The Marriage That Ended My Ex-Husband

Ninety-nine.

That was how many times my husband, Lorenzo, had been unfaithful to me. I survived every affair, every lie, every humiliation. But the hundredth betrayal finally shattered the last piece of me that was still holding on.

Because this time, the woman in his bed was Bianca—my closest friend.

When Lorenzo stepped into our bedroom and found the stack of photographs scattered across the mattress, he didn't flinch. There wasn't even a hint of guilt on his face. Instead, he released an irritated sigh, treating my devastation like a minor inconvenience that had interrupted his day.

"I want a divorce," I said, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. Anger burned beneath every word. "Get out of my house, and get out of my company. I created Marino Tech while you were busy flunking economics classes. Everything you have came from me, and I'm taking it back."

His expression barely changed as he walked toward me.

"That's not going to happen," he replied calmly. "You're my wife, Alessandra. I'm not about to let you destroy everything I've built. You belong with me."

Before I could move away, he crossed the room in seconds. His fingers clamped painfully around my arm, digging into my skin before he shoved me backward onto the bed hard enough to make the mattress bounce beneath me.

I screamed.

He caught both of my wrists and forced them above my head, using his weight to pin me down until breathing became difficult.

I fought him with everything I had.

It wasn't enough.

He violated me anyway.

When I went to the police afterward, desperate for someone to help me, they didn't treat me like a victim.

They laughed.

"Mrs. Marino," one officer said dismissively, barely glancing up from his paperwork, "go home and get some sleep."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Did you even hear what I said?" I demanded. "I'm here to report that my husband tried to rape me."

The officer leaned back in his chair with a patronizing smile.

"You're married," he replied as though he were explaining something painfully obvious. "A husband can't rape his own wife. That's what marriage is, sweetheart. Sounds like the two of you had a domestic disagreement. We don't interfere with marital bedroom issues."

"It wasn't an argument!" I shouted, slamming my palm onto his desk. "He attacked me! He assaulted me!"

Barely twenty minutes had passed before Lorenzo walked into the station.

He wore the perfect expression of a concerned husband.

"I apologize for all of this," he told the officers, lifting his hands helplessly. "She's been overwhelmed lately. The stress has really gotten to her. She's imagining things. She's convinced everyone is plotting against her."

"I'm not imagining anything!" I cried as two officers seized my arms. "He's lying! Look at the bruises on my body!"

Lorenzo lowered his eyes sadly.

"She did those to herself," he murmured. "She's been hurting herself for attention."

The sergeant didn't hesitate.

"Take her over to St. Jude's," he ordered. "Place her under a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. It's for her own protection."

I screamed until my throat was raw.

No one cared.

They dragged me out of that police station like I was the criminal.

Five endless days passed inside a sterile white room before Lorenzo finally arrived to authorize my release.

He drove me back to the mansion I had purchased with my own money.

He gently helped me into bed.

He tucked the blankets around me.

He smiled and told me I needed to rest.

Then I accidentally heard the conversation that changed everything.

"That was way too close," Bianca said with a nervous laugh. "If she'd actually managed to file for divorce before the gala, our entire plan would've fallen apart."

"She isn't going to file anything," Lorenzo answered confidently. "The power-of-attorney paperwork is already prepared. All we have to do now is push her over the edge one last time."

Bianca lowered her voice.

"You mean the birthday setup?"

"Exactly." I could almost hear him smiling. "Friday's her thirtieth birthday. We'll throw the gala like nothing's wrong. I've already hired someone to approach her and pretend they've been sleeping together. The drugs are already hidden inside her purse. Once she loses control—and she will—everyone will witness her breakdown firsthand. That'll give the board all the justification they need to remove her as CEO because she's mentally unstable."

My lungs forgot how to breathe.

"And after that?" Bianca asked. "What happens to the company?"

"It's mine."

Lorenzo sounded almost bored.

"Sure, she's the one who built it. She wrote every line of code back in college while I stood around bringing her coffee. But she signed that prenuptial agreement without reading every clause. Once she's declared legally incompetent, every asset she owns falls under her spouse's control. That means the company belongs to me. The money belongs to me. And once she's institutionalized permanently, she'll never be able to fight back."

Bianca laughed softly.

"You're incredible, baby."

"I never loved her," Lorenzo said without the slightest hesitation. His voice dripped with contempt. "She was useful, that's all. A brilliant little nerd who helped me climb the ladder. Nothing more. Honestly, I've been tired of pretending for years."

I remained frozen on the staircase, unable to move.

The wooden steps felt like ice beneath me.

Every sleepless night spent coding...

Every opportunity I sacrificed...

Every dream I shared with him...

Every ounce of love I had given over the past ten years...

None of it had ever been real.

It had all been part of his plan from the very beginning.

He intended to steal the company I built from nothing, take every dollar I had earned, and bury me inside a psychiatric institution for the rest of my life.

Strangely, I couldn't cry anymore.

There were no tears left.

Only something colder.

Something far more dangerous.

Quietly, I returned to our bedroom without making a sound.

Once the door was shut, I knelt beside my nightstand and carefully lifted the loose floorboard hidden underneath it.

Years ago, I had created the compartment to hide emergency cash along with a disposable phone I used whenever I needed two-factor authentication for secure company servers.

Lorenzo had never discovered it.

I picked up the phone.

My hands weren't shaking anymore.

With steady fingers, I dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years.

The line connected after the second ring.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was sharp, authoritative, and impossible to mistake.

"Auntie," I whispered.

Silence lingered between us.

My aunt was the head of the Blackwell family, a woman whose approval carried enormous weight. She had cut me out of the family the day I chose to marry Lorenzo, calling him a snake before anyone else could see what he truly was.

Finally, she spoke.

"Alessandra."

Her voice revealed nothing.

"What prompted this call? Have you finally grown tired of playing happy wife to that penniless fraud?"

I closed my eyes.

"You were right," I admitted quietly. "About all of it. He's trying to ruin me, Auntie. He wants to steal my company, have me declared mentally incompetent, and lock me away."

There was another brief silence.

Then she asked only one question.

"What exactly do you need from me?"

I took a slow breath.

"I'll do it," I said. "I'll marry whoever you've chosen for me. I'll sign every contract you put in front of me. I don't care anymore."

My voice hardened.

"But in return, I want the best lawyer money can buy."

I tightened my grip on the phone.

"And I want your help making sure my husband loses absolutely everything."