Chapter 2

2.

The living room went instantly silent.

Julian's expression turned cold. A sneer curled his lips.

"Sarah Miller, what did you say? Threatening me with divorce?"

"When your chauffeur father knelt and begged the Thorne family to take care of you, you weren't this tough."

His words felt like invisible hands choking me, stealing my breath.

Memories played in my mind like an old movie.

My father was the private driver for the Thorne family. Ten years ago, Julian's father was attacked by a gunman. My father took the bullet for him.

In the ICU, Mr. Thorne asked him what he wanted.

With his dying breath, my father said, "Please, Mr. Thorne... take care of my daughter..."

Back then, Julian and I were best friends.

At the funeral, he hugged me while crying. "Sarah, don't worry. I'll take care of you forever. With me around, no one will dare to bully you."

Unfortunately, Julian had long forgotten his childhood promises.

Now, the person hurting me was him.

Watching the intimate couple in front of me, I choked back my tears.

Seeing my silence, Julian reached out and patted my head, like petting a pet.

"As long as I don't sign the papers, you will always be my wife."

I knew that without his consent, no law firm in New York would dare take my case.

Desperate, I tried to rush for the door.

Slap!

A crisp sound echoed. My face instantly swelled up.

"I told you, my rules cannot be broken!"

Chloe directed two bodyguards to intercept me.

Looking at her smug face, I couldn't take it anymore. I lunged at her, grabbing her carefully styled hair.

"If my mom misses her surgery, I won't let you get away with it!"

I strangled her neck, but Julian kicked me away.

My head slammed into the corner of the marble coffee table. The sharp pain nearly knocked me out.

"Throw the Madam in the wine cellar. Let her cool off."

Several men dragged me into the cold, damp underground cellar.

No matter how much I banged on the heavy oak door, no one answered.

I leaned against the door in despair, thinking of my mother's haggard face in the hospital bed. Finally, the tears fell.

Knock, knock, knock.

The door was tapped gently.

Through the small ventilation window, a rough hand pushed in some food.

"Madam, please eat something."

It was Martha. She had watched me grow up and loved me like her own daughter.

"Martha, please let me out. I need to go to the hospital..."

"Madam, I don't dare."

Martha's voice was full of helplessness and trembling. She lifted her sleeve, revealing thin arms covered in crisscrossed scars―Chloe's "discipline."

"...Thank you."

I didn't want to make trouble for her. I slumped to the ground, looking at the dry sandwich and bottle of water.

Since Chloe came to the Thorne house, she set my daily living allowance at five dollars. Discount sandwiches from the convenience store became my staple diet.

Meanwhile, she pestered Julian to take her to three-star Michelin restaurants every day for caviar and black truffles.

I couldn't help but laugh at myself. The wife of a billionaire, living worse than a homeless person on the street.