Chapter 33: That Should Be Enough to Console You

Three Day's Later— Cynthia's POV...

Cynthia sat on the edge of her oversized bed, her legs folded beneath her as the soft fabric of her silk nightgown grazed her bruised skin. In her lap lay a storybook, its pages untouched for hours. The glossy words meant to transport her to another world failed to capture her attention. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the woods outside the towering glass window of her opulent room. The sprawling greenery beyond the estate danced gently in the evening breeze, the setting sun casting golden streaks across the horizon. Yet, there was no solace in the beauty. Her thoughts were heavy, pulling her deeper into an abyss she couldn’t climb out of.

Her fingers brushed over the faint scars on her cheek, remnants of the beating from a few days ago. Each touch brought a fresh wave of anger and bitterness. The pain was a reminder, not just of Carlos’s actions but of her helplessness. A part of her wanted to scream— to shatter the pristine silence of her wing and cry for someone, anyone, to save her. But she couldn’t. Any harsh move could seal her fate permanently.

With a deep sigh, she muttered to herself, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I want a divorce," she whispered, as if saying it aloud might summon the courage to act.

Her eyes darted to her phone, lying a few inches away on the bed. She hesitated, then snatched it up with sudden urgency. Her fingers moved with precision, unlocking the screen and opening her chat with Brian, her best friend. The only one who had seen through Carlos from the very beginning, warning her that the relationship was toxic.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, but she froze. The last message in their chat stared back at her— a two-week-old text where she had vented about a physical altercation with her sister, Megan. Cynthia had congratulated Megan on her pregnancy, only for Megan to shove her so violently that she’d spiraled to the floor. The memory stung. Seeing Brian’s unread response made her chest tighten. She sighed again, aborting the idea of texting him.

"I’m truly alone," she muttered under her breath, her voice breaking.

Her eyes drifted up to the next chat on her list: Ethan. His message from a few days ago asking if she was okay blinked back at her, taunting her. At the time, she had lied, responding that she was fine even as her world crumbled. Tapping on the chat, she typed a long message, venting about her turmoil and asking to meet up. But before she could hit send, doubt crept in.

"He doesn’t really know me like that," she said to herself, erasing every word before closing the app.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and grabbed a pillow, clutching it tightly as she leaned back against the headboard. The storybook slid from her lap, falling to the tiled floor with a soft thud. Cynthia barely noticed. She buried her face into the pillow, her muffled sobs breaking the eerie stillness of the room.

"I can’t keep living like this," she whispered, her voice muffled by the fabric. Tears streamed down her face, soaking into the pillow as her body trembled.

Her anguish was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Her heart skipped a beat as Carlos stepped inside, his tall frame casting a shadow over the room. He walked with deliberate steps, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor.

"What are you doing here, sulking? Why haven't you been going work?" His voice was cold, devoid of emotion. He didn’t bother to meet her gaze as he sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned to her.

"Work?" Cynthia repeated, her tone laced with disbelief.

"Yes," Carlos said flatly. "It’s been brought to my attention that you haven’t shown up at the office for over a week. Care to explain?"

Cynthia stared at him in shock, her sorrow momentarily replaced by anger. "After beating me up a few days ago and saying nothing to me since, this is what you have to say?"

"What do you expect?" Carlos replied, his tone still calm but edged with disdain. "That was the result of your actions— laying your filthy hands on the mother of my child."

Cynthia’s voice rose, her emotions boiling over. "I am your wife!"

"And so is she," Carlos snapped, finally turning his head slightly but not enough to face her.

"So it’s fine if she touches me, but it’s an offense if I do the same to her?" Cynthia’s voice cracked with frustration.

"Yes," Carlos said sharply. "She’s proven herself worthy. She may be carrying my heir. You, on the other hand..." His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

Cynthia hissed, the sound dripping with contempt. "I’ll return to work when I feel like it," she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

"That, I cannot accept," Carlos said, standing abruptly. He loomed over her, his presence suffocating. "You have until the day after tomorrow. Fail to do so, and you’ll face the consequences. Dare me and see."

Her voice trembled as she asked, "Will you beat me again?"

For the first time, Carlos turned to face her fully. His dark eyes bore into hers, holding her gaze for a long, tense moment. His expression softened just slightly.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, his voice almost tender. "But don’t wait to find out what I’ll do if you don’t go resume."

"You don’t care about me," Cynthia said, tears welling up again.

Carlos reached out to wipe her tears, but she flinched away. His hand froze mid-air before he pulled it back. "I do care," he said, his voice softening. "But I care about my money more."

Cynthia let out a bitter laugh, the sound dripping with pain and disbelief. "Of course, you do," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Carlos then straightened up, his cold demeanor returning as he headed toward the door. Just as he reached it, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"By the way, news of our little... altercation is all over the media. That should be enough to console you."