My husband had a bizarre obsession with role-playing. In every scenario he invented, I was always the devoted wife he eventually cast aside.

One day, he became the ruthless CEO who fell for the nanny; the next, he turned into a respected professor who could not resist his students. Each time he handed me a divorce agreement, watched me sign it through tears, and then tore the papers to shreds the following morning with a satisfied grin. "It's just a game, babe."

That changed when my mom was in a catastrophic car accident and needed 200,000 dollars for emergency surgery.

Deep in character as a penniless failure, he said, "I'm flat broke. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money for your mom?"

I watched my mother take her last breath because we couldn't pay the bill.

On the day of her funeral, he arrived with a pretty college student on his arm. "I've fallen in love with one of my students. It's time we get divorced."

He pulled a folder from his briefcase and handed me the agreement.

This time, I didn't wait for him to rip it up.

My husband, Rick Holden, presented a fresh divorce agreement, his signature already scrawled across the bottom.

It was the same boring game.

At the funeral, my mother's body lay in the cold casket. Yet Rick decided to start his sick game again.

I stared at the face I had once adored. For three years, whenever he produced those documents, I had cried, begged, and raged exactly as he scripted, only to be pulled back into his arms the next day while he laughed and ripped the agreement to shreds.

He had said it was to spice up the marriage, and I had gone along with him.

But now, my mother, Helen Marsh, was gone. In her final moments, she had clung to my hand and looked at the door, waiting for the man she'd treated like a son to come say goodbye.

He never came.

I bowed to the casket, took the pen from Rick's hand, and signed it without fussing.

"There," I said.

He froze, expecting the usual breakdown, the tears, and accusations. Instead, I remained perfectly calm.

"What are you pulling now?" he demanded, irritation sharpening his voice.

His companion, Zoe Brooks, sensed the tension and squeezed his arm. "Maybe she is just overwhelmed."

I folded the signed copy and slipped it into my purse. Meeting his eyes, I said, "The game is over, Rick."

...

The next morning, I went straight to the courthouse and submitted the signed agreement along with a formal divorce petition.

The clerk reviewed the documents, glanced at me with professional neutrality, and processed everything without a word.

By the time I left, my phone was flooded with missed calls and messages from Rick.

[Eleanor, enough with your tantrum. Come home.]

[I tore up the agreement. This never happened.]

[You hung up on me? You're getting bold.]

The most recent one was sent just 30 minutes ago.

[If you don't come back right now, don't ever bother coming back at all.]

I blocked his number, rented a small apartment, and began searching for jobs. After our wedding, Rick had convinced me to quit my job and be a housewife. I had always been available to play whatever role he needed in his endless fantasies.

He had sworn his love was so deep that he needed to fall in love with me again and again in different worlds. He claimed the cold, selfish men he portrayed were never truly him—just acting.

Looking back, those cold, selfish, cruel men he played had never been characters. They had been him.

The court summons reached him quickly, and he called when I was in the middle of an interview.

"Have you lost your mind? You filed for divorce?" he yelled.

I stepped into the hallway. "We both signed the agreement. I'm just formalizing it so we can finish this faster."

"Finish it? You are not divorcing me! I don't allow it!"

"My mother is dead."

He paused, then his voice turned cold. "I know. That was her fate. You can't punish me for it. Games are games, and reality is reality. Can't you even tell the difference anymore?"

"You're the one who can't tell the difference," I said, ending the call and returning to the interview.

It was a modest administrative position at a small firm. It was nothing prestigious, but the salary would cover rent and groceries.

The interview went well, and I could start the following Monday.

That evening, when I returned to my apartment, Rick and Zoe were waiting outside my door.

His face was thunderous, and hers glowed with smugness.

"You've really decided to play this for real?" he snarled, blocking my path.

"There's nothing left to play." I tried to move past him to unlock the door.

He seized my wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise. "Come home with me right now, and we'll pretend none of this happened."

"Let go of me!" I barked.

"Don't push your luck!" he yelled back.

Zoe started to fan the flame. "She is just trying to get your attention, Rick. Don't fall for it."

Rick began dragging me toward the stairwell.

"Let go, or I'll scream!" I warned.

He shrugged it off. "Go ahead. Let's see who will interfere in a husband-and-wife matter."

The neighbors cracked their doors and peeped out. Catching sight of his furious expression, they quickly pulled back.

My other hand flew up and cracked across his face. The slap echoed through the hallway.

Rick froze, clutching his cheek and staring at me in disbelief. "You hit me?"

Fury blazing in his eyes, he raised his hand to strike back, but at the last second, he lowered it and clenched his jaw.

