Chapter 51 Touch Me Like You Hate Me (1)

Chapter 51 Touch Me Like You Hate Me (1)
The word hung in the air between us. Divorce.
I had practiced saying it for three weeks. I said it to the bathroom mirror at six in the morning. I said it in the car on the way to his office. I even said it in our quiet bed while he was out with someone else.
Now that I had finally said it out loud, Mason looked at me with disappointment. He had a cold anger that used to make me feel small and scared. But this time, I didn’t shrink.
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” he snapped. He looked at me with a deadly stare. His whole body felt dangerous. I was shaking, but I stayed right where I was.
“Do you have any idea—”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I interrupted.
“You lowly piece of trash,” he said slowly, like he wanted every word to hurt.
“Trash!” I repeated. It did hurt, but I wouldn’t let him see that.
I used to love this man. I thought sacrificing everything for him was worth it. I even left my family for him, hoping for a happy life.
“You call me trash.”
“Yes,” he replied, his eyes full of hate. “I call you that. What are you going to do about it?”
He walked across the room toward me. I held my bag tighter, but didn’t move. He stopped just inches away. He looked at me the way someone looks at a piece of garbage they are about to throw away.
“Nobody could love you, Mira,” he whispered. “Nobody could want you. If you leave me, you leave with nothing. You are nothing without me.”
Three years ago, those words would have worked. I would have given up and apologized. I would have made myself small to make him feel big. Back then, I thought I owed him something for “loving” me.
“You should try it,” I replied. “See what ‘nothing’ actually looks like.”
Mason looked shocked. This was the first time I had ever spoken to him like this. It was the first time I looked him straight in the eyes.
He grabbed my face. His fingers dug into my jaw, and I fought the instinct to pull back because pulling back was what I had always done, and it had never helped.
“I will never divorce you,” he promised, his face close to mine. “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to decide anything.”
“I've already decided,” I said, even with his hand on my face. “Three weeks ago. My lawyer has the papers.”
“Why are you acting like this?” His voice suddenly turned soft. “Is it because of her?”
“You think I’m only angry because I caught you with your mistress?”
“Are you jealous? Tell me, are you?”
“I’m not,” I smirked, pushing his hand away. I took a napkin from my bag and wiped my face where he had touched me.
“What does that mean?” Mason yelled before grabbing me by my shoulder.
“I’m wiping your filthy hand off my face,” I spat back.
“If she bothers you, I can leave her,” he said, as if he were doing me a favor. “You can’t leave me.”
This man is a psycho. How was I so blind before? Mason came from a poor family. I came from a very rich family.
We met and fell in love while I was pretending to be poor. I hated my family’s strict rules and thought I would be free if I lived on my own.
I married Mason without telling him the truth about my wealth. Together, we built a life. We became rich, and then Mason changed.
For three years, I lived in pain. He left me alone in our cold house while he went out with models and other women. I had finally had enough of his disgusting behavior.
“I told you, I’ve had enough.”
Mason’s laughter echoed through the space. I stared at him as he laughed his heart out.
“Have you looked in the mirror?” he joked. “You aren’t the girl I used to know.”
“Then let me go.”
“I’m only asking you to stay because I pity you,” he mocked. “I don’t love you, Mira. I just feel sorry for you.”
His behavior was so strange. He was begging me to stay, refusing a divorce, and insulting me all at the same time.
I rolled my eyes. “I think you should look at yourself,” I whispered. “You are so stupid now. You aren’t the man I fell in love with. The man in front of me is stupid, selfish, and...” I paused to let the words hurt. “...a failure.”
“Me?” He pointed at himself. “A failure?”
I stared at him. “You became successful because of the work I did quietly in the background. I negotiated the contracts. I kept the business relationships. I made the decisions and let you take the credit.”
I tilted my head. “Without me, Mason, you are exactly who you were when I found you. Deep down, you know that. That’s why you’re begging me to stay while calling me trash.”
His face went still and pale.
“You’re a failure,” I said. “Not because of money, but because of the person you chose to become when you got everything.”
The slap came fast.
“Shut up, bitch!”
Pain exploded across my face. I tasted blood in my mouth. My bag fell to the floor. The room went silent. I stood there with my hand on my cheek and looked at him.
I didn’t wait for the pain to fade. I hit him back.
“How dare you lay your filthy hands on me, you loser?”