"You should be grateful I married you after college. Who else would have wanted to marry a poor, stinking girl like you?" Draven sneered, his lips curling in disgust.

Ariel stared at him, disbelief and heartbreak warring inside her chest.

"I should be grateful?" she repeated, her voice trembling with anger. "While everyone was enjoying campus life, I was working double shifts just to keep you in school. I paid your tuition when you couldn't afford it. I paid for your tutorials. I skipped meals so you could buy textbooks."

Draven's jaw tightened, but Ariel wasn't finished.

"And when the bills became too much, I dropped out of college so you could continue your education without worrying about me."

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"I sacrificed my dreams for you, Draven. I gave you everything I had my time, my future, my love. I stood beside you when you had nothing but ambition and empty pockets."

Her voice cracked.

"And now that you're successful, you look down on me ."

Draven scoffed. "Everything that went wrong in my life started the moment I married you."

Ariel's heart clenched.

"No," she said quietly. "Don't you dare put that on me, "Losing our son was not my mistake. It was yours."

"Your mother refused to let me use the car when our baby was struggling to breathe. I begged her. I pleaded with her, but she wouldn't listen

"And where were you? I called you over and over again."You didn't show up at the hospital until after he was gone."

"The saddest part is that I actually believed you loved me."

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"But if helping you become the man you are today is what made me worthless in your eyes, then marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life."

"You poverty-stricken thing!" a shrill voice suddenly rang out. "How dare you insult my son!"

Before Ariel could react, Draven's mother stormed across the room and slapped her hard across the face.

Smack!

Ariel staggered backward as pain exploded across her cheek, Neither of them looked surprised. It was a routine she knew too well.

Ever since she married Draven, his mother had treated her like a servant rather than a daughter-in-law. Nothing Ariel did was ever good enough. She was called a burden, a curse, a jinx who had brought misfortune into their family, And Draven had never once defended her.

Ariel slowly raised a hand to her burning cheek. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of them.

"Look at her," Draven's mother sneered. "Acting like a victim when she's the reason this family has suffered."

Without another word, she turned and walked away, She climbed the narrow staircase and headed toward the tiny room at the end of the hallway. Room. The word almost made her laugh.

It was little more than a storage closet filled with old boxes, broken furniture, and a narrow single bed pushed against the wall. A dump would have been a more accurate description.

While Draven slept comfortably in the master bedroom, Ariel spent her nights in this forgotten corner of the house.

The only time he ever allowed her into his room was when he wanted her body. Once he got what he wanted, she was sent back to her tiny room like an unwanted guest, As Ariel closed the door behind her, the silence wrapped around her like a blanket.

(Laurent Mansion)

Andrew didn't knock a second time. He'd learned that lesson three assistants ago.

"Sir." He stood in the doorway of the study, tablet pressed against his chest like a shield. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Dumont's office."

Vincent Laurent didn't look up from the quarterly reports spread across his desk. His pen moved in slow, deliberate arcs signatures that would shift millions before the markets opened tomorrow. "And?"

"She can't supply anymore. Doctor's orders. Something about her iron levels."

The pen stopped.

The silence that followed was the kind that made Andrew's back teeth ache. He'd worked for Vincent for fourteen months now longer than any of his predecessors and he'd learned to read the quiet the way sailors read a dropping barometer. This was the kind that preceded a storm.

Vincent set the pen down. Slow. Careful. When he looked up, his eyes were the color of slate after rain gray and cold and utterly empty.

"I have a freezer full of expressed breast milk in my private fridge," he said. His voice was quiet. That was worse. "Do you know why I have that, Andrew?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what happens to me when my supply runs out?"

Andrew's throat worked. "Yes, sir."

"Then I don't need to explain why 'she can't supply anymore' is not an acceptable answer." Vincent leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. "Find me another source. By end of day. Before the current stock runs out."

"Sir, the medical specifications are very particular. The donor needs to be"

"I don't care if she's a circus performer who eats nothing but kale and prayers. Find someone. Pay her whatever she wants. Make it happen."

Andrew nodded once. "Yes, sir."

He left.

The door clicked shut.