"You're really outdone yourself!" he hissed through gritted teeth, releasing me. "Don't regret this!"

He took Zoe's hand and led her to leave. Only when they disappeared from the stairwell did I notice my hands trembling—not from fear but from raw anger.

Inside the bare apartment, I locked the door and slid down to the floor. There were no traces of Rick here, yet the space still felt suffocating, haunted by the shadows of his games.

The next afternoon, the bank notified me that our joint account had been frozen. It held all our savings, almost entirely earned by Rick.

I had anticipated the move, so I didn't panic. My mother had left me a modest sum that would carry me until my first paycheck.

On Wednesday, while I was settling into my new job, a woman in flashy clothes burst into the office and started screaming, "Eleanor Marsh, you shameless home-wrecker! How dare you seduce my husband?"

I froze, and all my colleagues looked over. My supervisor stepped forward. "Ma'am, I believe you have the wrong person."

"No, it's definitely her!" The woman thrust forward a photo of me with a man.

That guy was just a college acquaintance whom I had lost contact with since graduation. I didn't know where she got that photo.

"Look! This woman ruined my family!" she barked. "My husband wants to leave me because of her!"

She sobbed theatrically, turning the office into chaos. I couldn't get a word in edgewise, figuring instantly this was Rick's trick to ruin my reputation and leave me isolated.

My supervisor called me in, his face gloomy. "I believe you, but the company can't afford the drama. Take a few days off."

It was a polite dismissal. Almost at the same time, my phone rang.

Rick's smug voice came through. "See? As I said, you'd regret it."

"You're despicable!" I snapped.

"Learned from the best," he chuckled. "One last chance. Come back begging, and I might forgive you."

"Dream on!" I hung up.

There was no way I'd beg him.

I walked through the rain for hours, soaked to the bone, before finally returning to the apartment building.

As I stepped into the hallway, an overpowering cloud of perfume hit me.

Zoe stood at my door, posing like she owned the place. A smirk adorned her face.

"What are you doing here?" I said coldly.

"Just checking on you," she taunted. "Seeing how the abandoned wife is holding up."

She eyed my drenched, miserable state and laughed. "Pathetic. Lost your job, right? Rick says he'll make sure you can't survive in Sylirend—that you'll come crawling back, begging."

"Let him wait." I brushed past her and unlocked the door.

"Big talk." She followed me inside, sauntered over to the framed portrait of Helen, and picked it up. "Your mom would be so disappointed in how ungrateful you are."

"Put it down!" I barked.

"Touchy, are we?" She tossed it lightly in her hands. "What if I accidentally drop it?"

"I said put it down!" I repeated, lunging to grab it.

She shrieked theatrically and let go. The frame hit the floor and shattered, glass splintering across Helen's smiling face.

Rage surged through me, hotter than anything I'd ever felt. I seized Zoe by the hair and slammed her to the floor.

She screamed and clawed at my arms, leaving bloody scratches. I felt nothing except white-hot fury. That was for crossing the line and defiling the memory of my late mother.

I yanked her hair and slapped her again and again. "This is for touching that photo!"

Powerless, she could only wail, "You're crazy! Mr. Holden! Help!"

The door flew open, and Rick rushed in, his eyes widening at the scene. "Eleanor! Stop!"

He stormed over and yanked me off her. I stumbled backward, slamming into the wall. A sharp pain instantly exploded on my back.

He helped her to her feet, noticing her swollen face and messy hair. His eyes narrowed, and he snarled at me, "Are you out of your mind?"

He advanced on me, looking fiercer than ever. "How dare you touch her?"

The way he protected Zoe made me laugh. "She smashed my mother's photo."

He paused, glanced at the broken frame, then back at Zoe's tearful face. She quickly defended herself. "It was an accident. She lunged at me, and I couldn't hold on."

Instead of pursuing it, Rick frowned and said, "Even so, you can't attack people. Apologize to her."

I couldn't believe my ears. He wanted me to apologize to someone who had just desecrated my mother's memory?

"Do it!" he repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

I held his gaze. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll make you." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Mr. William? I'm at a friend's place, and I just found some illegal substances."

He was setting me up. I snapped, "You're vile!"

"You forced my hand." He ended the call and looked at me. "The police will be here soon. When they arrive, you can guess what happens next."

Zoe stopped crying and smirked triumphantly. "You can't beat Mr. Holden. Bow to me and beg nicely. Maybe he'll soften and let you off."

I looked at that familiar face and felt only cold emptiness. Now he seemed like a total stranger. I had been in love with him for three years, and now he was reveling in his twisted game, trying to send me to prison for another woman.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Rick gave a victorious grin. "Time is running out, Eleanor."