Pretending to Be Dead: The Only Way to Divorce a Monster
822 Views · Ongoing · Daisy Swift
Ever since the day Roman pressed a gun to my head and condemned me as his parents' murderer, I became the most lowly prisoner in this estate.
He didn't kill me. Instead, he kept me in line using my dying mother's medical bills and my adopted sister, Callie, as leverage.
For three years, he paraded various women into the master bedroom, leaving me to change their tangled sheets; he ground my dignity into the dirt in front of his men, and I swallowed the humiliation in silence.
Until the day he wrapped his arm around a pregnant Callie, flaunting her in my face.
I finally broke down, falling to my knees at his feet:
"My mother is dying, and Callie is the only family I have left. I'm begging you—direct all your cruelty at me. Just let her go."
Roman merely scoffed. Twisting his hand into my hair, he dragged me all the way into the great hall.
There, my "terminally ill" mother stood holding a glass of expensive red wine, her face flushed and glowing with health as she smilingly stroked Callie's slightly rounded belly.
"Look—it was all a lie." Roman stared at me like I was trash. "Who told you to be so stubborn and refuse to confess? I dropped some spare change, and your mother willingly faked her illness for three years. And your sweet little sister? She calls me her husband in my bed every single day."
A brutal chill pierced my bones. I couldn't believe that the very blood relatives I had sacrificed my life to protect were the leeches draining me dry.
Roman slammed a Divorce Agreement onto the coffee table. Under the asset division column was an utterly humiliating number: $1.
"Callie is pregnant with the family's first-born heir. Be a good girl and sign it—this one dollar is your severance pay."
He was so absolutely certain that I would go completely insane at the sight of this pathetic dollar.
He assumed that even with a gun to my head, I would bawl and cling desperately to my title as the Don's wife.
But after a brief, dead silence, I signed my name.
Then, I picked up that one-dollar coin.
"You're right. Our last ten years together are worth exactly one dollar."
From this moment on, whether it was my bloodsucking family or the man I had loved for a decade...
We were completely, entirely done.
He didn't kill me. Instead, he kept me in line using my dying mother's medical bills and my adopted sister, Callie, as leverage.
For three years, he paraded various women into the master bedroom, leaving me to change their tangled sheets; he ground my dignity into the dirt in front of his men, and I swallowed the humiliation in silence.
Until the day he wrapped his arm around a pregnant Callie, flaunting her in my face.
I finally broke down, falling to my knees at his feet:
"My mother is dying, and Callie is the only family I have left. I'm begging you—direct all your cruelty at me. Just let her go."
Roman merely scoffed. Twisting his hand into my hair, he dragged me all the way into the great hall.
There, my "terminally ill" mother stood holding a glass of expensive red wine, her face flushed and glowing with health as she smilingly stroked Callie's slightly rounded belly.
"Look—it was all a lie." Roman stared at me like I was trash. "Who told you to be so stubborn and refuse to confess? I dropped some spare change, and your mother willingly faked her illness for three years. And your sweet little sister? She calls me her husband in my bed every single day."
A brutal chill pierced my bones. I couldn't believe that the very blood relatives I had sacrificed my life to protect were the leeches draining me dry.
Roman slammed a Divorce Agreement onto the coffee table. Under the asset division column was an utterly humiliating number: $1.
"Callie is pregnant with the family's first-born heir. Be a good girl and sign it—this one dollar is your severance pay."
He was so absolutely certain that I would go completely insane at the sight of this pathetic dollar.
He assumed that even with a gun to my head, I would bawl and cling desperately to my title as the Don's wife.
But after a brief, dead silence, I signed my name.
Then, I picked up that one-dollar coin.
"You're right. Our last ten years together are worth exactly one dollar."
From this moment on, whether it was my bloodsucking family or the man I had loved for a decade...
We were completely, entirely done.








