Vincent sat in the silence for exactly twelve seconds. Then he picked up his phone, scrolled past three numbers, and pressed call.

"Send her in," he said. And hung up.

He didn't bother with pleasantries. Didn't bother with clothes.

By the time her back hit the wall, his hand was already wrapped around her throat.

He could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her dress rabbit-fast beneath his palm.

"On your knees," he said.

She dropped.

He watched her hands work his belt. Watched her mouth part. Watched her look up at him with that practiced submissiveness that cost her nothing and gave him even less.

Boring.

He pulled her up by the elbow before she could finish.

"Turn around."

She faced the wall. He grabbed her hip with one hand, the nape of her neck with the other, bending her forward until her palms pressed flat against the cold plaster. His free hand found the hem of her dress, pushed it up, pushed everything else out of the way.

He didn't ask if she was ready. He didn't care.

The first thrust drove the air from her lungs in a sound that was half gasp, half cry. He didn't pause. Didn't gentle. He set a pace that was pure brutality each stroke a punishment he hadn't realized he needed to deliver until this moment.

He pushed harder. Faster. The woman beneath him made a sound hurt or pleasure, he couldn't tell, didn't distinguish between the two anymore.

"Take it," he growled, his hand coming down on her ass with a crack that echoed off the study walls. "Take that cock like the bitch you are. Bounce on that dick."

"Oh, shit. Fuck. Ahhh"

Her voice broke. He reached past her, grabbed the glass of whiskey he'd left on the side table, and took a slow sip while he kept driving into her. The burn of the liquor matched the burn in his thighs, his hips, his chest.

She was saying something. He caught the tail end of it.

"that enough, sir?"

He didn't answer. Didn't slow down.

Enough? He hadn't even started.

He pulled out, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her across the room. She stumbled. Her knee hit the edge of the coffee table and she hissed, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. There was a roaring in his ears now, the familiar tide of something dark and hungry that only ever went quiet when he did this when he took and took and took until there was nothing left of whoever was beneath him.

He threw her onto the leather sofa. She landed on her back, hair splayed across the cushions, dress twisted around her waist. Before she could catch her breath, he was on her. Inside her. Pounding into her with the same relentless, mechanical fury that had built Flinch Tech from a garage startup into a billion-dollar empire.

His hand found her breast. Squeezed. Hard.

"You're pathetic," he sneered, watching her face contort. "I was told you were the best at this. Why are you so fucking slow?"

Her mouth opened. Closed. She didn't have an answer.

He didn't need one.

He kept going. Kept driving. Kept taking what he needed until the roaring in his ears began to quiet, replaced by the wet sound of skin on skin and the ragged, broken sounds she was making beneath him.

It was the tears that finally did it.

He pulled out. Stood up. Reached for his whiskey.

"Get dressed," he said, not looking at her. "There's an envelope on the desk. Take it and don't come back."

She scrambled off the sofa, gathering herself with shaking hands. He heard the rustle of fabric, the click of her heels on the hardwood, the soft sound of the door closing behind her.

He drained the rest of the whiskey.

The harsh morning light pierced through the blinds, a cruel reminder that I was still trapped in a life I no longer recognized. I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, the ghost of my baby’s two-week-old cries echoed in my ears, closely followed by the booming, cruel voice of my husband, Draven.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

An hour later, I was sitting in a high-rise office downtown, staring at the only person I could trust: my college best friend, Martha, who was now a practicing family lawyer. I laid it all bare the years of emotional abuse, the isolation, and my desperate need to escape.

Martha sighed, massaging her temples as she looked at me with deep concern. "Ariel, you’ve been isolated since you got married. You haven't worked a single day since you gave birth. If you want to survive a divorce from a man as vindictive as Draven, you need a foundation. The very first thing you need to do is get a job. You need to be financially stable, or he will use your dependency to crush you in court."

But returning home was a swift descent back into purgatory. The moment I stepped through the front door, the shrill voice of my mother-in-law cut through the quiet house like a serrated knife.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she screeched, marching out of the living room, her face twisted in disgust. "You left this house without making breakfast for my son! You lazy, useless girl. Draven works his fingers to the bone, and you can’t even fulfill your basic duties as a wife?"

