Five Years of Married Slavery Finally Ends

The moment Gavin brought his new mistress home, I started screaming and crying, throwing yet another hysterical tantrum.

As usual, Gavin looked at me with pure disgust, shielding the girl behind his back and telling me to stop being insane.

My rage was boiling over.

Just as I was about to raise my hand to strike, a familiar, long-forgotten mechanical voice chimed inside my mind.

"Dear Host, your five-year submissive trophy-wife mission has officially ended. Emotional manipulation has been deactivated."

"Please claim your one-billion-dollar cash prize and your divorce certificate. Wishing you a wonderful life!"

My high-raised hand paused mid-air. I let it drop gently, smoothing the wrinkles on Gavin's collar.

Then, I reached past him and softly stroked the mistress's hair, marveling at how smooth and perfect it was. It was definitely a head of hair worthy of marrying into wealth.

I let out a sudden, ecstatic laugh, turned on my heel, and bolted out the door.

Gavin's grip was brutal, clamping down hard around my wrist.

He towered over me, his gaze dripping with cold contempt.

"Are you done making a scene? Aren't you embarrassed, acting like this in front of guests?"

Behind his broad shoulders, his mistress shrank back, throwing me a smug, mocking smirk.

I stared at Gavin's face, the face I had been desperately, pathologically obsessed with for five long years. I felt a sudden wave of detachment.

Just seconds ago, that mechanical voice had vanished.

And with it, the submissive, pathetic personality I had been forced to play was finally gone.

Five seconds passed.

I stopped fighting.

The wild obsession and desperate love in my eyes receded like a pulling tide, leaving behind nothing but pure, blissful relief.

Gavin froze, caught off guard.

Taking advantage of his confusion, I yanked my arm back with a sharp, forceful twist.

As if his touch had left a layer of filth on my skin, I rubbed my wrist vigorously against my jeans.

Then, I walked over to the coffee table in the living room.

Lying right there was the divorce agreement Gavin had thrown in my face the night before.

At the time, I had wept hysterically, kneeling on the floor and begging him not to abandon me.

But now, a massive grin spread across my face. My steps toward the pen were light, almost bouncy with anticipation.

I signed my name and pressed my thumbprint onto the paper in one fluid motion.

Gavin stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What are you doing? Do you honestly think this reverse psychology is going to..."

I slammed the papers hard against his chest.

The force of the impact actually made him stumble back half a step.

"I signed it. I'll see you at city hall tomorrow."

I looked him dead in the eye, my voice crisp, clear, and ringing with absolute certainty. "If you back out of this, you're a dog."

With that, without giving his dumbfounded mistress a single glance, I threw my pre-packed bags over my shoulder and walked out of the villa, never looking back.

Once I was safely in the back of a taxi, my hands began to shake as I pulled out my phone.

I opened my banking app.

Logged in.

Checked the balance.

Hundreds, thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions...

One billion.

One billion dollars, sitting in cold, hard cash.

I took a deep, shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Five years ago, a bizarre system had bound itself to me.

It forced me into a marriage with Gavin, requiring me to play the part of a miserable, submissive wife.

The rules were strict: never strike back, never argue, and always show him unwavering, desperate devotion, no matter how much he humiliated or neglected me.

Worse still, to make the act convincing, the system had manipulated my hormone levels.

It made me genuinely, painfully love him.

For five years, I served him like a maid and trailed after him like a dog.

Whenever he stayed out all night, I suffered from excruciating insomnia.

Whenever he brought women home, my heart shattered, yet I could only beg him to spare me a single glance.

Thinking about it now, a familiar, sharp pang echoed in my chest.

I instinctively pressed a hand to my heart.

It was a residual, biological reflex, a lingering echo of the desperate attachment that had been hardwired into me for half a decade.

Was I seriously still feeling sad over that piece of trash?

I looked back down at my phone screen.

I counted the zeros again.

Still one billion dollars.

The suffocating tightness in my chest vanished instantly.

Gavin was wealthy, sure, but his companys net worth was tied up in fixed assets and heavy liabilities.

If you asked him to produce one billion dollars in liquid cash right this second, he couldn't do it even if he sold himself.

I patted my chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of my heart, and let out a laugh.

Loving Gavin brought nothing but heartbreak.

But one billion dollars?

Money would never betray me.

When you have a billion dollars, life becomes incredibly simple.

Moving used to feel like losing a layer of skin, but now, it was just a matter of swiping a card.

With enough money, a luxury penthouse overlooking the river downtown would gladly open its doors to you at a moment's notice.

