Chapter 45
Anna’s POV:
I stared into Blake’s eyes. Those once warm blue eyes had turned cold and unfathomable.
His body trembled slightly, long fingers slowly clenching into fists, his face a mask of disbelief. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I forced words through my tight throat.
“Blake Wright, I hate you!”
My body felt numb as security guards pushed me around roughly.
I’d lost all sensation, my mind involuntarily flashing back to intimate moments with Blake–how I’d leaned on his shoulder, telling him how much I loved him. I had genuinely loved this man, willing to sacrifice everything for him, including my freedom and dignity.
Suddenly, Blake strode toward me, kicking the nearest sécurity guard out of his way. “What the fuck are you doing?! Didn’t I tell you guys to be careful? Why is she bleeding so much?”
His voice was ice–cold. The guards automatically made way, and even Claire took a step back.
Blake looked down at me, his eyes filled with pity, which hurt more than hatred ever could.
“Anna, I’m only giving you one chance,” he said calmly. “If you don’t want to sign, we won’t get divorced.”
I took the chewed–up paper from my mouth, now mixed with blood from my fingertips.
“Not get divorced?” I asked with a bitter smile. “So you won’t get divorced, but you’ll have someone cut my hand?”
“It’s just a small cut, a minor skin wound.” Blake’s tone was disturbingly detached.
1 stared at him in shock, finally understanding they had come prepared–with a blade and divorce papers. “This agreement includes things my father gave me,” I choked out. “How could you…”
Blake responded vaguely: “So what if it does, so what if it doesn’t.”
“That wasn’t some harmless tool,” I insisted. “It was a knife, sharp enough to cut through flesh.”
I showed him the wound on my hand. “Do you know what it feels like to be pinned to the ground by six security guards, unable to move, watching helplessly as someone cuts your hand open?”
“Four years of marriage, Blake. Even a stranger would help if they saw this happening.” My voice grew softer. “This betrayal hurts more than if you’d killed me.”
1/3
Chapter 45
“Anna, drop the dramatic performance,” Claire interjected in her sweet voice. “My right thigh has twenty stitches. You don’t think this little injury compares to mine, do you?”
She continued, her yoice sickeningly sweet. “Blakey is just trying to give me and our parents an explanation. His situation is difficult. Why can’t you understand him?”
I laughed coldly, displaying the dried wounds on my hand. “If this is just a small injury, Claire, would you let me make five identical cuts on your hand?”
I knelt on the ground, searching for the dropped knife. “Come on, let’s test how painful this ‘minor wound‘ really is!”
Blake grabbed my shoulder hard enough to leave bruises. “It was you! You had someone hurt Claire! Her right thigh has twenty stitches, while you only have five shallow cuts.” His expression twisted, his eyes showing concern only for Claire. “How could you be so selfish?”
I let out an almost manic laugh. “How interesting, Blake. Her twenty stitches are worth your protection, while my five cuts are just ‘minor skin wounds“?”
I pushed him away forcefully. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
Then I stood up straight, despite my whole body trembling. “Fine, I’ll sign. Bring the divorce agreement, I’ll sign it!”
I squeezed my wound to make it bleed again. “Buying freedom with blood and money–worth it.”
Claire immediately pulled out a new divorce agreement from her bag, her movements disturbingly practiced. Using my own blood, I signed “Anna Anderson” stroke by stroke on the last page.
In that moment, I remembered my father’s last wish–he wanted me to live a peaceful, happy life. The irony made me nearly laugh out loud. Dad had been gone for years, but I could almost feel his disappointment, his sadness at seeing his only daughter in this position.
I’m sorry, Dad. I tried. I really tried.
The agreement sat on the table between us, my bloody signature stark against the white paper. This was it–the final act in the tragedy of our marriage. No more pretending. No more hoping things would get better.
“Your turn, Blake,” I pushed the agreement toward him. Blake let me grab his hand and bite his finger until it bled. He signed “B-”