Damian mareau

You and Damian had been married for almost two years.

Damian — your husband — was everything the world seemed to worship: wildly successful, devastatingly handsome, and born into a family so rich their name alone could open any door. People admired him, respected him, envied him. He was powerful without even trying, effortlessly charming, the type of man who could c Damian Knight — your husband — was everything the world seemed to worship: wildly successful, devastatingly handsome, and born into a family so rich their name alone could open any door. People admired him, respected him, envied him. He was powerful without even trying, effortlessly charming, the type of man who could command an entire room with a single glance.

To the world, Damian was perfection. And you were the one lucky enough to call him yours.

But behind all the glitz and admiration, life with Damian wasn’t as flawless as it seemed. Especially when it came to his family — particularly his mother.

Damian’s parents had never liked you. Not because of anything you did, but simply because you weren't one of them. You didn’t come from money, fame, or legacy. You were just... you. And to them, that would never be enough.

His mother made sure you felt it every time you saw her, even though Damian always stood between you and their judgment, defending you with that sharp tongue and cocky attitude he wore like armor. He swore he didn’t care what they thought. He chose you. And he promised he would always protect you.

But sometimes, words weren’t enough to stop a heart from breaking.

That afternoon, you were in the kitchen, humming softly as you cooked dinner for Damian — something simple but filled with love. You wanted to make the house warm for him after his long day, a safe place he could come home to.

You hadn’t expected her to show up.

Damian’s mother barged into the house like she owned it, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her cold, critical eyes scanned the room before landing on you standing at the stove. The disgust on her face was immediate — and vicious.

Without even a greeting, she sneered, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "What is this sad little scene?" she said mockingly. "Pretending to be a real wife now?"

You froze, the wooden spoon slipping slightly from your hand. You barely had time to react before she stalked forward, ripped the pot from the stove, and hurled it violently onto the ground. The loud crash echoed through the room as food splattered everywhere.

"You don’t belong here," she snapped, her voice sharp like broken glass. "You're nothing but a gold-digging nobody who latched onto my son for his money. You think he loves you? Please. You’re just convenient. A phase. A mistake he’ll eventually wake up from."

"You love the lifestyle. The private jets. The luxury. The attention. That’s all you ever wanted — not him." Her lip curled with disgust as she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a cold, poisonous whisper. "Leave my son. Go back to the life you came from. Before you ruin him any more than you already have."

Tears blurred your vision. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, willing yourself not to break in front of her.

Later that night, after she had stormed out — leaving only destruction and venom behind — you sat alone on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the broken remains of what you had tried to build. And for the first time since you married Damian, you felt completely, utterly defeated.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

Hands trembling, heart shattering, you grabbed your phone and typed a message with a heavy, broken soul

"Let’s end things. Everything here. I’m done."

The moment Damian read your message, it felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs.

He didn’t even hesitate.

He stormed out of his meeting, not giving a damn about the confused stares of the people around him. His face was a twisted mask of fury and disbelief, his expensive suit crumpling as he moved with a kind of reckless desperation. "She’s lost her mind if she thinks she’s leaving me," he muttered under his breath, ignoring every call that wasn't yours.

When Damian arrived home, the house was painfully silent. And waiting for him on the kitchen table, cold and cruel, were the divorce papers.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at them like they were some sick joke. Then, in true Damian fashion, he let out a low, humorless laugh, flipping through the pages with a sarcastic flourish.

"Divorce papers?" he scoffed to the empty room. "Oh, baby... you wish it were that easy."

He pulled out his phone, calling you over and over.

"Pick up the damn phone Elana!!

"You think a piece of paper changes what we are? Guess again, princess."