Ex-Husband and Stepson's Regrets are Worthless

Cameron stared at the divorce papers in his hands, his expression darkening. Then, without hesitation, he tore them apart, the sound of ripping paper slicing through the air like a death sentence.

"You can never divorce me," he said, his voice dripping with finality. "And that is final. You signed up for this the moment you chose to marry me."

I clenched my fists, my body trembling. "I signed up for love, Cameron," I spat. "But you fooled me."

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Love?" He laughed, the sound cold and merciless. "And where did that get you?" He took a step closer, his towering frame suffocating. "If you divorce me, where will you go? You have nowhere. No family. No one."

I held my chin high, masking the truth that he would never see coming. That’s just what you think, Cameron.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to tell him.

"That’s none of your business," I said through gritted teeth.

His smirk vanished. In a flash, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, yanking me forward with enough force to send pain shooting through my arm.

"You’re mine, Zoe. You don’t get to walk away."

I fought back, struggling against his iron grip, but it only fueled his rage. His free hand shot forward, slamming into my stomach with a sickening force.

I gasped as the air was knocked out of me, my knees buckling from the sheer pain. My vision swam as I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my abdomen. A sharp, burning sensation spread through my gut, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Above me, Cameron looked down with cold indifference.

"Stay here," he ordered. "And don’t even think about escaping. Next time, I won’t go so easy on you."

Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut. The unmistakable sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of dread through me.

I was trapped. Again. Why? I don’t understand why he couldn’t just let me go when he doesn’t love me anymore.

Tears streamed down my face as I curled into myself, shaking. My trembling fingers found my phone beneath the pillow. It was my only lifeline.

I dialed my brother’s number, my breath uneven.

"Zoe?" His voice was sharp, urgent.

"Help me," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please, get me out of here."

"I’m on my way," he said immediately. "I’ll be there as soon as possible."

The call ended, but my fear only grew.

I can’t wait that long.

My whole body ached as I forced myself to stand, my ribs screaming in protest. Every breath was a struggle, my skin raw from the bruises Cameron had left. My mind raced, desperate for a way out.

Then I thought of the balcony.

Dragging my broken body toward the glass doors, I flung them open, letting the cold night air hit my face. Below, the estate grounds stretched out in eerie silence, the towering iron gates taunting me with their distance. Five floors up—it was a risk, but I had no choice.

With shaking hands, I grabbed the bedsheets, knotting them together, twisting them tight. If I could just get halfway down, maybe—

A sharp, warm sensation spread between my legs.

I froze.

Slowly, my gaze dropped to the floor. A dark red stain bloomed at my feet, soaking through my dress, pooling against my trembling thighs.

Blood.

Panic clawed at my throat. My hands flew to my abdomen, a wave of realization crashing over me.

Oh, God… am I… pregnant?

I hadn’t even thought about it—not once. With everything happening, I hadn’t noticed the missed periods, the nausea, the exhaustion.

Terror settled in my bones.

Then—

The door creaked open just as I was already hanging on there.

My breath caught.

For a split second, I thought it was Cameron, coming back to finish what he started. But as I turned, I was met with something just as terrifying.

Tyron.

His small frame stood in the doorway, bathed in the dim glow of the hallway. His blonde curls cast eerie shadows against the walls, his tiny hands curled into fists. But it wasn’t his presence that sent chills down my spine.

It was the look in his eyes. Pure, unfiltered hatred.

He glanced at the knotted sheets, his face twisting into something cruel as he leaned down to look at me hugging the sheets, halfway down.

“What are you doing?” His voice was cold, unfeeling.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely think.

Tyron’s expression darkened. “Are you trying to leave?”

I opened my mouth, desperate to reason with him, but before I could utter a single word—

His lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.

"Why not just die?” Tyron whispered, then, with a gleeful glint in his eyes, he pulled something from behind his back—scissors.