.

My heart skipped.

Nobody had mentioned she'd be coming.

And whenever she showed up, something always went horribly wrong.

“Son,” his mother cooed as she crossed the room, planting a peck on his cheek. I couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. Like mother, like son. The apple didn’t  fall far from this tree.

Damon’s mother was just like him—greedy, manipulative, and controlling.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” my lawyer began, his voice professional, but his eyes shifting between Damon and me.

“Just Aneeka, please,” I said, my voice crisp, interrupting before Damon could correct the lawyer.

The smirk that tugged at Damon’s lips faltered as he watched me. He had never expected this version of me—the one who was finally done, who wasn’t begging for his approval anymore.

My lawyer continued, “Your mother’s will stated that Blue Horizon belongs to both of you, to be split equally after the divorce.”

My eyes shot up, wide with disbelief. My chest tightened, and my fists clenched at my sides, the anger bubbling up inside me. Damon’s smug expression was unbearable, as though this was his victory, his win. I had given him everything—my heart, my life. And this is how it ended?

I sucked in a breath, steadying myself, my voice firm but low. “I know my mother too well. There’s a loophole in that contract, and I want it found.”

Damon’s smile froze, his eyes narrowing, confused. My inner goddess danced again. Yes, that’s right. You never saw this coming.

My lawyer nodded slowly, his gaze filled with a mix of understanding or was it pity? I couldn’t tell. “Yes, there is a clause. It states that if you marry again within twenty-four hours of your divorce being finalized, Blue Horizons Ownership transfers to your new family.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb ready to explode. I saw Damon’s face freeze in shock, then his lips parted in mock laughter. First soft chuckles, then louder, more mocking, until Lily and his mother joined in, their laughter enveloping me.

I stood frozen, every fiber of my being screaming at me to keep my composure, to not let their laughter crack me.

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt humiliated by Damon and his family. My mother had always demanded something of me, controlled me even in death, but now, in this moment, I was reclaiming control. And it felt good. Too good.

With a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, I turned to Damon, my gaze sharp, predatory. “Then it’s a good thing my new husband is here.”

I flung open the door with a flourish, stepping into the hallway, and there he was. A stranger? Perhaps. But I needed to show them, needed to make this final statement. I reached up and kissed him—fierce, possessive, the kind of kiss I’d never given Damon.

And when I pulled away, I saw Damon’s jaw drop, his face a mixture of disbelief and fury.

Good. Let him burn.

I flung the door open, I reached up and claimed his lips in a fierce and possessive kiss. 

I flung the door open, stepping into the hallway and there he was. I reached up and kissed him–– fierce, possessive, the kind of kiss I’d never given Damon.