She hurled insult after insult, calling me every degrading name in her vocabulary. I didn't say a word. I kept my head down, my chest tight, and walked straight past her into the kitchen. I didn't argue. I just turned on the Gas and began preparing dinner, silently repeating Martha’s advice like a mantra in my head. Get a job. Get out.

(Flinch Tech Headquarters)

Meanwhile, in the sprawling, ultra-modern penthouse office of Flinch Tech, a different kind of tension was brewing. Andrew, the executive assistant to the most powerful tech mogul in California, stood nervously before his boss’s desk.

"Mr. Lauren," Andrew began carefully, adjusting his glasses. "I’ve encountered a major issue. Our medical liaisons haven't been able to secure another anonymous breast milk supply for your condition. The current batch is running out."

Vincent Lauren didn't look up from his tablet, his striking, icy features unreadable. His *Dialora sickness* was a heavily guarded corporate secret a condition that required a specific, clinical remedy twice a day just to keep him functional.

"Keep looking," Vincent commanded, his voice a low, commanding baritone. "What else?"

"I'm compiling the CVs for the first batch of applicants for your new executive secretary position. I’ll send the files to your tablet shortly," Andrew reported. "Also, a reminder about the upcoming Flinch Tech Charity Gala for disabled youth. You are the main host. Actress Elena Valtieri has officially confirmed her attendance as a co-host."

Andrew hesitated, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Mr. Vincent, you know Miss Elena has been desperate to get your attention for months. The moment she heard about the charity, she volunteered willingly."

Vincent finally looked up, his dark eyes flashing with cold disdain. "That cheap slut just wants me to fuck her pussy. She wants to be the Lauren girlfriend so she can use my name to secure more global ambassador deals. But I don't sleep with sluts my security guys have already licked. She’s wasting her time."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Send me the secretary files. Let’s see if anyone is actually competent."

Back at the house, the front door slammed open. Draven was home.

Before he even took off his coat, his complaints filled the hallway. He walked into the dining room, immediately throwing a fit about the placement of his keys, the temperature of the house, and the dinner on the table. He insulted my intelligence, my appearance, and my worth just like he did every single day.

Before he could finish his latest tirade, I looked him dead in the eye. "I want a divorce, Draven."

The room went dead silent. Then, Draven burst into a loud, mocking laugh.

"You want a divorce?" he sneered, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Who put such utter rubbish in your head? Stop talking nonsense and serve my food."

"You will be hearing from my lawyer soon, Draven. This is not a joke," I said, my voice shaking

"I am tired of being your slave. I am tired of being disrespected. I am freeing myself from this marriage."

Daven's laughter vanished, replaced by a dark, ugly sneer. He took a step toward me, towering over me with absolute arrogance.

"Freeing yourself? With what money, Ariel? Where exactly are you going to get the cash to pay back the two-million-dollar dowry I paid your family?" He leaned in, his breath hot against my face. "When your poverty-stricken parents were begging and requesting a million different things for that dowry, I paid it without a word. So don't act shocked now. You want out? Pay me back every single dime."

Before I could even process his words, the kitchen door swung open. My mother-in-law stormed into the dining room, her face twisted in pure rage, having overheard everything.

"A divorce?!" she screeched, her voice lashing out like a whip. "You stupid, ungrateful girl! I knew the moment you stepped into this house that you were nothing but a jinx. Where exactly will you go? Who would ever marry you now? You are nothing but worthless! My son married you out of pity, even though he knew you had absolutely nothing to offer this family except your worthless body!"

She turned to Draven, her finger shaking as she pointed it at me. "Draven, she left this house since morning and only just crawled back this evening! God knows what she was doing. I told you not to marry this woman back then, but you wouldn't listen to me! If you had married the daughter of the King family, you would have been set forever in the industry by now!"

Draven’s eyes narrowed into slits as he stared down at me, feeding off his mother’s venom. "You hear that, Ariel? You are jobless. You don't have a career, you don't have a degree, and you have nothing. You are absolutely *nothing* without me. You want to leave? Give me my two million dollars, or you stay right here on your knees and serve my food."

