Chapter 2
Emma's POV
The first page was our prenuptial agreement. The dense legal jargon made my head spin, but I forced myself to read line by line. Three-year term, property division, and a clause about "marriage irrevocability."
Irrevocable? I kept flipping pages, searching for any loopholes. At the bottom of page five, a small-font footnote made me freeze:
"This agreement may be deemed void in cases of coercion, fraud, or material misrepresentation."
Coercion! That was the key! But I needed evidence to prove coercion existed.
The next page was my father's debt list. Five million dollars, detailing every gambling debt and creditor's name. But wait... these dates were wrong.
My heart sank as I squinted at them carefully. The largest debt—two million dollars—was dated one month before Dad's death. But I clearly remembered Dad had quit gambling for half a year by then. He'd sworn never to touch gambling again.
My hands began trembling. These debts... were they FORGED?
I kept searching and found more suspicious documents. Bank transfer records, but all the recipient names were blacked out. There was also what looked like a hospital report, folded and hidden at the very bottom of the folder.
Just as I was about to unfold the hospital report, I suddenly heard the elevator's ding.
Shit! He was back!
I frantically tried to put the documents back, but my hands were shaking so badly that papers scattered everywhere. Footsteps were getting closer. I didn't have time to organize them, so I just stuffed the agreement and several suspicious documents inside my clothes.
"Emma?" His voice came from the hallway. "I forgot my laptop..."
I crouched on the floor, frantically collecting the scattered documents. My heart felt like it would explode.
The footsteps stopped at the study door.
"Looking for something?" His voice was soft, but I heard the tension in it.
I froze, slowly looking up. Damien stood in the doorway, face pale, eyes full of pain and... fear?
"My freedom." I stood up, clutching the documents hidden in my clothes. "I want a divorce, Damien."
He went completely rigid, his gaze sweeping over the scattered papers on the floor before landing on my face. "Emma..."
"Don't give me that bullshit about loving me." I cut him off. "If you really loved me, you'd let me go."
"I can't." His voice trembled. "The contract..."
"FUCK the contract!" I screamed. "This isn't marriage, this is imprisonment! And..." I pulled out the agreement. "This contract is built on FRAUD! My father's debts are fake, aren't they?"
His face went deathly white instantly.
"These dates, these creditors..." I held up the documents. "You made it ALL up!"
"Emma, let me explain..."
Just then, his phone rang, the screen lighting up. I caught a glimpse of the photo displayed—my father's face, his last photo before death.
My blood froze instantly. "Why..." I pointed at his phone, voice shaking, "why do you have my father's photo on your phone?"
Damien quickly shut off his phone, but it was too late. I'd already seen it.
"You..." I stepped back, suddenly understanding. "You knew my father? You knew him before he died?"
He didn't answer, but his expression said everything.
"Oh my God." I covered my mouth, feeling my stomach churn. "You arranged ALL of this, didn't you? The debts, the funeral, those creditors... you arranged EVERYTHING!"
"Emma, let me explain..."
"Explain?" I laughed maniacally. "What's left to explain? You raped me first, then spent three years planning all this, backing me into a corner so I'd have to marry you!"
"It's not like that!" He stepped forward, but I immediately backed away.
"Then what is it like?" I demanded fiercely. "Tell me, Damien! Tell me how you destroyed my father! Tell me how you pushed me into this corner step by step!"
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. His face was written with pain and guilt, but he still said nothing.
I stared at him—this man I'd once felt something for and now hated with every fiber of my being—and suddenly felt bone-deep exhaustion wash over me.
"You know what the saddest part is?" My voice gradually calmed. "I used to think this was just a coincidence. A terrible, twisted coincidence. But now I understand—my entire life has been your carefully orchestrated game."
I slowly turned and walked toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Fifty floors below, New York City glittered in the afternoon sun, traffic flowing like ants, pedestrians like streams. So many people living their own lives, while I was trapped here like a caged canary.
"Emma..." His voice came from behind me, careful and tentative, trying to approach.
"Leave." I didn't turn around, my voice hollow. "Leave right now. If you have any humanity left, let me be alone for a while."
I heard hesitant footsteps behind me, pausing for a long time, then slowly retreating. The elevator door opened and closed, then dead silence.
Am I really going to spend my entire life... with the man who raped me?
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, my breath fogging it instantly. Fifty floors high. The thought suddenly invaded my mind, simple yet tempting. Just open the window, step into that morning sky, and achieve final, complete freedom.
The building swayed almost imperceptibly in the wind. I closed my eyes, imagining what falling would feel like.
But I was clutching those documents in my hand. Evidence. Maybe, maybe there was still hope.
After leaving the apartment, I headed straight to the best law firms in Manhattan. Those forged debt lists, suspicious bank transfer records—this was enough to prove the entire marriage contract was built on fraud.
But reality slapped me hard.
At the first firm, the receptionist's expression changed the moment she heard "Mr. Cross," politely stating "our lawyers are all very busy." At the second, the balding lawyer shook his head after looking at the documents for five minutes: "Mr. Cross has significant influence in New York. I'm afraid we can't help." The third refused to see me outright.
Damn. The power of money was everywhere.
At 4 PM, I walked out of the last law firm, exhausted. New York's cold wind cut my face like knives, but I felt no cold, only the numbness of despair.
On the way home, I gathered my last bit of courage and dialed Thomas's number. This was my last hope.
"Thomas & Associates, how can I help you?"
"This is Emma Cross, emergency situation. I need to speak with Mr. Thomas. Right now." My voice was shaking slightly.
After waiting several minutes, Thomas's familiar voice came through. "Emma, good afternoon. What can I help you with?"
"I want a divorce." I said directly. "I have evidence that this marriage contract is based on fraud. Thomas, you HAVE to help me."
Silence on the other end for so long I thought he'd hung up.
"Emma, we've discussed this before. According to your prenuptial agreement, neither party may file for divorce within three years..."
"My father's debts were FORGED!" I interrupted, "The entire damn contract is built on lies! Thomas, you know something, you HAVE to know something!"
Another silence. Then Thomas cleared his throat. "Emma, I'm very sorry, but the contract is legally valid. Unless you can prove fraud or coercion..."
"Coercion?" I laughed bitterly, my voice turning shrill. "The entire damn marriage IS coercion! But who would believe me? A crazy woman against New York's richest man?"
"Emma, listen, I suggest you consider seeking psychological help. PTSD can cause some... unrealistic thoughts. Perhaps professional treatment..."
Unrealistic thoughts. He was also implying I was crazy.
"FUCK YOU!" I hung up, nearly throwing my phone to the ground.
I stood on the street corner, watching the crowds pass by, suddenly feeling more alone than ever. Everyone had their own lives, their own freedom, while I was trapped in a carefully woven cage.