The Nightmare

Four years later. 

"I want a divorce," I said to Rowan, my voice firm but shaking slightly.

Rowan snorted, puffing smoke from his cigar right into my face. "You think you're in a position to ask for a divorce?" he sneered, his eyes glinting with contempt.

I coughed, waving away the acrid smoke, but Rowan just kept blowing it in my direction. 

His expression was cold, like he'd just sucked on a lemon. He sat cross-legged in his chair, his black suit looking like it was tailored to perfection. His white shirt was crisp and bright, and his silver tie sparkled in the light. His dark hair was slicked back, showing off his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to be staring right through me. Those eyes were like ice chips, chilly. 

"You don't love me. I don't love you. It was a contract marriage and I think it's time for it to end," I informed.

He chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "From what your aunt said, this marriage is supposed to go on for at least two more years," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

I frowned, feeling a surge of frustration. "But I'm tired, Rowan. I was beaten today, and you stood by and watched. You did nothing to stop it."

Rowan shrugged, his expression unyielding. "Not my fault that you decided to kill our child," he said, his voice cold and detached.

I shouted, my anger boiling over. "Because of stress, Rowan! Stress and high blood pressure that you and your family put me through! You've made my life a living hell, and I won't take it anymore!"

"Did you just raise your voice at me?" Rowan's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Who do you think you are? You're nothing, a means to an end. Do you think I want this marriage? I only married you to get my position. And I did. You are useless to me. To me this contract marriage has already ended. You are the one who is still tied to it. Because you know once you leave, your cousin's treatment stops and who knows, she dies.”

I gulped. It was true. Four years ago, her aunt and uncle made her marry Rowan, a rich billionaire whose family were close friends to my aunt. Rowan's grandfather's wish was for him to settle down with a countryside wife that's obedient and docile. In return, steady treatment for my cousin's leukemia.

He didn't care about the contract. On our wedding day, he had slept with two women. For the past three years, even more have come and gone. The love I used to have for him slowly diminished, especially after he came to my bed drunk and mentioned another woman's name.

"I am tired," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I really am."

Rowan turned to me, his expression unyielding. "Not my problem," he said, his voice cold. "You can't get a divorce. That's final. Either you get into therapy for your fucked-up mental health or you deal with this. From what I remembered, you were quite excited to marry me."

With that, he turned and walked away, shutting the door behind him. I sighed, feeling the weight of my exhaustion, and crashed to the floor. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall.

*****

The next day, as always, I sat alone, staring out the window, lost in my thoughts. My mind was a haze of depression, a heavy fog that refused to lift. I heard the faint sounds of baby noises coming from the nursery, a room that was built for a child that never was born. 

As I sat there, tears began to fall, streaming down my face like a river of pain. I couldn't contain my grief any longer.

The depression was eating at me and I have no friends. No one to talk to. The door opened, and I turned, expecting to see Rowan alone, but instead, a stunning woman stood beside him.

She was a vision of beauty, with long, curly brown hair and piercing green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. Her skin was a radiant, sun-kissed glow, and her full lips curved into a bright, white smile. She wore a fitted red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, showcasing her toned physique. A diamond necklace glimmered around her neck, drawing attention to her elegant collarbone.

I was taken aback, unsure of what to say or do. I frowned, feeling a mix of emotions: anger, hurt, and confusion. Was this another one of Rowan's conquests? Another woman to add to his collection?

I turned away, trying to compose myself, but the woman's voice pierced the air. "Who is that?" she asked, her tone curious and innocent.

I didn't respond, my heart heavy with the weight of my tears. Rowan didn't introduce her, and I didn't ask. I just sat there, lost in my sorrow, as the two of them stood in the doorway.

“A maid. Ignore her. She is crazy.” Rowan said. 

A maid? Is that what I have been limited to. A maid?

“Why don't you fire her?” The lady asked. 

“Just ignore her, Gigi. Don't we have a wedding to plan? Let's focus on that.”

I bit my lips so hard as they walked past, I felt blood in my mouth. So this was the Gigi? After three years, he finally had her back. 

And marriage? I had heard him discussing it last night as well. 

I guess, I was of no use anymore. He had fulfilled his grandfather request by marrying who he wanted, he got his position as CEO of tech resources, I got Jules treatment…now I am of no use. Everything is going well for everyone except me.

****

“You deserve to die, Remi . I have never met anyone as vile, wicked, and useless as you. How dare you take the life of my unborn grandchild!” The man’s voice echoed relentlessly in my mind. “You are heartless. Get out of my sight.”

I stumbled through the bustling streets, swaying like a drunkard, the blare of car horns and city chaos failing to pull me back from my tormenting memories. My eyes were still swollen from the brutal beating I had endured at the hands of my husband’s father. Rowan, my husband, had stood by passively, watching as I was kicked and thrown out by the guards.

After five years of marriage, one truth was painfully clear:

Rowan never loved me.

Even the memory of my last conversation with my aunt was soaked in bitterness.

“You married a rich man and you still want to divorce?” she spat, her words laced with venom. “Just admit you want to see your cousin dead. You’re ungrateful, you little witch.”

My feet moved with a will of their own, carrying me forward with a grim determination. They understood the mission: to find a quiet place where I could die in peace. 

Or at least, a place where she wouldn't traumatize onlookers. The thought of laying down on the road and being run over crossed my mind, but the image of horrified faces and the trauma it would inflict on passersby and those who would hear my story stopped me. I couldn’t bear the thought of adding more pain to the world.

As I stood there, I looked around and saw children playing, their laughter ringing through the air. Happy with their parents, they were a picture of what I had lost. I forced a smile.

If my child had survived she would have been a beautiful baby girl. My marriage would have been bearable, to say the least. 

But life is unfair, it never gives you what you want. 

With those thoughts, I made my way across the street to a bridge. Even from a distance, I could hear the quiet roll of the waves as they smashed against the shore.

My whole life replayed in my mind like a depressing movie. My breathing became unstable, and my knees wobbled with each abusive memory recalled. Even the wind seemed against me, biting and nipping with a chilly cold as time passed.

“Finally,” I muttered to myself and moved toward the bridge.

The rough stone scratched at my palms, but I paid no heed to it. It was time. My knees went up first, then the rest of my body.

In no time, I stood on the railing, one step away from plunging into the icy waters below.

The waves churned violently, crashing against the pillars of the bridge with a thunderous force. 

 The dark water glistened under the evening sun, appearing both beautiful and terrifying. It swirled and foamed, a powerful, unforgiving entity that beckoned me with its cold embrace.

I closed my eyes, letting the sound of the waves fill my ears, their relentless rhythm almost soothing. My heart raced, but amidst the fear, there was a strange sense of peace. One step, and I would be free from the pain, the memories, the endless cycle of abuse and betrayal.

That was when my phone rang. 

I sighed, looking at it. It was from an unknown number. 

I sighed, picking it up. “Hello…”

“Jules is in a coma.”