That night, the heavy silence of the house was broken only by the soft buzz of Ariel’s phone. It was a message from Martha, containing a link to a job vacancy at Flinch Tech. “Ariel, this is the breakthrough you need,” the text read. “It’s a high-level executive assistant role. Prepare your CV tonight. Don't waste a single second.”

Ariel didn't waste a second. Waiting until the house was completely dead silent, she quietly opened her laptop in the dark. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she carefully updated her credentials. Once it was ready, she crept like a ghost down the hallway and into Draven’s private study room. She held her breath, flinching at every tiny noise, as the printer whirred to life and secretly spat out the pages. Clutching the warm paper to her chest, she hurried back to her room, hiding it safely away.

The following morning, she woke up exceptionally early. She forced herself to prepare a full breakfast for the household, ensuring there would be no excuses for her mother-in-law to screech at her, before slipping out of the house unnoticed and setting out to Flinch Tech for the job interview.

Getting there, however, Ariel felt her confidence instantly vanish. The grand lobby was packed with other applicants, all of whom were master's degree holders, impeccably dressed in high-end corporate attire, and radiating pure assurance. Ariel looked down at her own clothes, suddenly feeling completely out of place.

Fear gripped Ariel's chest. The sight of these highly qualified women breaking down made her feel entirely out of her depth. She stood up, her legs shaking, and turned on her heel, decided to leave and abandon the opportunity entirely. But just as she reached the silver bank of elevators, Vincent’s chief assistant, Andrew, stepped out and called her name loudly.

"Ariel Lin? Mr. Lauren will see you now."

Her breath hitched. There was no turning back now.

Andrew led her down a long, sleek hallway and pushed open the heavy double doors to the sprawling penthouse office. Ariel took a step inside, but the sight waiting for her made her freeze in absolute shock.

Her breath hitched. There was no turning back.

She walked into the sprawling penthouse office, but the sight waiting for her made her freeze in absolute shock. A gorgeous woman was on her knees, actively sucking Vincent's dick while moaning loudly. Vincent was leaning back, completely unbothered. Ariel just stood there, completely surprised, her face burning as she didn't know whether to look away or run.

Seeing Ariel enter, Vincent didn't even blink. He coldly looked down at the woman at his crotch and asked his prostitute to excuse them. The woman quickly gathered her designer purse, wiped her mouth, and scurried out past Ariel, leaving a heavy, tense, and highly charged silence in the room.

Vincent calmly stood up, buttoned his trousers, and adjusted his suit. He gestured to the chair across from him and asked Ariel to sit.

He picked up her CV, starting to ask standard corporate questions, but his dark, piercing eyes didn't stay on the paper for long. What completely cut his attention was how noticeably swollen her breasts were under her blouse.

Vincent leaned forward across the desk, his dark gaze locking onto her chest with a predatory focus. "Are you breastfeeding?" he asked bluntly, completely discarding the corporate script.

At first, Ariel felt incredibly uncomfortable and violated by such an intimate, inappropriate question in a job interview. But knowing how desperately she needed a way out of her life, she swallowed her shame, looked him in the eye, and responded, "Yes."

Vincent just smiled a slow, knowing expression that sent a shiver down her spine. He leaned back in his chair. "If you work for me, Mrs. Lin, would you always be available when I call?" Vincent asked, his voice dripping with an implicit, dark demand. "According to your file, you are a married woman. Married women usually have structural distractions at home."

Ariel didn't flinch. "My husband and I are getting a divorce," she said, her voice tightening with a mixture of pain and resolve. "And also... I just lost my child."

Hearing this, Vincent froze. The smile faded from his lips, replaced by a dark, intense heat that flared deep in his midnight eyes. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The raw vulnerability rolling off her, combined with the full, heavy swell of her lactating breasts and the sheer desperation in her gaze, hit him like a physical wave. Beneath the mahogany desk, his cock was hardening rapidly, turning thick and rigid just by the mere look of her. Her tragedy made her the perfect, unattached vessel for exactly what his failing health required.

Suppressing the sudden, violent surge of lust that threatened to break his professional composure, Vincent abruptly closed her file, cutting the interview short.

He looked up at her, his voice tight, rough, and strained. "My assistant will get back to you if you are in."