When My Husband Chose His Golden Boy, I Chose His Worst Enemy

Before I could breathe a word, the line went dead. I sat there trembling, the sound of his voice echoing inside me like thunder. My chest hurt, but for the first time in forever, I felt a strange relief. Dangerous or not, Rafael saved Clyde when no one else lifted a finger. I wiped my tears and whispered into the silence, “Whatever you are, you’re the only one who came for us.”

For the first time, the smile on my lips wasn’t broken. It was sharp.

The villa was quiet, everyone lost in their sleep. I crept up the stairs, each step heavy in my chest. My heart pounded so loud I thought it would wake them. When I reached the master bedroom, I froze. The door was cracked open, and through the slit, I saw them.

Astrid on top of Clinton. Her laugh mixed with his. Their bodies tangled, their faces glowing with pleasure. My stomach turned, my heart twisting with something that felt like knives. Whatever love I still clung to for Clinton died right there, watching him touch her like I was nothing but a shadow.

Astrid’s voice came sharp through the air. “When will you divorce her, Clinton? I’m tired of being called the mistress.”

His chuckle was cruel. “I already signed the papers, but I won’t give them to her yet. I want her to serve you first. I want her to pay for humiliating you.”

Astrid giggled, her voice dripping venom. “You mean… as my maid? I’d love that. But what if she finds the papers?”

Clinton groaned and pulled her down. “She won’t. Forget her. Now shut up and please me.”

I couldn’t watch another second. I turned away, bile rising in my throat, tears burning in my eyes. My body shook with disgust and rage.

Hours passed. Finally, the room went quiet, and their snores filled the halls. I slipped inside, careful not to wake them. I checked the bedside drawer first. Empty. My heart raced, my hands cold. I knew Clinton better than anyone. He would keep them in his study.

I crept through the villa, my steps silent as a thief. In the study, the vault stood tall. My fingers hovered, then typed the code I still remembered. The lock clicked. My breath caught.

Inside, stacked files and jewels. And there, folded neatly, the papers. My divorce papers. My hands shook as I pulled them out. My eyes blurred with tears. I signed my name, every stroke trembling. “No more chains,” I whispered. My tears fell, staining the paper.

I pulled out my phone and dialed. The ring was endless until it clicked.

“The papers are signed...”

Rafael’s reply was calm and deadly. “Good. I’ll send my lawyer. Do not let anyone know, Savannah.”

The line went dead again. His voice lingered like a blade against my throat.

Within the hour, I slipped out of the villa under the rain. The streets were slick and empty, the night hiding me in its cloak. My breath puffed white in the cold. Every shadow felt alive, every sound made my heart race.

I found him where Rafael promised. His lawyer waited in a dark car parked by the café. He stepped out, tall and composed, bowing slightly as if I were someone worthy of respect.

I handed him the papers, my hands trembling so bad I thought they might slip. My chest pounded, my soul on fire.

He took them carefully. “From now on, Savannah, no one can chain you again.”

My eyes filled with tears, but this time they didn’t taste like sorrow. They tasted like freedom.

***

Two days in Clinton Montclair’s villa felt like I was being buried alive. The place was big, bright, beautiful, but for me it was nothing but a prison. Clinton turned blind. Tyler and Astrid walked around like demons set loose, whispering, laughing, making sure I could not breathe.

At night, Clyde would wake crying, his voice small, broken. His bandaged hands shook in mine, and I would stay up, pressing my lips to his hair, whispering again and again that everything would pass. He would look at me with glassy eyes and ask, “Why doesn’t father come?” I tried to dodge the question, but he was smart. He always saw through me. One night, in the dark, he whispered, “I wish I had a new father. I wish I wasn’t born from his blood.”

I broke right there, but I didn’t let him see. I kissed his forehead and told him to rest. My tears slid into his hair while I smiled and pretended to be strong.

Astrid never let a day pass without turning me into a villain.

The first time, she threw herself into the pool and screamed. By the time Clinton came running, she pointed at me and sobbed that I pushed her. Clinton didn’t even ask. His hand landed across my face in front of the staff, and I stood dripping with shame while Astrid clung to his chest, fake coughing.

The second time, she sprinkled tiny glass shards into her own plate, then screamed that I tried to poison her. Clinton’s eyes burned at me. He hurled my food to the ground and told me I was forbidden to eat at the table. I cleaned up the pieces like a servant, my stomach growling while Astrid smiled sweetly at him.

The third time, she twisted her wrist until it bruised purple. She ran to Clinton crying that I hurt her. He didn’t ask questions. He dragged me by my hair, threw me to the floor, and warned me never to touch her again. Clyde cried behind me, but Clinton ignored him too.

The fourth time, she hid her bracelet under my pillow. Then, with her fake gasp, she pulled it out in front of everyone. Clinton looked at me like I was dirt. “Thief,” he called me, and the maids looked away in pity while Astrid smirked. He said I was a failure as a mother, right in front of Clyde. My boy clenched his little fists, and my heart bled watching him.

Clinton stayed cold, busy planning Tyler’s seventh birthday banquet at some luxury hotel. He praised Astrid every second, calling her patient and kind, while he ignored Clyde’s pain and my existence.

I wanted to call Father, but deep down I knew he would not believe me. Clinton had already bought him with shares and stocks. So I stayed quiet, alone with Clyde, holding his trembling hands. I whispered, “We just need to endure. Rafael will come. Just a little longer.”

Clyde, pale and sweating, whispered back, “Mama, I don’t want to be his son anymore. Let’s leave. I hate them for hurting you always. I hate him for choosing Tyler.”

I stroked his hair, my chest in pieces, and promised him a new beginning. Even if I didn’t know how, I promised.

....

The night of Tyler’s banquet, Clinton left with Astrid and Tyler, their laughter echoing through the halls while Clyde and I stayed behind at the hospital. Then Troy appeared at the door with his men. His smile was sharp, his eyes dangerous.

“Rafael is waiting.”