Promise Thin as Paper

After receiving the seventy-eighth explicit photo from my husband's mistress, I finally snapped.

I uploaded every single picture to my social media accounts.

His little lover cried her eyes out, screaming to anyone who would listen that her life was ruined.

Less than a minute later, Vincent called me. His tone was absolute ice. "Delete them."

I refused.

Ten minutes later, I was forcibly logged out of all my accounts.

The posts were deleted, my profiles were deactivated, and the trending hashtags were wiped clean.

It took Vincent Cross less than ten minutes to erase the entire scandal.

Three days later, he stood in front of me with divorce papers in hand. His voice was soft, carrying a veiled threat. "It is just a PR stunt to coax the girl. Be a good wife, Diana. Play along."

I nodded and signed my name.

As soon as he left, I called the clinic. I changed my upcoming prenatal checkup to a clinical abortion.

He probably never believed that I could actually walk away from being Mrs. Cross.

Half an hour after signing the divorce papers, I was lying on an operating table.

My phone rang shrilly just as the procedure finished.

The anesthesia was wearing off. A cold, dense layer of sweat broke out across my forehead from the sharp cramps.

I bit my lip against the pain and answered the call.

Vincent's voice came through, completely devoid of warmth. "Diana, pack up all your things and get out."

"Okay."

I agreed without a second thought.

We had been married for five years. The girls he kept on the side rotated like a revolving door.

To ensure I did not interfere with his latest romance, he had his assistant rent a house for me out in the Chicago suburbs.

He had laid down the ground rules on day one. "If I want to see you, I will call you. My assistant will wire your living expenses. Unless I give you permission, you are not allowed to show your face in my presence."

Yet, a year ago, he was the one kneeling on the floor, begging me to come back.

He looked at me with such raw sincerity, swearing he was done playing the field. He promised we would build a real life together.

Like a fool, I cried tears of joy and believed every single word.

So I moved back into our marital home.

A week later, a young model tripped on her gown during a runway show. She fell right into his line of sight, looking exactly like a startled, helpless fawn.

I saw the way he looked at her.

My heart screamed in agonizing betrayal, but I had to admit the truth. He was captivated all over again.

That very night, headlines of him walking that model into a luxury hotel plastered the internet.

Once again, I became the laughingstock of our social circle.

This time, the girl seemed to have a real hold on him.

A whole year passed, and Vincent still had not grown tired of her.

Throughout that year, I received seventy-eight provocative photos and videos, along with countless harassing texts.

Every single message dripped with her desperate ambition to replace me.

Then came today. Three hours ago.

He placed the divorce papers on the table for the very first time. "It is just for show. Be good. Do not make me angry."

I fought back my tears, staring at him with red, swollen eyes.

I did not want to sign.

No matter how wild his previous affairs had gotten, he had never brought out legal documents.

But this time, he slowly stroked my hair, treating me like a pet he was trying to pacify.

I knew exactly what happened when Vincent got angry.

Just like today, all it took was a snap of his fingers to fix every single problem for Sienna.

So I signed the papers and left him with a single word.

"Okay."

When I finally dragged myself back to the house, Vincent and Sienna were nowhere to be found.

Martha, our housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me and her face lit up. "Ma'am! How was the prenatal checkup?"

My face was pale as a sheet. I slowly shook my head.

I had originally planned to tell Vincent about the baby tonight.

But plans rarely survive reality.

In the span of a few days, I lost my marriage, and I lost my child.

"I ended it," I said softly. Martha stared at me in absolute shock as I continued. "If this baby was born into this house, they would never know what happiness looks like."

Before Martha could process my words, the front door swung open.

Sienna walked in, her arms loaded with luxury shopping bags.

Behind her, a dozen bodyguards carried even more boxes of designer clothes and jewelry.

She did not look surprised to see me.

She made herself comfortable on my chaise lounge, flashing a sugary, mocking smile.

"Honestly, I do not get it. Vincent treats you like garbage. Why are you still clinging to this house?"

"Yesterday, I told him I was craving those artisan macarons from that boutique downtown. He did not even hesitate. He walked three miles in a blizzard just to get them for me."

She tilted her head. "Has he ever done anything like that for you?"

I fell completely silent.

Yesterday was the anniversary of my father's death.

When I finally managed to reach Vincent through his assistant, I could hear the howling winter wind through the receiver.

But I also heard him say, very clearly, that he had no time for me.

It turned out he was busy fetching pastries for Sienna.

A wave of helplessness washed over me. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly.

There was a time when Vincent was the person who loved me most in this entire world, second only to my parents.

He was the son of my family's chauffeur. He had no status, no wealth, and he never quite fit in with the rich kids in our neighborhood.

Back then, the other children loved to bully him.

But he never cared about their taunts.

He used to look at me and say, "The only person whose opinion matters to me is Diana."

