Chapter 1

Finding urine stains on the toilet seat for the millionth time was the final straw. I asked for a divorce.

Tyler slammed his fork onto the table, his face twisted in annoyance. "Why do you have to be so sensitive? If it’s dirty, just wipe it off!"

"You know it needs to be wiped," I said, glaring at him. "So why can't you just lift the damn seat before you pee?"

He paused, offering no answer.

I pulled out the crumpled medical reports from my pocket. "Because of you, I have my third urinary tract infection in—"

"Enough!" Tyler cut me off, his voice booming. "Other women are fine! Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

Other women? I’m too sensitive?

Looking at his self-righteous face, a sudden laugh escaped my lips.

"Fine." I stood up and slapped him across the face. "Go live with your other women, then."

I was done holding back.

Tyler was completely stunned by the slap, his cheek flushing a bright, angry red.

The fork slipped from his hand, clattering against the table before bouncing onto the hardwood floor.

He glared at me, his eyes practically bulging out of his skull.

"Chloe! Did you just hit me?!"

I rubbed my stinging palm, looking down at him coldly.

"What if I did?"

Five years.

For five whole years of marriage, I had barely raised my voice. I bent over backward to please his family, walking on eggshells just to avoid offending anyone.

And what did I get in return?

A third UTI. The doctor warned that if this continued, my kidneys could suffer permanent damage.

And the culprit was the man standing right in front of me—splattering the seat every single time he used the bathroom. I told him hundreds of times to lift the seat. He would agree, then 'forget' the next second.

No, he didn't forget.

He just didn't give a damn.

"Chloe, have I spoiled you too much?"

Tyler kicked his chair back violently, sending it crashing onto the floor with a deafening bang.

"You bring home pennies from that pathetic job, living under my roof and off my money, and now you have the nerve to raise your hand against me?!"

I let out a cold scoff.

Living under his roof? Off his money?

My parents paid the entire down payment for this apartment. The monthly mortgage was deducted directly from my paycheck.

Where did Tyler’s money go? Every cent went toward buying designer bags for his sister Megan and gold bracelets for his mother Brenda.

I didn't bother arguing with him. I grabbed my car keys off the counter and headed straight for the front door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!" Tyler roared from behind.

"None of your business."

"Don't you dare!" He lunged forward and grabbed my arm in a death grip. "If you walk out that door today, don't you ever come back!"

I turned to face him, my voice chillingly clear. "Tyler, you’d better pack your bags early. The one getting the hell out of here is you."

His face drained of color.

I ripped my arm from his grasp, yanked the door open, and walked out without looking back.

In the elevator, leaning against the cold metal wall, I noticed my hands were trembling.

Not from fear.

From pure rage.

My phone buzzed. A message from Tyler popped up.

Chloe, you’d better think carefully. You’re nothing without me.

I didn't reply.

It buzzed again.

Go ahead and leave. Mom said some time alone will teach you a lesson. When you come crawling back, don't blame me if I lock you out.

Staring at the screen, a bitter smirk tugged at my lips.

Crawling back to him?

In his dreams.

It was pitch-black by the time my cab pulled up outside my parents' apartment complex.

I paid the driver and stood on the pavement, gazing up at the warm light glowing from the third floor. Suddenly, my legs felt heavy.

When we first got married, my mom was against it.

It wasn't because Tyler didn't come from money; it was because his family was far too calculating.

At our rehearsal dinner, Tyler's mother announced in front of all the relatives, "My son is an incredible catch. Your daughter is lucky to marry him, so we’re keeping the wedding gift minimal."

She gave an insulting three-thousand-dollar check.

Heartbroken for me, my mom quietly wired thirty thousand dollars into my private account, telling me to keep it as an emergency fund and never mention it to his family.

I took a deep breath and walked upstairs.

My mom opened the door, blinking in surprise before glancing behind me. "Chloe? Why are you alone? Where’s Tyler?"

I didn't answer. I slipped off my shoes, walked in, and sank heavily onto the couch.

My dad peeked out from the kitchen, spatula still in hand. "Chloe’s back? Have you eaten?"

"No."

Mom shut the door and sat across from me, examining my pale face. "Did you two fight?"

"Mom," I looked up at her, my voice shaking slightly. "I want a divorce."