I Divorced the Devil with a Pet Snake

Everyone in Chicago said Damien Sinclair was a cold-blooded monster.

He kept a house full of venomous snakes—yet none were colder than he was.

I married him only because our engagement had existed before the Carter family went bankrupt.

Over the years, he toyed with countless women. And I, his so-called wife, was left to deal with them.

When I knelt to write checks to make them leave, those women would lift my chin with the tips of their high heels and sneer,

“Mr. Sinclair said you should kneel to send us off.”

Every time, Damien would sit on the second floor, swirling a glass of red wine, watching with cold indifference.

Then Amber came along—a factory girl from the countryside.

One day, the hospital called. They’d finally found a kidney match for my sister.

I called Damien in a panic. But it wasn’t him who answered.

It was Amber’s delicate voice.

“Miss Secretary? Mr. Sinclair said my foot hurts. Could you bring me a Band-Aid?”

That night, it was raining hard. I stood drenched outside the presidential suite, Band-Aid in hand.

From inside came Damien’s languid voice.

“Come in. Bring the Band-Aid.”

A pause.

“And the three boxes of condoms on the table.”

I stood frozen, listening to the sounds of their intimacy.

Then my phone rang.

It was the hospital. The doctor’s voice was hesitant.

“Madam Elena... your sister said something disrespectful to Miss Amber, and Mr. Sinclair ordered the medical team removed…”

“She... she pulled out her own dialysis tube...”

The screen lit up with my sister’s final message.

Sister, stop kneeling for me.

——

I rushed to the hospital. The nurse looked at me apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Madam Elena. After your sister offended Miss Amber, the team was removed... we didn’t get to her in time.”

I stood there, numb, my blood running cold.

Another message arrived. It was from Damien.

"Elena, this is just a small warning. If you want to save what’s left of your family, behave—and don’t upset Amber again."

Tears slipped silently down my face as I stared at the screen.

When my family collapsed, everyone said I married him for money.

No one knew I had loved Damien in silence for ten years.

When I stood at the gates of the Sinclair family holding our marriage certificate, I truly believed I could thaw the ice in his heart.

I watched countless women come and go. I never cared. Because I thought it was all just a game.

But Amber was different. She was never a game.

After my sister’s cremation, I left the funeral home in a daze, her ashes in a small porcelain jar clutched to my chest.

I returned home, took out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago, and went straight to Damien’s company.

When I opened the office door, I saw him holding Amber in his arms, kissing her as if no one else in the world existed.

His face—always cold, always distant—was now tender, full of warmth I had never seen.

In five years of marriage, he had never once embraced me.

Sex was mechanical, wordless. When he was done, he turned away. No eye contact. No warmth.

But now he cradled Amber like something sacred. She playfully hit his chest, and he smiled, brushing her hair from her face.

Then he finally acknowledged me.

“She’s on her period,” he said without even looking up.

“Go buy her some sanitary pads.”

I glanced down. Draped around Amber’s waist was Damien’s six-figure designer suit jacket.

Suddenly, I remembered last month—how I had collapsed with a fever during my own period.

I had weakly tugged on his sleeve, asking for help.

He had shaken me off.

“You’re uncomfortable? Go see a doctor.”