I agree on my terms

Sophia’s POV:

“No,” I whispered, my voice shaky, but he didn’t budge. His hold on me was firm, unrelenting.

“There is no room for denial,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost tender, but it only made my pulse race harder.

The air between us felt suffocating, charged with a tension I hated. His scent—clean and warm—was everywhere, invading my senses. My mind screamed at me to step back, but my body felt frozen in place. Why did I always end up like this around him? Why did he always have to take control?

“I agree,” I finally said, forcing my voice to sound steady, “but not on your terms. I’m not losing myself for this.” I shoved at his chest harder, but he still didn’t move. He just stood there, like he was immovable like he was waiting for me to break.

“You’re my wife,” he said, his voice sharper now. “That means you’re obligated to me. You’ll do what I say because that’s your duty.”

“Duty?” I spat, glaring at him. “You’re talking to me about duty? You’ve never cared about that before. This isn’t about duty, Dominic—this is about you. About you wanting control over everything and everyone, no matter who you hurt in the process.” His expression didn’t waver. Instead, a small smile curved his lips, as if he knew something I didn’t.

“Four hundred,” he said simply, as though the number was nothing. “I’ll give you four hundred million.”

I stared at him, my stomach twisting.

“Why? Why would you throw that much money at me? What’s the purpose?” My pride reared its head then, cutting through my confusion. “Is this how you fix things? Throwing money around like it’ll make your problems disappear? Why not ask your girlfriend…”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, his voice serious now. “I used to think there was no difference between a girlfriend and a wife, but I was wrong.”

I blinked, thrown off by his tone. For a moment, I saw something different in his eyes—something almost real. But I wouldn’t let him pull me into whatever game he was playing.

“Don’t try to act like you’re some victim now,” I shot back, my voice laced with sarcasm. “You’ve got your love, don’t you? She’s got everything you want—beauty, charm. She can flaunt herself for you, can’t she? Or is that not enough for you either?” The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away and looked at the stove.

“Your Maggi is burning,” he said flatly, breaking the tension like it meant nothing.

I stood there, stunned, as he walked out of the kitchen without another word. “I explained everything to you,” I muttered to myself, the frustration boiling over. “But to you, it’s all worthless.”

His voice echoed back from the other room. “Is it done? Your Maggi is burning.”

“Oh no!” I gasped, rushing to the stove. The noodles were a blackened mess at the bottom of the pot. My stomach sank. Great. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. “I’ll have to make it again,” I mumbled under my breath, grabbing another pot and starting over.

“Bring it upstairs,” he called out, his tone cold, dismissive.

I bit back an angry retort, focusing on the task at hand. My hands shook as I stirred the noodles, the heat from the stove making me feel like I was boiling along with them. This time, I made extra—because of course, he’d expect me to bring him some too.

As I finished and plated the food, a heavy sigh escaped me. I felt drained—by his words, his presence, and the weight of everything hanging between us. But no matter how much he pushed me, I wouldn’t let him break me. Not now, not ever.

I carried the fresh pot upstairs, my hands trembling slightly, and found him lounging on the bed, near Emma, his eyes glued to his daughter. There was so much peace and love at his face.

Without uttering a word, I set the bowl of Maggi down in front of him and quietly moved to the sofa. I sat as far from him as I could, keeping my distance. This was the first time we had shared a meal together, yet it felt like we were separated by an entire world.

I placed my mug of Maggi on the glass table in front of me, the warmth of the steam brushing my face as I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My fingers brushed against my neck, and I noticed the way the light hit my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pause, his gaze fixed on me. It felt intrusive, the way his eyes followed my every movement, but I said nothing.

As I ate in silence, I couldn’t ignore the weight of his stare. Dominic watched me with a kind of intensity that made my skin crawl as if searching for something in me that I couldn’t give. When I finished my bowl, I stood up quickly, not wanting to leave the dishes in front of him for even a moment. I knew how easily his temper flared over things like that.

But then I noticed his bowl—still full. Confused, I paused. He always ate faster than I did. Why hadn’t he touched his food? My mind buzzed with questions, but I bit them back. Asking would only open a door I didn’t want to walk through. Quietly, I returned to the sofa, crossing my arms as I waited for him to finish.

When he finally did, he made no effort to clean up. Typical. I picked up the bowls and left the room, my chest tight with frustration. By the time I returned, he had already sprawled across the bed, his phone discarded to the side. I grabbed a pillow and made my way back to the sofa. I wasn’t going to sleep beside him. I couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice cut through the silence. "We have a deal," he said, his tone sharp but laced with something unspoken. I froze, turning to glare at him.

"I didn’t agree to anything, Just sign the divorce paper and let me go." I said, my voice shaking with anger and confusion. He sat up, his expression unreadable, but his words carried a weight that pressed down on me.

"Think about it. Even if you don’t agree, you’re still my wife. You have your duties." My teeth clenched, my fists tightening in my lap.

"I don’t want to talk about this anymore," I snapped. "Just sign the divorce papers and let me go."

"Thank God I’m a real man. You keep pushing, Sophia, but you won’t break me." His voice darkened, his gaze piercing.

I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. I turned away, letting his words sink like stones into the pit of my stomach. When he finally left the room, I felt the tears come, hot and unstoppable. I buried my face in my hands, muffling my sobs as the walls closed in around me.

Why was he doing this to me? Why couldn’t he just let me go? The questions swirled endlessly in my mind, but the answers never came. Exhausted and broken, I cried myself to sleep, longing for a freedom that felt like it would never come.