Cruel Husband, I Don’t Want It Anymore!

"In your dreams!"

I stared daggers at Vivian, seething at the thought of tearing into the woman who scattered my son's ashes.

"Still got some fight in you, huh? Let's fix that," Alexander snarled, scooping up a handful of ashes.

He grabbed my face roughly, shoving the ashes into my mouth with his other hand.

I panicked, heart racing.

I writhed and twisted, trying to break free, but the bodyguards were like walls of steel.

I tried to yell, but the ashes choked me, turning my shouts into choked gasps. All I could do was spit them out, retching from the gritty taste.

Alexander watched as I spit, a trace of softness flickering across his face.

Finally, he signaled the bodyguards to let go.

I collapsed to the ground, surrounded by scattered ashes, tears streaming down my face.

The pain of watching my son die was the deepest cut of all.

Now, his final remains were desecrated.

Overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow, I felt like I was breaking apart.

On my knees, I gathered the ashes, sobbing uncontrollably, "I'm so, so sorry..."

Vivian looked on, smirking with cold eyes. "Seriously, Claire? Crying over a pile of powders? If you’re gonna play the protective mom, try a less dramatic script."

I was too numb to respond, focusing solely on collecting every last bit of ash, gently placing them back into the urn.

"Claire, are you done yet? All this over some powders?" Alexander sneered, looking down at me.

"Why don’t you get off your high horse and actually be a mother for once?"

I glared up at him with fiery eyes, spitting back, "Alexander, you're nothing but a beast!"

"Alex, you always said Claire was gentle and skilled at parenting," Vivian added, her voice dripping with venom. "Seems she had you fooled with her little act. Here she is, her son screws up, and she’s not even a bit reflective. Just blindly defending him. That’s not motherhood, that’s denial!"

A surge of anger crossed Alexander's face.

He stomped on the ashes, his voice cold as ice, "Claire, this disaster is on you and your derangement. You’ve turned our son into a pervert, a stockings thief. "

"You’re slapping me in the face!"

"Since you can’t handle it, I'll take over. You’re unfit to be his mother. Starting now, you don’t get to see him again!"

Pulling out his phone, he barked into it, "Bruce, track down my son, get him to my private villa, whatever it takes."

There was a hesitant pause before Bruce responded, "Mr. Grant, didn’t you know? Your son died a week ago."

Alexander blanched, disbelief in his voice, "What? Repeat that?"

"He died a week ago, heading out to buy oranges for you."

"Mrs. Grant already arranged to bury his ashes today at the cemetery."