I Divorced the Devil with a Pet Snake

When I returned with the shopping bag, Amber had already gone into the bathroom.

I leaned against the wall outside the door, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind drifting.

Suddenly, something wet and heavy slapped against my face.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood flooded my nose.

“Oh—sorry.” Her sweet voice drifted out from inside.

“Sister Elena, could you help me wash my underwear?”

She paused, then added with a smug lilt,

“Mr. Sinclair said my hands are for serving him. I’m not allowed to get them wet.”

I didn’t say a word. I quietly washed the bloodied underwear with trembling fingers.

Damien sat on the sofa nearby, a snake coiled leisurely around his hand, a glass of red wine in the other.

He often looked like this—detached, elegant, dangerous.

Like the cold-blooded creatures he kept, beautiful and heartless.

I approached, placing the divorce papers in front of him.

“Sign it.”

He didn’t even glance at me at first. I studied his profile, that sharp jawline, those emotionless eyes.

I suddenly remembered the first time I heard about his past.

Back then, a kidnapping had left his brother dead and him abandoned in the dark.

I thought… foolishly, that I could warm his soul.

He looked up, sarcasm flickering in his eyes.

“So impatient?” He sneered. “Fine. The medical team can return.”

Then he pointed lazily toward Amber, who was curled on the couch like a fragile porcelain doll.

“But first, apologize to Amber.”

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees.

“Miss Amber,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. My sister was wrong to say what she did.”

Damien’s brows furrowed.

He’d seen me kneel before, but never like this.

There was no humiliation in my voice, no resentment in my expression. Just calm, jarring indifference.

And that unsettled him.

Amber’s eyes reddened immediately. She wiped at imaginary tears.

“Your sister said I was a homewrecker.” Her voice trembled. “But the truth is you’re just old and can’t keep Mr. Sinclair’s heart.”

She turned to him, her voice pitiful and aggrieved.

“Is it because I’m a factory girl? That I don’t deserve to be respected?”

His expression softened instantly.

He gently wiped away her tears.

“Don’t say that. You saved me during that mudslide. You’re not like the rest.”

Then he coaxed,

“Little fool, tell me. What do you want to forgive them?”

Amber lifted her chin. Her eyes gleamed with cruelty.

“I want her to crawl into Bruno’s doghouse and sleep there tonight.”

Bruno, Damien’s German Shepherd, lived in a kennel in the living room.

I stood frozen. My chest tightened.

In the past, I had endured humiliation from other women. But this... this was different.

I looked at Damien instinctively, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that he would show a flicker of hesitation.

But he didn’t.

“Do as Amber says.” He sipped his wine as if discussing the weather.

“If she’s satisfied, I’ll call the medical team back tomorrow.”

My nails dug into my palms as I fought back the heat rising in my eyes.

“If I sleep there for one night… will you sign the divorce papers?”

He smiled coldly.

“Of course. As long as Amber is happy.”

My head dipped. My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Okay.”

Gasps echoed from the watching servants as I dropped to my knees and began crawling toward the kennel.

Bruno snarled, teeth bared, and I curled up in the corner of his doghouse, trembling.

Upstairs, laughter and moans echoed through the floorboards—unbearable, endless.

I bit my lip so hard it bled.

Just one more night, I told myself. One more night and I’ll finally be free.

The wind outside was sharp and merciless.

Curled up in that filthy space, drifting between wakefulness and fevered dreams, I lost track of time.

By morning, when a servant opened the kennel, I was already burning with fever. My vision darkened.

“Where’s Mr. Sinclair?” I croaked. My voice barely sounded human.

The servant looked away, speaking in a hushed tone.

“He left early to celebrate Miss Amber’s birthday.”