Within three hours, I went from viewing the property to fully moving in. I didn't have to lift a single finger; the building's gold-star concierge handled every detail.

As I lay stretched out on my new custom mattress, Gavins assistant, Ryan, called.

His tone was polite, but the message was insulting.

"Ma'am, Mr. Vance wanted me to convey that the villa is pre-marital property, so you have no right to its value. As for the car..."

I put the call on speaker, inspecting my freshly manicured nails as I cut him off.

"Tell Gavin I don't want the house, and I find his car disgusting."

There was a stunned silence on the other end.

"I have only one condition for the asset division," I added. "I'm happy to walk away with absolutely nothing. Just make it fast."

"The faster, the better."

"Whoever drags this out is a coward."

The assistant had clearly never dealt with a wealthy divorcee so eager to be cast out with nothing. He stammered, unable to find his words.

Through the speaker, I heard a faint, arrogant scoff.

It was a familiar sound, dripping with that insufferable, high-and-mighty superiority.

Gavin.

"I told you she was just playing hard to get," his voice drifted over the line. "Ignore her. Let her stew for two days, and she'll crawl back on her own."

If this had happened before, I would have broken down, crying and begging him to listen.

But now, I just rolled my eyes.

The sheer delusion of this man was astounding.

I hung up without another word.

Arguing with an idiot was only going to slow down my spending.

The next morning, I drove straight to Rodeo Drive.

Standing outside the Hermes boutique, I pulled a dusty black card from my wallet.

It was the allowance card Gavin had given me during our first year of marriage.

To maintain my pious, "I only love you for who you are, not your money" persona, I hadn't even memorized the card number over the last five years, let alone used it.

I had even clipped coupons and hunted for discounts just to save him a few bucks.

Looking back, my brain hadn't just been full of water; it had been full of Gavins dirty bathwater.

I snapped the black card in half and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Then, I pulled out my own personal card and walked into the store.

"This, this, and that entire rack," I said, pointing casually. "Except for those three colors, I'll take everything."

The sales associates smile practically split her face. "Of course, ma'am! We'll pack everything up for you immediately!"

Card swiped.

Pin entered.

Transaction approved.

Watching the long string of numbers print out on the receipt, I didn't feel a single pang of regret. Instead, a wave of profound, liberating satisfaction washed over me.

Spending money was fantastic.

Just as I was instructing the staff to deliver the bags to my new penthouse, a sweet, fragile voice echoed from behind me.

"Naomi?"

I turned around.

It was a small world indeed.

Isla was standing at the entrance, clinging tightly to Gavin's arm.

She was holding an out-of-season bag that I had passed on, her face a mask of delicate, slightly provocative surprise.

"What a coincidence, Naomi. Are you out shopping too?"

As she spoke, she shrunk back slightly behind Gavin, as if she expected me to fly across the room and claw her face.

"Gavin... is Naomi still mad at me? Maybe we should go somewhere else..."

Gavins face darkened instantly.

Dressed in a sharp, bespoke suit, he stared at me, his eyes filled with absolute irritation.

"Naomi," he sneered, his voice dropping an octave. "You really went to extreme lengths to track my schedule, didn't you?"

I blinked. "What?"

He took a step forward, looking down at the shopping bags in my hands with a dismissive glare.

"I finalized my schedule for the day only a few hours ago, and here you are."

"You even managed to bribe my secretary for my itinerary."

"What's the plan? Are you trying to tell me you've changed your mind about the divorce?"

The nearby shoppers and sales staff began to murmur, casting curious glances our way.

Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, looking thoroughly exhausted by my presence.

"Stop wasting your time."

"Your pathetic display yesterday only made me realize how much you disgust me."

Gavin stood there, radiating absolute confidence.

He looked as though he expected me to drop to my knees and beg for his mercy at any second.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell him he was out of his mind.

But the words died on my tongue.

Looking at his smug, self-satisfied expression, I suddenly smiled.

"You're right," I said, nodding cheerfully as I met his gaze. "I tracked you down."

Gavin blinked, clearly not expecting me to admit it so easily.

Beside him, Isla's eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam she couldn't quite hide.

She gently tugged at Gavins sleeve, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Gavin, see? I told you she still cares about you..."

She turned to me, her brow furrowing into a look of deep, self-sacrificing sorrow.

"Naomi, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have let myself get caught between you two. If I'm the reason you're fighting, I'll just leave..."

She said she would leave, but her feet remained glued to the floor.

In fact, she pressed herself even closer to Gavin's chest.

The wealthy women browsing the boutique stopped what they were doing, their eyes darting between the three of us.