When I ran a high fever as a kid, he stayed awake all night, sitting on the floor right beside my bed.

When a minor earthquake hit our city, he threw himself over me. Falling debris cut his head wide open, but he swallowed the pain without making a single sound. He just kept whispering that I was going to be safe.

We had a massive argument in college.

He bought my favorite street food, wrote a ten-page apology letter by hand, and stood outside my dorm room in the freezing snow for an entire night just to prove his loyalty.

The day we graduated was the day we got married.

At the wedding, my father placed my hand in his, his voice stern.

"If I ever catch wind that your heart has strayed, I will take her away without a second thought. My daughter will never have to beg for love."

Vincent had clenched his hand into a fist, swearing on his life that his heart belonged only to me.

He looked into my eyes and promised, "I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world. I will never let sadness touch your life."

From high school sweethearts to a married couple, we were the envy of everyone who knew us.

A year into our marriage, my father passed away. Vincent took over the entire company.

He worked himself to the bone, collapsing from exhaustion and ending up in the hospital multiple times.

My heart broke for him.

I had grown up spoiled, never stepping foot in a kitchen, but I learned how to cook just so he could come home to a warm meal.

He used to bring me a bouquet of yellow roses every single day after work. He told me they were the ultimate symbol of devotion.

Every night, we would sit on the patio and look at the stars.

He would hold me until we both fell asleep.

I just could not figure out when everything started to rot.

I suppose it started when he finally shed the title of "the chauffeur's son."

Once he became the untouchable CEO, his schedule filled up with endless networking dinners and exclusive parties. He started coming home smelling of cheap, cloying perfume.

When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he would just laugh it off. "It is just the scent of some client I had to entertain. Do not overthink it, honey."

I believed him.

He used flimsy excuses to slowly chip away at my unconditional trust.

Once his grip on the company was absolute, he stopped pretending altogether.

And I was left stranded in the illusion of love he had woven around me.

I was completely trapped.

The first time I caught him cheating was on his birthday. I had prepared a massive surprise party on a yacht.

The guests waited until they were exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up.

Desperate, I had his location tracked. The signal showed he was working overtime at the office.

All the way there, I silently scolded him for pushing himself too hard.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors of his executive suite, holding a cake I had baked myself.

But his desk was cluttered with the remains of a candlelit dinner.

Lingerie was scattered across the expensive carpet.

The most ridiculous part was the two bodyguards standing right outside his private lounge door.

When I kicked the door open, Vincent did not even look panicked.

He gently pulled the blanket over the naked woman beneath him to protect her modesty, then casually grabbed a towel for his own waist.

He looked up at me. His eyes were as cold as a glacier.

"Shut the door. You might not care about your dignity, but she cares about hers."

His icy composure made me feel like an absolute clown.

I completely lost my mind. I lunged forward, desperate to drag the homewrecker out of that bed.

Before I could even reach her, one of Vincent's bodyguards stepped in and slapped me across the face so hard the room spun.

In the chaotic blur, I finally got a good look at the woman hiding under the sheets.

It was the young nurse who used to change his IV bags when he was hospitalized for exhaustion.

She was crying fake, terrified tears. "Please do not misunderstand! I just came to drop off some liver supplements for Mr. Cross. I never wanted to ruin your marriage."

"We just had a little wine, and things got out of hand..."

Vincent pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring at me with dark, threatening eyes.

"Diana, I am warning you. Do not lay a finger on her."

That was when I realized he had been stepping out on me for a long, long time.

Those romantic bouquets of roses were nothing more than a guilty afterthought. A cheap peace offering to the wife waiting at home while he partied with other women.

After that day, the floodgates opened.

The women draped over his arm changed with every corporate dinner.

He stopped caring about my feelings. He stopped caring about my life.

It seemed like the only things that made him feel alive were ruthless business deals and the bodies of different women.

I slowly grew numb to the constant humiliation.

Until one day, I completely stopped waiting for him to come home.

I tuned out Sienna's arrogant taunts.

I walked upstairs, packed my passport and some essential documents, and headed back down.

When I reached the living room, Sienna was digging through the purse I had left on the sofa.

My breath hitched. I rushed forward and snatched the bag right out of her hands.

Sienna rolled her eyes and held up her empty hands.

"There is nothing valuable in there anyway. What are you so nervous about?"

I subtly felt the bottom lining of the bag, making sure my medical documents were still there. I let out a quiet breath of relief.

Sienna stepped closer to me, a nasty, knowing smile spreading across her face.

"You are pregnant, aren't you?"

"I saw the prenatal vitamins in your bag."

"You know Vincent absolutely despises children, right? If he finds out you are carrying his kid, he will drag you to a clinic himself."

"Take my advice. Get rid of it before he finds out, or else..."

Right at that moment, the front door opened. Vincent walked in.

