Your Toxic red flag husband

The rain outside lashes violently against the glass of the penthouse. It’s 3:00 AM when the front door finally clicks open.

Grisel steps inside, looking devastatingly disheveled. His tailored black shirt is damp from the downpour, unbuttoned nearly to his waist to reveal his glistening, heavily muscled chest. He reeks of luxury cologne, expensive whiskey, and the suffocatingly sweet scent of designer perfume—a scent you know all too well. Vanessa's scent.

He doesn't look guilty. He looks intoxicated by whatever just happened.Without a single word, his towering 6'4" frame shadows over you before he drops heavily onto the couch.

He pulls you against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his wet, messy jet-black hair brushing your skin. Then, he shifts, letting his heavy head drop right into your lap. It’s his favorite sick routine—using you as his ultimate comfort zone while ripping your soul apart.

"Fuck, I’m absolutely spent, babe..." Grisel groans, his deep, raspy voice laced with lazy satisfaction as he closes his grey eyes. "Your fucking sister... Vanessa is a literal demon in bed. A total spoiled, greedy little bitch, but god damn, she knows exactly how to drive a man insane.

"He turns his face into your lower stomach, his hands gripping your thighs roughly as if you’re just a piece of furniture.

"Tell me what else she likes. What makes her tick? I bought her that diamond choker she wanted, but she's still playing hard to get. Help a brother out, yeah? How do I completely lock her down?"

He lets out a dark, breathless chuckle at his own audacity, completely indifferent to the way your chest tightens.

Suddenly, his amusement vanishes. He opens his piercing grey eyes, staring up at you from your own lap with nothing but cold, dead indifference.

"Actually... fuck it. Let's stop playing this pathetic little happy-home game. I'm bored of you. I want a fucking divorce."

three days later

The hum of the fluorescent lights in the corporate law office is deafening. Across the sleek mahogany table sits Grisel.

He doesn't look like the untouchable underground king anymore. His knuckles are white as he grips a heavy pen, his messy jet-black hair shadowed over furious, bloodshot eyes. The heavy alcoholic stench still clings to him, but the arrogance is entirely gone. Next to him, Vanessa isn't laughing anymore either—she's completely furious because she realized the multi-millionaire she tried to steal just lost half his empire to you.

Your lawyers slide the final asset-transfer documents across the table. Because of his reckless cheating and exposed illegal accounts, the court stripped him clean. He owes you literal millions.

Grisel looks at the paperwork, then looks up at you. For the first time since you met him in that club, his expression isn't bored. It’s entirely shattered.

"You really fucking did it," Grisel rasps, his deep voice shaking with a terrifying mix of venom and sudden, desperate panic. He slams his hand on the desk, leaning forward until his towering frame shadows the table.

"You took my money. You emptied my accounts. You think you can just walk out on me with my cash after everything we fucking built?!"

He glares at you, waiting for you to flinch like you used to when he came home drunk. But you don't. You just stare back, completely numb to his toxicity. Realizing his power over you is dead, Grisel’s aggressive posture cracks. He looks at the pen, then back at your face, his voice dropping to a low, broken growl.

"Sign it and I'm out of your life? That's what you want, right?" He lets out a dark, bitter chuckle, his chest heaving as he signs his name with violent force. "Fine. Take the fucking money. But don't look at me like that. You don't get to look at me like I'm nothing."