The brush glided smoothly across the canvas. I mixed a deep, bruised shade of purple, completely lost in the quiet of my room.

I was just counting the days. Vaughn was moving fast, pulling strings in the shadows to finalize everything for our sudden wedding and my complete extraction from the country.

The heavy oak door suddenly banged open.

Brandon stormed in, his tie loosened, a crumpled piece of paper crushed in his fist.

“Why the hell did you resign from your post?” he demanded, his voice echoing off the walls. “You’re supposed to be my head secretary! I just learned you haven’t been working for days!”

I didn't even flinch. I carefully dipped my brush into the water glass. “You locked me in this house, Brandon. Have you forgotten?”

“Stop making excuses!” he snapped, crossing the room in three long strides. “The clients are a massive mess because you didn’t do what you had to do!”

Before I could answer, he lashed out. His hand caught the edge of my easel, violently shoving it. The wet canvas crashed onto the hardwood floor.

He stepped right on it, his expensive leather shoe smearing hours of my work into an ugly, ruined streak of paint.

I stared at the ruined canvas, my chest tight.

“I told you,” Brandon growled, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. “You are mine. So go to the office right now and arrange everything. Including the charity ball on the 17th of next week.”

The 17th. The night before my scheduled flight. The night before I was supposed to marry Vaughn.

I looked up at his furious, entitled face. Fighting him would only draw attention to my escape.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Fine.”

An hour later, I walked onto the executive floor of Sterling Corporation. The whispers started the second the elevator doors opened.

“She’s still here? I thought she was finally gone.”

“She just won't let him go. It’s pathetic.”

“She always played favorites anyway, sleeping her way to the top.”

I ignored the venomous stares and walked straight to my desk. I spent the next few hours ruthlessly fixing the scheduling disasters and smoothing over angry clients.

Around noon, the glass doors swung open. Paula strolled into the department, carrying a tray of expensive coffees.

“Oh, Victoria!” Paula called out loudly, making sure the entire floor was watching. She walked over to my desk, a sickly sweet smile on her face. “You’re still working? Brandon is just too kind, letting his ex-wife keep a job out of pity. Just make sure you don't mess up the charity ball, okay? It's very important to us.”

She left a coffee on my desk with a condescending pat on my shoulder. The entire office snickered. I just picked up the cup and dropped it straight into the trash can.

A few days later, the tension in the company reached its peak.

It was the quarterly investor meeting. The grand boardroom was packed with the most powerful shareholders in the city.

Brandon sat at the head of the long mahogany table, radiating power.

Paula, despite having no actual position in the company, was perched in a chair right behind him, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder.

I stood at the front of the room, holding the presentation remote.

“If you direct your attention to the screen,” I said clearly, “you will see the projected revenue for the upcoming quarter.”

I clicked the remote.

The massive screen flickered. But it wasn't my financial slides.

It was a security video from Brandon’s private office. The timestamp in the corner was from months ago—the night of our fourth divorce attempt.

My own voice, thick with tears and desperation, echoed loudly through the silent boardroom.

“Please, Brandon. Just look at me. Don't do this.”

On the massive screen, my past self was sobbing, clinging to his suit jacket. I watched in absolute horror as the video showed me desperately trying to kiss him, begging him to love me back, while Brandon stood there, cold and unmoving, looking at me like I was garbage.

The boardroom erupted into shocked gasps and frantic whispers.

Paula jumped up from her chair, her hands flying to her mouth in exaggerated horror.

“Oh, god!” she cried out, her voice piercing the room, trembling with fake devastation. Tears instantly spilled down her perfectly made-up cheeks. “I can't believe you’d do this to me, Victoria! You’re seducing your own CEO? Have you no shame? You knew we were together!”

The remote slipped from my numb fingers, clattering against the floor.

“Are you stupid?” he roared, the sound bouncing off the mahogany walls. “You couldn't even check the damn flash drive before you plugged it in? You just cost me three of my biggest investors!”

“I didn't put that video there, Brandon, and you know it,” I said, my voice dead. “But I don't care anymore. Keep the company. Keep Paula. I just want to leave.”

“Leave?” Brandon sneered, his grip tightening. “You think you can just walk away after what you’ve done? After you ruined my quarterly meeting? No. You are staying right here until I fix this. You aren't going anywhere until we get married again and fix this PR nightmare.”

“I’m not marrying you—”

My words were cut off by the sharp ringing of Brandon’s phone.

He snatched it from his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. “What?” he snapped.

He listened for a second, and all the color drained from his face.

“What do you mean she had an accident?” Brandon demanded, his voice dropping into a panic. “Where is she?”

He hung up the phone and glared at me with pure hatred. “In her hysterics over what you did, Paula tripped and crashed through the glass display in the lobby. Her arm is shredded. The paramedics are saying she might need a skin graft.”

He didn't hesitate. He yanked me toward the door. “And you’re going to give it to her.”

I dug my heels into the carpet, fighting against his iron grip. “No! Are you insane? I will not do that!”

“You will do it!” Brandon shouted, his eyes wild with desperation for his first love. “You’ll do it for the sake of Paula, because you’re the one who ruined our family’s image today! You caused her to panic! If you don't do this, Victoria, I swear to God, you will never see the light again!”

I froze. My breath hitched in my throat.

I stopped fighting. I let him drag me into the private elevator, into his car, and straight to the VIP wing of his family’s private hospital.

When I woke up hours later, the side of my thigh burned with a stinging, agonizing pain. The hospital room was dark and completely empty.

I laid there staring at the ceiling. Brandon didn't come to check on me. Not that night, and not for the next three days as I recovered in absolute isolation. I was nothing but spare parts to him.

On the fourth night—the eve of our supposed wedding—the door finally opened.

“I’m leaving,” he announced coldly, checking his luxury watch. “Paula is traumatized by everything you’ve put her through. She decided to go back to London, and I have to go to the airport to stop her.”

I sat up slowly, the pain in my leg a dull throb. “Tomorrow is the day you told me we were filing our marriage papers.”

“I know,” Brandon snapped. “I can't come. I’m sending her home, so you need to go to the civil registry and file the paperwork yourself. Consider marrying me a punishment for making Paula leave again. Make sure you file it. Got it?”

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me in the dark once again.

I didn't reply. I just listened to his fading footsteps, a slow, quiet smile spreading across my face.

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly over the city.

I wore a simple, elegant white dress. I limped slightly as I walked up the marble steps of the civil registry, but I had never felt lighter in my entire life.

I pushed open the heavy double doors. Standing at the end of the aisle, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored black suit, was Vaughn.

He smiled when he saw me, stepping forward to gently take my hand. “Ready to disappear, Victoria?”

“More than ready,” I whispered.

We stood before the magistrate. We signed the papers. And with clear, unwavering voices, we exchanged our I dos.

Miles away, at the international airport terminal, Brandon was standing at the boarding gate, holding Paula’s luggage.

His phone buzzed in his pocket with a priority notification from the city's legal registry—an automated alert he had set up to ensure I filed our marriage certificate.

He pulled out his phone, a smug, satisfied smirk on his face, fully expecting to see his own name asserting his permanent ownership over me again.

Instead, he stared at the official digital document glowing on his screen.

CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE

Husband: Vaughn Hugh.

Wife: Victoria Hugh.