He shot me a casual glance. "Did you drop something?"

I forced a polite smile and tucked my passport deeper into the bag. "Nothing important."

Vincent stared at me for a long second. As I turned to leave, he pulled out two plastic cards and held them out to me.

"Here is a keycard to the presidential suite at the Grand Plaza. Stay there for now."

"The other is a bank card with ten million dollars. Spend it however you like."

He cleared his throat slightly. "Yesterday... I really was busy."

Busy? Busy buying macarons for his mistress?

In that exact moment, looking at the man in front of me made my stomach churn with pure disgust.

I gave him a warm, gentle smile.

Then, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face.

I shook out my stinging palm, my smile never fading.

"You are absolutely disgusting, Vincent."

"You were nothing but a chauffeur's kid. A stroke of luck turned you into a billionaire, and suddenly you forget who begged my family for help when you had nothing?"

I had never spoken to him with such cruel precision before.

Vincent did not strike back, but his expression instantly darkened into a storm.

Before he could even react, Sienna grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it directly into the side of my head.

Warm blood immediately spilled down my temple.

A violent wave of dizziness hit me.

The bright living room lights suddenly felt blinding, making the floor tilt beneath my feet.

Martha gasped and rushed forward to catch me before I collapsed.

She turned to Vincent in a total panic. "Sir! Stop this! You have no idea that she just..."

I cut Martha off before she could finish her sentence.

"Martha, I am fine."

The man standing in front of me did not flinch. He just gave the housekeeper a cold, dismissive look.

His voice was like shards of ice. "Martha, do not forget who signs your paychecks."

"Since she has already signed the divorce papers, she is no longer the lady of this house."

Martha looked at me with frantic, heartbroken eyes. I just shook my head slightly.

There was no point in telling him anything now.

He was no longer the boy who used to lean in close, smiling just to hear me speak.

Vincent immediately reached out and gently took Sienna's trembling hands. "Did you hurt your hand swinging that?"

Sienna sniffled, shaking her head pitifully. "No... I just could not stand watching her disrespect you..."

The harsh overhead lights caught the absolute tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her. "You are an idiot. It does not matter if she disrespects me, but I will not let you suffer any grievances."

Hearing his validation, Sienna's posture instantly shifted into smug triumph.

"She slapped you. I want to pay her back ten times over."

She waited for his permission. He remained silent.

Seeing his hesitation, Sienna stood on her tiptoes, pressing her chest against his arm as she whispered sweetly in his ear.

"You are the great Vincent Cross. Word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you and got away with it, you will be a laughingstock."

A satisfied smirk finally broke through Vincent's cold exterior.

He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and kissed her lips.

"Alright. Whatever you want."

I stumbled backward, staring at the two of them in absolute horror.

Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, shoved Martha out of the way, and pinned my arms behind my back.

I thrashed against their grip. "Vincent! You cannot do this!"

Sienna just sneered. She stepped up and delivered a brutal, stinging slap across my cheek.

At the exact same time, a sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. My head throbbed violently. Cold sweat drenched my back.

By the time the tenth slap landed, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll.

Tears slid down my swollen cheeks, disappearing into my tangled hair.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, using every ounce of my willpower to swallow my sobs. I refused to let them hear me cry.

He did not look at me even once as he led Sienna up the stairs.

Just before they disappeared, I heard his low, magnetic voice echoing in the hallway. "Wear that black lace set tonight."

Sienna giggled, leaning into his chest, shooting me one last victorious glare from the top of the stairs.

The bedroom door clicked shut.

Martha rushed over and helped me up from the floor.

But the dull, aching pain in my stomach did not fade. It only grew sharper and more terrifying.

I have no idea how long I was unconscious.

When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Vincent sitting by my hospital bed. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth.

His voice lacked any real emotion. "Martha told me you fainted. If your body is this weak, stop causing unnecessary drama. Just behave, and I will not have to worry."

His lazy, arrogant tone was casual, yet every word felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

"Diana, look at the tax bracket I am in now. What man at my level does not mess around? Expecting me to be completely monogamous for the rest of my life is just unreasonable."

"I cannot do it. Whether it is a private party or a business deal, people are constantly throwing women at me."

"I already told you, the divorce is just for show. Just be good. Give me some time. Once I get bored of playing around, I will come back to you. We will have kids, and everything will be better than before."

"But only after I have had my fill out here."

He paused, finally lifting his heavy eyelids to look at me.

The moment our eyes met, my heart went entirely dead.

I searched his face for a single shred of guilt. There was none. He was absolutely certain I would back down, just like I always did.

"You really need to learn how to be obedient, Diana."

Obedient?

The old Vincent never wanted me to be obedient. He used to love my stubborn streak.

He used to say that obedient girls had no spine, no fire.

I looked down at the wedding ring still sitting on my finger.

