He Broke Me Into Pieces—So I Took Myself Back

That night, when I returned to our bedroom, the atmosphere felt heavy in a way that words couldn’t quite explain, as if even the silence between us had turned sharp. Nathaniel had been restless for a while, pacing back and forth like a man trying to control his own thoughts. I had noticed earlier how he kept checking his phone, and from the way his expression darkened afterward, I already knew it was Raven who had reached him again. Whatever she had said had clearly unsettled him, but he was careful—careful not to show it in front of me.

Not tonight. Not when he still needed something from me.

He needed me compliant. He needed me to give him what he wanted most.

I was seated at the vanity brushing through my hair when he finally approached. His footsteps were quiet at first, then deliberate, as though he had already decided how this moment should unfold.

“Amara,” he said softly, his voice lowered into something almost intimate. He came up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, leaning down just enough for his breath to brush my skin before his lips followed along the side of my neck.

“I really am sorry about everything earlier,” he murmured. “Let me make it right. We can put all of that aside… and start trying. Right now.”

His hands began to move lower along my arms, and I felt a wave of discomfort crawl under my skin, instinctively tightening my body.

I stood up quickly, breaking away from him before he could pull me back in.

“I’m exhausted, Nathaniel,” I said, already moving toward the bed. I pulled the blanket up, holding it close like a shield. “The doctor already told me I need to rest. I’m still weak from the dengue.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, subtle but unmistakable. It was gone almost immediately, but I saw it—the brief crack in his patience.

“Alright,” he said curtly, forcing a breath out as he ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Rest then. I’ll wait.”

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his movements sharper than before.

“I’ll head to the study. Just need to go through a few emails.”

“Okay,” I replied quietly, closing my eyes as if I were already slipping into sleep.

I stayed still until I heard the door click shut. I counted his footsteps as they faded down the hallway, each one confirming what I already suspected—he wasn’t going to any study. He was either calling her or already on his way to her.

Once the silence settled, I opened my eyes.

From inside the pillowcase, I retrieved a second phone—an old burner I had hidden away long ago. My fingers tightened around it as I dialed a number I had never thought I would use again.

A deep voice answered after one ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s Amara,” I said in a low whisper. “I need you to do something for me. Something important.”

The man on the other end was the head butler of the estate, the one person who had been more of a guardian to me than anyone else in my family. He had seen things no one else had noticed, heard things no one else was ever meant to hear.

“Anything you need, Miss Amara,” he replied without hesitation.

“Follow Nathaniel,” I instructed, my tone firming into something colder. “He’s leaving the house. I want every movement documented. Where he goes, who he meets, everything he says. Photos, recordings, videos—everything.”

“Understood,” he said immediately. “I’ll handle it.”

I ended the call and leaned back against the pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling.

I wasn’t simply walking away from my marRavenge anymore.

I was preparing to dismantle it completely.

By morning, sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, soft and almost mocking in contrast to how heavy everything felt inside me. Nathaniel’s side of the bed was empty and cold, untouched in a way that confirmed he had not returned at all during the night.

I sat on the edge of the mattress with the burner phone pressed to my ear once more.

“I want everything handled quietly,” I said in a controlled voice. “No leaks. No rumors. Not a single word reaches the press or the family until I’m gone.”

On the other end was Carter, the family’s long-serving lawyer, someone who had been with both the Vosss and the Morgans for decades. He let out a slow breath, the kind that carried years of experience and concern.

“Amara,” he said carefully, “are you certain about this? A divorce of this scale… it will not be simple. The families won’t approve it easily. The merger is tied to your marRavenge. You’ve always been seen as the perfect match.”

Perfect match.

The words left a bitter taste in my mouth.

My thoughts drifted without permission.

I was twelve again, standing inside the grand library, my shoes too tight as I was pushed forward by expectation I didn’t understand yet.

“This is Nathaniel,” my grandfather had said proudly, placing him beside me like a declaration of fate. “He will be your future husband.”

Even then, I had disliked him immediately. He had tugged at my hair and called me a doll like I was something decorative rather than real.

But there had been someone else before that version of my life took shape.

A boy with quiet eyes and rough hands, the kind that carried warmth instead of arrogance. He had shown me how to skip stones across the lake behind the estate, laughing softly each time I missed. I had been told later that he was “not suitable,” not important enough, not worthy of the family’s world.

So I let him go.

I had cried over it for a long time, more than I admitted to anyone. And eventually, I stopped crying at all. I looked at Nathaniel instead—the charming, reckless heir—and convinced myself I could shape him into something better. Something I could live with.

I believed I could fix him.

I had been wrong.

“Amara?” Carter’s voice brought me back. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I answered quietly, grounding myself in the present. The emptiness of the room felt sharper now. “Forget the merger. Forget what the families want. I don’t care about any of it anymore.”

I exhaled slowly.

“I’ve already sent you everything—the evidence, the messages, the recordings from last night. Use it. Make the infidelity clause enforceable. The prenup should collapse completely.”

There was a long pause on the line, heavy with understanding.

“Understood,” Carter finally said, his tone shifting into something more professional. “If the evidence holds, then we can proceed accordingly.”

“Good,” I replied. “Send the finalized papers in four days. Not earlier. Not later.”

“Alright.”

The call ended.

My hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the rush of certainty settling into place. Everything was finally moving.

There was still one more call I needed to make.

One number I had never deleted. One I had memorized so deeply it never left me, even after a decade of silence.

My thumb hovered above the screen.

If I pressed call, there would be no turning back. Everything I had known—every tie, every obligation—would burn with it.

Still, I pressed it.

It rang once. Then twice.

“Hello?”

The voice was different now, deeper, rougher, shaped by years I hadn’t witnessed. But underneath it was still the same calm softness that once made everything feel safe.

“Van?” I whispered.

A pause followed.

“Amara?” he said finally, disbelief threading through every syllable. “Is it really you?”

My throat tightened instantly. Just hearing him made something inside me crack open, something I thought had long been buried.

“It’s me,” I managed, my voice breaking slightly.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly. “Why are you calling now? What happened—”

“Do you still love me?” I cut in before I could lose my resolve.

The question hung between us, fragile and raw.

There was silence on the other end—long enough to feel like an answer in itself.

Then, softly, without hesitation:

“I never stopped,” Van said. “Not once.”

A quiet sob slipped out before I could stop it.

I wiped at my face, steadying myself through shaking breaths.

“Then…” I whispered, forcing the words through, “can you come for me in five days? And… marry me?”