Then his cold hand slid up my thigh—right in front of everyone.

I snapped.

Fought like hell and sank my teeth into his arm.

"You some kinda animal?" Mark hissed.

I stared him down. "Don't touch me. You make my skin crawl."

"Oh, I make your skin crawl?" His laugh turned sharp. Mean.

He yanked the papers from my hand and signed with this smug little flourish.

Then barked at his assistant, "Cut off Mrs. Jensen's medical payments. Let Jenna find out what skin crawl REALLY feels like."

He shot me a smug glance. "Your mom's got one week left. Use it to decide if you're crawling back to beg."

He looked so damn sure of himself—like I'd never risk my mom's life.

But Mark...

Back when the nurses kept calling with emergencies, I begged you to visit her. Over and over.

You said, "That old hag's dying? What's your new lie this time? If you want me back, stop cursing your mom."

She died that night. The only person who ever really loved me—gone.

So no. You wouldn't get to threaten me anymore.

I stared at that arrogant face and said, "Whatever. See you in court next month."

Then I grabbed my small bag—packed days ago—and walked out.

I'd already rented a cheap apartment earlier that week. Didn't have much to move, so settling in was fast.

Lying on the bed, finally alone, my phone lit up—Dad.

I hesitated. Then picked up.

His voice exploded through the speaker. "Jenna Jensen, you got a death wish?! How dare you ask Mark for a divorce—get your ass back here!"

I didn't wanna go back.

While Mom was in a hospital bed, Dad was cozying up with Fiona, our neighbor. That house? It was theirs now.

I had no home.

But Mom's urn was still there. And if I was leaving, I wasn't leaving without her.

The second I stepped in—before I even got my coat off—Dad slapped me hard.

He'd kept Mom's death secret just to keep milking money from Mark. Now that I'd filed for divorce, the cash train was done.

He was drunk, barely standing, but the hit landed hard.

I crashed to the floor.

Fiona rushed over, but he snapped, "Don't help her! Her mom dies and she cuts off my money? How am I supposed to gamble now? She's trying to kill me! Ungrateful brat!"

Fiona tried to patch it up. "Jenna, don't be so quick. Mark's a CEO. Most girls would KILL for that. I know it sucks, but the money's real. Being his wife is real."

I pushed off the floor. "I've made my choice. Stop trying to change my mind."

"I'm just here to grab my stuff. After that, I'm out. And when you two tie the knot? Don't bother telling me."

I turned and headed to my old room.

Dad spat behind me, "Ungrateful brat. What the hell do you think you're taking? Or did you crawl back for your mom?"

My stomach dropped.

The urn I kept by my bed—gone.

I whipped around. He was holding it.

My blood iced. I lunged. "Give it back. That's Mom's. You don't get to touch—"

Crash.

Ashes burst across the floor like smoke.

Dad roared, "I don't get to touch it? You dare talk to me like that?!"

Something inside me cracked.

I shoved him hard. "She was your wife—YOUR wife for decades! Do you even have a soul?!"

That set him off.

He snatched a beer bottle and slammed it into my forehead.

Another sharp crack.

Blood poured down my face, soaking my shirt.

Fiona screamed, "Patrick, stop! You're gonna kill her!"

I blinked through the blur, looked up at him.

He just stared—zero shame. Like he was enjoying it.

Then he pulled out his phone, snapped pics of my bleeding face, and called someone.

His voice flipped fake sweet. "Mark, Jenna acting out again. Don't worry, I handled it. Taught her a lesson—check the pics.

"Come on, ten years married, college sweethearts. Don't throw that away. And back then, it was me—I made her dump you.

"But when you crashed your car, it was Jenna who—"

Mark cut in, ice-cold. "Me making it outta that crash had nothing to do with her. Did she even do a damn thing?"

Dad stalled. "Right, right... but she did—"

Mark sighed. "You want money?"

Dad's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes, the hospital bills—"

A woman's voice broke in. "Mark, Jenna's not perfect, but don't drag her mom into this."

"You're always so kind," Mark said.

Then the frost hit. "Mr. Jensen, if you want my money, let Jenna crawl back and beg."

Click.

Dad cursed. "I beat you bloody and he still doesn't give a damn. Saving him back then was a waste!

"I don't care what it takes—get money. I'm drowning in debt. I need cash to bounce back. And if you don't bring any, I'll kill you!"

I felt nothing.

Just dropped to my knees, scooped up the ashes, and tucked them gently back into the broken urn.

Then I picked it up, held it tight, and walked out. Silent.

Before Mom got sick, I really thought life was good.

Mark and I had this chill college thing going. He seemed normal, lowkey. We dated like any regular couple and even talked about the future.

Then Mom caught Dad cheating, lost it so bad she had a brain hemorrhage and ended up in a coma. Keeping her alive cost a fortune.

The hospital needed a signature. Dad, being her husband, was first up.

He flat-out refused. Gave me two options—dump Mark and marry rich, or let Mom die.

I gave in.

Right after Mark baked me a birthday cake—like, actually baked it—I smashed it and tore into him with the cruelest stuff I could think of. Made sure he'd never look back.

We broke up. I dove headfirst into blind dates.

Every rich guy was either dripping sweat or old enough to be my uncle.

Mark saw me at one of those awkward dinners. He smirked, yanked me up, and dragged me to this shiny car. "Isn't it money you want, Jenna? I've got loads."

Then he floored it. We crashed.

I carried him on my back for miles, stumbling down some sketchy road, then blacked out at the hospital entrance.

When I woke up, Dad had already sniffed out how rich Mark's family was.

Next thing I knew, he drugged us, called the press, and turned it into a headline scandal. Mark had no way out.

We got married.

Looking back, I get why he hated me. I dumped him for money, then ended up chained to him anyway.

I stopped blaming him. Just let it go.

***

One day, someone from Mark's crew sent me a photo.

Some girl curled into him, smiling all soft, her eyes crinkling like mine used to.

But this one? He treated her different. No random arm candy this time. He took selfies with her, shared meals, actually looked happy.

It felt like college us—real, easy.

I just texted back: [Congrats.]

If leaving meant he found peace, then good. Divorce was a win-win.

I applied to study abroad. Picked up shifts at Mandy's bar while saving up.

That's when I ran into her.

One of Mark's friends shoved her toward me. "This is Mark's wife. Don't y'all kinda look alike?"

She rolled her eyes but walked over anyway.

"Renee Gwyn. You're Jenna, right?" she said, flashing that fake-sweet grin.

"So weird... why would Mark ever go for someone like you? People say we look alike, but I don't see it. I'm not old or busted. You should just give it up and divorce him."

I shrugged. "Cool. Tell him to file the papers and marry you already."