My Husband Believed I Kidnapped His Mistress

“I want to file for divorce.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, my lawyer sighed. “Miss Ellie… I’m afraid it’s not that simple. When you and Mr. Colton signed your marriage contract, a clause was included—divorce can only be granted if one party betrays the other, and there must be proof.”

I clenched the phone tighter. “I have the proof. I’m filing now.”

I didn’t wait for his response. Instead, I forwarded him the photos—Colton, half-naked, drunk, in bed with Shania. And not just once. Again and again, different angles, different nights, all taken by me for a moment like this.

“Process it immediately,” I said, then hung up.

I didn’t have time to fall apart again.

I called the agency next. “I want to cancel my identity here,” I told them.

There was a brief pause. “We can do that, Miss Ellie. But it will take ten days. You’ll need to wait.”

Ten days. Ten days to pretend like I hadn’t already left him in my heart. Ten days to smile, nod, and act like a loyal wife so he wouldn’t sense what I was planning.

Before heading home, I stopped by the hospital again. My brother was still unconscious, hooked up to machines, his face bruised, his arm in a cast. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived the fall—some trees had broken his descent.

He didn’t deserve this. He was just a teenager. He was the only family I had left.

I arranged for his transfer to a private facility in another country. Somewhere far, hidden, where Colton’s power wouldn’t reach. I made sure everything was clean, his name changed, his papers secure.

I won’t let Colton hurt him again. Not for that woman. Not for anyone.

By the time I arrived home, the sun was starting to set. The place looked like a palace—but it never felt like one. I walked up the marble staircase slowly, my fingers grazing the cold railing. Every step echoed with a memory I no longer wanted.

I started packing immediately. Not just clothes. I tore photos off the walls. Burned the love letters Colton used to write. Dumped jewelry into boxes without a second glance.

I found our wedding album shoved into the back of a drawer. My eyes locked on one photo—Colton smiling, holding my hand like he meant it. I stared at it for a long moment… then ripped it in half.

Why did I marry him?

I remembered the day vividly—five years ago. My family’s business had collapsed. My parents were sick. We were drowning in debt. And Colton, the rising CEO who once smiled at me during a business gala, suddenly proposed marriage.

“Let me take care of you,” he said. “I’ll pay everything. Just marry me.”

I thought it was a blessing. I thought maybe… just maybe… he saw something in me. I’d liked him from the moment I met him, after all. So I said yes—for my family. For my younger brother.

At first, it wasn’t bad.

He was gentle. Took me to Paris. Bought me designer gowns. Whispered sweet things under candlelight. And I, like a fool, fell harder every day.

Until Shania came back.

His first love.

That’s when things changed.

He started forgetting anniversaries. Making excuses. Then, he stopped coming home some nights. He made me into a housewife, a cook, a quiet background to his life—while Shania walked through the front door like she owned it.

She moaned his name loudly at night, knowing I could hear. I endured it all—because I believed love could fix it. Because I thought, if I stayed long enough, he would remember the girl he once brought flowers to.

But love doesn’t survive in cages.

And now I know—Colton was never a man worth loving.

I burned everything. Every trace of “us.” The flames licked the pages of our memories, turning them to ash. I watched in silence, no tears left.

When I stepped outside to toss the remains, the front door slammed open.

“Ellie!” Colton’s voice thundered through the hallway.

I froze.

His eyes were wild, his face flushed with fury. He stormed toward me and grabbed my arm.

“You bitch!” he spat. “You know what you did to Shania? You left her in Greece!”

“What?” I blinked, startled. “I told you—”

“She wasn’t even used to the heat! Now she has blisters and dry skin! Her skin!” His voice cracked, like that was the worst thing that could ever happen.

I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re angry because she has blisters?”

He sneered. “She suffered because of you! You sent her there!”

“I didn’t!” I screamed, trying to pull away. “She left on her own! I didn’t know anything about Greece!”

“You’re lying!” he roared. “She told me everything! How you pushed her away because you were jealous!”

Before I could say another word, he grabbed me and dragged me through the hallway.

“Colton, stop! What are you doing?”

“You need to learn a lesson,” he hissed. “A punishment for hurting my Shania.”

I kicked and screamed, but he was too strong. He yanked open the basement door and shoved me down the stairs. I hit the cold floor, pain shooting up my elbow.

The door slammed shut.

And then, silence.