Ricky let go right away, straightened his clothes, and turned to comfort Miley.

"Miley, are you alright? Did I scare you?"

Miley held his hand with both of hers, swinging it gently as she pouted. But her eyes darted to me, full of fake innocence.

"Ricky, please don't fight. Christina isn't wrong. I drank too much and said something stupid. It's my fault she's upset. She doesn't like me, and that's fair."

She looked at me, lowering her head like she was genuinely admitting her mistake.

"I'm sorry, Christina. Please don't be mad at Ricky because of me."

But her eyes said something else entirely—cold and defiant. Even a fool could see she wasn't sincere.

Ricky, of course, didn't notice.

"Miley, this has nothing to do with you. She's just being dramatic. Go lie down if you're dizzy."

And with that, he led her into our bedroom—our bed—to rest.

I followed them in, grabbed my suitcase, and started packing.

"Christina, what's this now?!" Ricky stormed in, trying to stop me.

"I told you, I want a divorce. You and Miley can have each other. Besides, she's already making herself at home in our bed!"

Before Ricky could yell at me, we heard Miley crying from the bedroom.

"I didn't mean to! I really didn't!"

"Christina, you misunderstood. Ricky only let me rest in the master bedroom because I felt dizzy, and the guest room was messy."

"I didn't mean to upset you—it's all my fault. I'll leave now so I don't bother you anymore."

She turned and walked out dramatically. Ricky ran after her. He stood at the door for ages, coaxing her like she was a child.

"Be good, Miley. Christina's acting crazy right now. Go home first. I'll come see you tomorrow, okay?"

After seeing her in the elevator, he came back to find me ready to leave with my suitcase.

"Christina, enough!" He grabbed the suitcase from me, shouting, "Miley is just a kid! Why are you picking a fight with her?"

A kid? That bitch's 24!

I reached for the suitcase again. "I said I want a divorce! Give me my suitcase!"

But Ricky wouldn't let go. In his anger, he slammed it to the floor. The zipper burst, and my clothes spilled out everywhere.

He stared at the mess for a moment, then laughed coldly.

"Fine. You want to leave? Then leave behind everything I bought for you—including the clothes you're wearing!"

I knelt and picked out the designer clothes he'd bought me back when he cared about how I looked as his wife.

"You can't dress cheap," he used to say. "You represent me."

I started unbuttoning the shirt I was wearing to change into my old cotton T-shirt.

But Ricky stopped me. He hooked his finger around my bra strap and snapped it.

"What about this? Having second thoughts?"

I used to be pretty. Not stunning, but not bad-looking either.

I had admirers back in school. Ricky was one of them—a spoiled rich boy who only wanted to chase me for fun.

Then one night, he got mugged after showing off at a party. I was working part-time at a restaurant nearby. When I stepped out to take out the trash, I saw it happening.

Without thinking, I called the cops and threw everything I could at the mugger.

I struggled to escape, and the mugger's knife slashed across my face.

Afterward, Ricky cried as he held me, promising he'd be grateful forever. He swore he'd take care of me and treat me well.

For a while, he did. He changed and pursued me seriously.

After college, I finally gave in and agreed to be with him.

At first, things were great—he was sweet and caring said he'd always protect me.

But not even two years into the marriage, everything changed. He started looking down on me—especially my face.

He'd cover it with a pillow or some clothes, and he kept telling me to work out, to look better for him.

And he loved buying me lingerie.

"What's wrong? Can't bear to take it off?"

Ricky smirked, snapping the strap of my bra.

He expected me to get flustered or angry, but I didn't give him the satisfaction. I took off the bra, threw on a T-shirt and coat, and dragged my suitcase out.

"Tomorrow at nine. Meet me at the Marriage Bureau. Don't worry—I'll leave with nothing. I don't want a single penny from you, Ricky."

I slammed the door and left, hearing his rage explode inside.

I found a cheap hotel to crash for the night. By nine the next morning, I was waiting outside the office without having breakfast.

I waited and waited—until noon when the staff went on break—and Ricky never showed up.

That left me no choice but to call him.

"Where the hell are you? Didn't we agree to meet at nine to get divorced?"

That jerk sounded more annoyed than I was.

"Can you stop with the drama, Christina? Miley's been feeling guilty about our fight last night—so guilty she got a fever and ended up in the hospital. Even while burning up, she's telling me not to be mad at you! Can't you have a little decency?"

"If you've got any sense left, come see her."

Then he hung up and sent me his location.

I wasn't going there for Miley. I was going to drag him to sign the damn divorce papers.

The maid opened the door.

Ricky had set Miley up in a luxury downtown apartment, complete with a maid to wait on her. And there he was, personally taking care of her.

Meanwhile, I'd been left at home to rot like a washed-up housewife. Even on my birthday, he brought his friends over and humiliated me on my day.

Inside the apartment, I saw Miley lying on the bed, pale and delicate while Ricky spoon-fed her soup.

"Drink a little more. You'll feel better."

"That crazy, ugly Christina is getting worse. Don't take her seriously—it's not your fault."

I stood by the door, arms crossed, and gave him a slow clap.

"If I'm so crazy and ugly, why not divorce me already? Wouldn't that make Miley happy? Isn't that what you want?"

Ricky turned to snap at me, but Miley stopped him with her usual act. She leaned against his shoulder, all soft and fragile, and threw me this fake-innocent look.

"Christina, you're misunderstanding me and Ricky. He's just helping me because I'm all alone. Don't get the wrong idea—if anyone's to blame, it's me."

Her little performance only boosted Ricky's ego.

"Christina, if you were half as understanding as Miley, I'd be content. But no, here you are, still throwing a fit. My patience is running out!"

I laughed bitterly. "Your patience? What about mine?"

Then I grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it. Next was a figurine. Then a painting. One by one, I destroyed everything in that room.

Miley screamed in shock while Ricky grabbed my arm and dragged me out like he was scared I'd hurt that bitch.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he yelled.

"Not yet!" I snapped, jerking my arm free.

"Let me make this clear, Ricky—as long as we're still married, everything in Miley's apartment that you bought is considered our shared property. If I feel like breaking it, I will!"

"If you won't divorce me, I'll make sure that bitch is going to live in hell every single day!"

"Enough!"

Ricky raised his hand to hit me again. I dodged, but he shoved me hard.

I fell, my stomach slamming against the table's edge. Pain shot through me, sharp and dull at the same time.

I cried out, and for a moment, he froze.

It looked like he was about to reach for me, but then the maid's voice rang out from the other room.

"Sir! Miss Miley fainted!"

Ricky forgot about about me this time. He ran straight into the bedroom, scooped up Miley, and rushed out the door without glancing at me like he was so scared it'd be too late to save that bitch.

I stayed on the floor, cold sweat covering me. And then, I felt something warm trickle down my legs. It felt like something was slipping away from my body.

The maid came back out, saw me, and froze. She was so scared that she instantly called 911.

At the hospital, Ricky had just settled Miley in her room. He walked to the front desk to pay her bill, but before he could, he noticed a stretcher being rushed out of the emergency room.

The bedsheet was soaked in blood, a dark, horrifying stain.

"Patient fainted. Heavy bleeding. Possible miscarriage!" a nurse called out.

Ricky's head snapped up, and his eyes locked on the person on the stretcher. It was me. His face went pale as he grabbed a nurse by the arm.

"What miscarriage?" he demanded.