I crossed my arms, watching Isla's little performance like I was watching a cheap comedy.

"You're right, you shouldn't have gotten between us," I chuckled, my voice quiet but clear enough for everyone nearby to hear.

"Do you actually feel proud of being a mistress? Coming out in public and shouting about it, are you that desperate for everyone to know you're a homewrecker?"

"Is the barrier to entry for your profession really this low now? No license required, just a thick face?"

Islas face turned white.

Her triumphant smirk froze, and the tears she was trying to force out dried up instantly.

The whispers around us grew louder.

"So she really is a homewrecker..."

"She looks decent enough, but she's doing that?"

"Girls these days..."

The critical glares pricked Isla like needles.

Panicked and humiliated, she looked up at Gavin, her eyes pooling with real tears this time.

"Gavin... I didn't..."

Gavin's face turned livid.

He pulled Isla behind him, turning a furious glare on me.

"Naomi! Have you lost your mind?"

He gritted his teeth, a vein throbbing at his temple.

"Who gave you the right to humiliate Isla? You're resorting to cheap, trashy insults just to force me back to you? How pathetic can you be?"

I rolled my eyes.

Honestly, how pathetic could he be?

"Who has the time to play games with you?"

I pulled my phone out of my bag and tapped on the calendar, thrusting the screen directly in front of his face.

"I didn't come here to watch you two put on a circus. It's hurting my eyes."

My smile faded, replaced by a cold, sharp look.

"I'm here to ask you: what time are we meeting at the registry office tomorrow to finalize the paperwork?"

Gavin choked on his words.

His theory of my "reverse psychology" was still fighting for dominance in his brain.

He sneered. "Filing the papers? Do you honestly think threatening me with divorce is going to make me back down? Don't play with fire, Naomi."

This man literally could not comprehend plain English.

I took a step closer. "I don't want the house. I don't want the car. I will sign a clean-break agreement with zero claims. I'll ask you one more time: what time are we signing?"

I raised my voice slightly, my expression dripping with mockery.

"You keep dodging the question, Gavin. Don't tell me... you're the one who can't let go?"

"Or are you just acting tough while trying to drag this out because you don't want to lose me?"

Sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire.

The moment those words left my mouth, Isla was the first to panic.

She clutched Gavin's sleeve, her knuckles turning white as she looked up at him with desperation.

"Gavin... does she really want to divorce? You're going to agree to it, right?"

If Gavin backed out now, his proud image in front of his new mistress would shatter.

If he agreed, I would get exactly what I wanted.

I had backed him into a corner.

Staring into my eyes, which held absolutely no lingering affection, only pure annoyance, the first cracks began to appear in his blind arrogance.

His fragile male ego could not handle being dismissed so casually.

"Fine. Great."

Gavin let out a harsh, angry laugh, the words forced through his teeth.

"You want a divorce? I'll give you one."

He took a deep breath, raising his voice to salvage his pride in front of Isla. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, right outside city hall!"

Finally, some common sense.

The weight lifted from my chest, and a bright smile spread across my face.

"It's a date."

I picked up my luxury purchases from the counter and turned to leave.

At the door, I paused, turning back to throw a wink at Gavin, whose face was now darker than a storm cloud.

"Don't forget the time, Gavin."

"If you don't show up, you're a dog."

I walked out of the boutique without looking back, leaving Gavin standing there looking like he had swallowed a fly, while the onlookers tried to stifle their laughter.

The next morning, I did a full face of makeup, choosing a bold, crimson lipstick.

At exactly nine o'clock, I stood outside the registry office at city hall.

The system had promised me that Gavin would show up.

But by nine-thirty, the entrance was crowded with couples waiting to file their divorces, and I was still standing there entirely alone.

Unbelievable.

I pulled out my phone and sent Gavin a message.

Blocked.

I called his number.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered.

The sound of rustling papers came through the line, accompanied by his insufferable, smug tone.

"What do you want?"

I let out a sharp laugh. "Gavin, we agreed in front of a dozen people yesterday that whoever backed out was a dog. Are you planning a sudden species change?"

Gavin sneered.

"Naomi, this reverse psychology works once. Keep doing it and it just becomes pathetic."

"I didn't show up for your own good. You have no job, and you've been out of the workforce for five years. Without me, you wouldn't even know where your next meal is coming from."

"I'm pitying you, understand? Stop throwing tantrums and let me get back to work."

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen, taking a deep, slow breath.

Fine.

You pity me?

You think I'm helpless?

You clearly haven't seen a rabid dog bite.

I stared at the road, my expression colder than a fishmongers.