My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand suffocating needles.

After a long, suffocating silence, my voice came out hoarse and cracked.

"I understand."

"The purse I left on the sofa back at the house... there is something inside that Sienna really wants. She will be thrilled when she sees it."

My apparent surrender brought a genuine, relieved smile to Vincent's face.

"Is it that pigeon-blood ruby set from the auction last month? Diana, if you had just swallowed your pride earlier, things would never have gotten this ugly."

No. It is the medical receipt for my clinical abortion and the post-op care instructions.

I answered his question silently in my head.

We would never have children again.

Vincent took my silence as a submissive agreement.

He left the hospital room looking completely satisfied.

An hour later, I checked myself out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite he had arranged for me.

I spent the next two weeks meeting with brokers, liquidating every single piece of jewelry he had ever given me, and funneling the cash into an offshore trust fund.

The day the final wire transfer cleared, I bought a one-way ticket out of Chicago.

As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, the bodyguards stationed outside asked where I was going.

I ignored the question.

They asked how long I would be gone.

I thought about it for a second.

"A couple of days."

Those couple of days turned into weeks. I never went back.

A full month passed.

The first people to realize I had vanished into thin air were those two bodyguards.

Trembling with fear, they dialed Vincent's number to report that I was missing.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

The call abruptly disconnected with the sound of heavy breathing.

At that exact moment, Vincent had Sienna pinned against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse.

He had not heard a single word the bodyguards said.

His kisses rained down on her like a violent storm, his hands aggressively pushing her clothes to the floor.

Just as things were about to cross the line, Sienna pushed against his burning chest.

"Wait."

Vincent grabbed her chin, forcing her glossy, hazy eyes to meet his.

"What is it?"

Sienna's cheeks flushed crimson.

Like a magic trick, she pulled a crumpled ultrasound report from her pocket. Her voice trembled with excitement.

"You cannot have me tonight, Vincent. I am pregnant."

The temperature in the room plummeted instantly.

The raging fire of lust vanished as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.

Vincent let go of her jaw, his face entirely blank. He slowly, methodically picked up his silk robe and tied it around his waist.

He looked at the stunned woman standing in front of him.

A cold sneer echoed in his mind.

This woman had crossed the line.

Just like every other stupid girl he had entertained, she overestimated her worth.

He gave a noncommittal grunt, walked over to the leather sofa, pulled a cigarette from his case, and lit it.

He did not say another word.

Just a grunt?

Sienna stood there, completely bewildered.

This was not how the script was supposed to go.

In her fantasy, Vincent was supposed to scoop her into his arms, kissing her deeply, and promising to take responsibility.

Then, she would smoothly transition into becoming the new Mrs. Cross. She would have maids waiting on her hand and foot, living a life of endless, disgusting luxury.

But instead, the man just gave a dismissive grunt and lit a cigarette.

The brutal reality check made her lose control of her emotions.

"What does that mean? Do you not want this baby? When we were in bed, you swore I was the only woman you ever wanted to have kids with!"

Vincent's voice dropped to a lethal register. Every trace of desire was gone.

"You actually believe the garbage men say when they are trying to get laid?"

"Sienna, I thought you were different. I thought you knew your place. But it turns out you are just as delusional as the rest of them."

Sienna stumbled backward, convinced she was having a nightmare.

"What..."

Vincent slowly exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke.

"Go to a clinic tomorrow and get rid of it. If you do that, I will overlook your little stunt tonight."

"If you insist on having this kid, fine. I do not care."

"I will pay child support every month. But the amount is entirely up to me. Maybe it will be a million. Maybe a hundred thousand. Maybe ten thousand. Hell, maybe I will just send a hundred bucks. If you want to take me to family court, be my guest. I will hire the most ruthless legal team in the country."

"Your chances of winning are less than ten percent."

His voice was quiet, but every word systematically butchered the grand future she had mapped out in her head.

After rapidly calculating her options, Sienna realized she was trapped.

She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and gave a humiliated nod.

Vincent finally smiled, though the warmth never reached his eyes.

Women like her were so easy to manage.

No leverage, no backbone. They lived entirely on the scraps of pity and cash men threw their way, ready to compromise their entire existence for a payout.

Suddenly, he remembered what Diana had said to him in the hospital room.

He reached into the designer purse sitting on the side table, expecting to find the velvet box containing the pigeon-blood ruby set. He figured he could use it to pacify Sienna.

His fingers did not brush against velvet. They touched a stack of folded papers.

Curious, he pulled them out and unfolded them under the dim light.

The bold, black letters on the medical report screamed at him, burning into his retinas.

Diana Cross.

Patient voluntarily terminated pregnancy.

He froze. His muscles locked up. His hands began to ache from gripping the paper so tightly, but his brain completely short-circuited.

Voluntarily terminated pregnancy?