He Married Me Because I Resembled His Late Wife

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 throw me off balance.

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

I stumbled, my breath hitching as I tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened. His eyes, cold and possessive, locked onto mine, daring me to challenge him.

“I’m done,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t belong here, Cameron. And I don’t want to.”

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”

I jerked back with all my strength, but in the struggle, I lost my footing. My heel slipped against the rug, and before I could steady myself, I was falling—fast.

The sharp edge of the coffee table caught me square in the stomach as I landed, knocking the breath from my lungs. A choked gasp escaped my lips as pain shot through my abdomen, burning deep and unforgiving. My hands trembled as I pressed against the floor, trying to catch my breath, but the world spun around me in dizzying waves.

Cameron took a step back, watching me with a look that was more annoyance than concern. “You should be more careful, Zoe,” he said, his tone laced with mockery.

I forced myself to sit up, one hand clutching my stomach as nausea curled in my throat. My body screamed in protest, but I refused to let him see my weakness.

I would not give him that satisfaction.

Swallowing hard, I pushed myself upright and met his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. “I won’t stay, Cameron. No matter what you do. No matter what you say.”

He scoffed, as if my words were nothing more than a child’s empty rebellion. “You’re forgetting something, sweetheart,” he said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over me. “You have nowhere to go.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. He was wrong. I did have somewhere to go. And in a few days, I’d be gone.

I just had to survive until then.

"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. Right now.”

"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. My mind raced, searching 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. I didn't even realize I forgot to drink my pills.

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 wicked smile. With a gleam in his eyes, he raised the scissors and sliced through half of the sheets. The sickening sound of fabric tearing echoed in the room, the remaining half barely holding together.

“Beg me like a dog, dear stepmother,” he sneered. “Then maybe I’ll spare you.”

“You’re insane,” I spat, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “I’d rather die than beg you.”

His smile widened into something twisted—almost delighted. Then, with a soft chuckle, he whispered, “As you wish.”

He raised the scissors once more, this time aiming directly to cut through the final threads.