After My Husband Made Me the Villain in His Game

The cast on my left arm was a heavy, itching anchor, dragging my shoulder down, but the sound echoing from the living room made me forget the throbbing in my fractured bone. It was a sharp, violent crash—the distinct sound of something precious being obliterated.

I rounded the corner, my breath hitching in my throat. The living room, usually a sanctuary of soft beige and filtered sunlight, looked like a war zone. Veda stood by the open display cabinet, her silhouette framed by the afternoon sun. She held the ceramic shepherd boy in her hand—a fifty-cent piece I had bought for Theodore during our first Christmas, back when we were eating instant noodles by candlelight.

"This item has a corrupted aura," Veda said, her voice devoid of emotion, like a GPS recalculating a route. "It’s blocking the server connection."

"Purge it," Theodore murmured. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He wasn't looking at Veda with lust; he was watching the destruction with the rapt attention of a zealot witnessing a miracle.

"No!" I lunged forward, ignoring the spike of pain in my head from the concussion.

Veda didn't even flinch. She opened her hand. The shepherd hit the hardwood floor and exploded into white dust and jagged shards. It lay there next to the remains of the bluebird, the porcelain dancer, and the chipped tea set from my grandmother.

"You psychotic leech!" I screamed, the words ripping from my throat raw and bloody. I stepped over the debris of my memories, shaking with a rage that terrified me. "You come into my home, you break my bones, and now you destroy the only things that prove we ever had a heart? Get out! Get out before I kill you!"

Theodore stood up. His movement was fluid, menacing. He didn't look at the shattered porcelain. He looked at me, his eyes cold and dead, like two stones at the bottom of a river.

"Apologize," he said softly.

I stared at him, my vision blurring. "What?"

"You insulted the Player," Theodore said, his voice rising, cracking with a terrifying fanaticism. "You are disrupting the cleansing ritual with your toxicity. Apologize to Veda. Now."

"I will never apologize to this whore," I spat, the venom tasting like copper in my mouth.

Theodore closed the distance between us in two strides. He didn't strike me. Instead, he grabbed my good arm and spun me around, forcing me into the high-backed velvet chair. His grip was iron.

"It's your vanity, Mallory," he hissed in my ear. "You're so attached to your appearance, to your status. It makes you ugly. It makes you a glitch."

He reached for the side table, where a pair of silver shears lay—left over from Veda's flower arranging earlier that morning. The metal glinted in the sunlight.

"Theo, don't," I gasped, realizing too late what was happening. I tried to rise, but he shoved me down, his hand heavy on my shoulder.

"We need to strip the ego," Veda noted from the corner, checking her nails. "It's a mandatory debuff."

The cold steel grazed my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut.

*Snip.*

The sound was wet and crunchy. A long, dark lock of hair slid down my chest and landed on my lap.

"Please," I whispered, tears leaking from my eyes. "Theodore, please."

*Snip. Snip.*

He worked with a frantic, jagged rhythm. He wasn't styling it; he was hacking it. I felt the weight lifting from my head, replaced by a phantom chill. My hair, which I had grown out because he once said he loved burying his hands in it, piled up on the floor like dead leaves.

When he was done, he dropped the shears. "There. Now you're humble. Now you fit the narrative."

I didn't look in the mirror. I couldn't. I stood up, my legs trembling, and walked out the front door without a word. I couldn't breathe in that house anymore. The air was too thin, sucked dry by his madness.

I drove one-handed to Hayes Corporation. My head was pounding, my hair was a jagged ruin, and my arm was broken, but I needed to find solid ground. I needed my work. I had built the marketing division from the ground up. It was the one place where I was still Mallory Grant, not just Theodore's failing NPC.

But when I swiped my keycard at the executive elevator, the light flashed red.

*Access Denied.*

"Try it again," I muttered, panic fluttering in my chest.

"Mallory."

Theodore’s voice came from behind me. He must have taken the helicopter; he was already here, standing in the lobby center, flanked by two security guards I had hired myself. A small crowd of interns and junior execs had gathered, whispering behind their tablets.

"My card isn't working," I said, clutching my purse to hide my trembling hand.

"Because you don't work here," Theodore announced. His voice carried through the marble atrium, bouncing off the glass walls. "As of ten minutes ago, your employment is terminated for gross misconduct and corporate espionage."

"Espionage?" My jaw dropped. "I am the co-founder! I own half this company!"

"You own nothing," he corrected, stepping closer. He held up his phone. "I've frozen the joint accounts, Mallory. Pending an investigation into your mental stability. You're a security risk."

He gestured to the guards. "Escort Ms. Grant off the premises. If she returns, call the police."

The guard, a man whose daughter's tuition I had helped pay, couldn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hayes," he mumbled, reaching for my elbow.

"Don't touch me," I snapped, pulling away.

I looked at Theodore. He stood tall, immaculate, the master of his domain, oblivious to the monster he had become. He checked his watch, dismissing me entirely.

"Game over, Mallory," he whispered.

I turned and walked through the revolving doors, out into the blinding city light. I had no hair, no money, and no husband. But as the humid air hit my exposed neck, I realized something else.

I had nothing left to lose.