I had never raised my voice like this in our two years of marriage. Asher was visibly a bit stunned.

We had fought before, but it was always me who apologized first, placating him while he played the part of a calm, rational man. In truth, he twisted every argument to make me feel like I was the one at fault.

I used to believe him, thinking I must have been wrong. But now I saw the truth—he never loved me. His so-called "love" was just a thinly veiled need for control.

Even if he once felt like a beacon of light, pulling me from the depths of despair, that didn’t erase the harm he had inflicted on me now.

I took a deep breath and stared him in the eyes.

"If we get divorced, you’ll finally be free to flaunt your relationship with Nora without restraint."

His brows furrowed, his patience wearing thin.

"Lily Rose," he sneered, "I have seen you grovel before. Why are you yelling now?"

I looked at him in shock, unable to believe that these words came from Asher.

When he saw me freeze, he didn’t stop there. He leaned closer, his voice laced with mockery.

"Remember when your parents were sent to prison? I saw you on your knees, begging for help. Even the media caught it on camera..."

"Stop it!" I screamed, shoving him away with all the strength I had left. Tears streamed down my face as I yelled hoarsely, "Get out! Just get out!"

Asher looked startled momentarily, unsure how to react to my outburst. But then anger flared in his eyes. He kicked at the pearls scattered on the floor and muttered through gritted teeth, "Emily Wilson, let’s see how long you can keep up this stubborn act."

And then, he slammed the door behind him, leaving me rooted to the spot.

Emily Wilson—that was my real name. He hadn’t called me that in years. It was not just a name; it was a warning. He was threatening to expose my past if I didn’t comply with him.

I thought of the promises he used to make.

‘Don’t worry, Emily,’ he had once said while holding me close. ‘I will protect you. I would not let anyone hurt you.’

Now, all he did was reopen old wounds, salting them for good measure.

***

That evening, Nora posted a photo on her social media—a romantic candlelit dinner.

[It feels so nice to have someone peel shrimp for me,] she wrote.

The finger that peeled the shrimp in the photo was still wearing our wedding ring.

Asher liked the post and left a comment: [If you like it, I will peel them for you forever.]