Chapter 3

"You don' t want a child?" Angel' s voice dripped with scorn. "Fine. After we divorce, you can have as many kids as you want with whoever will have you."

He looked me up and down, a sneer on his face. "But let' s be honest, Alicia. This act of yours... it' s just making you less attractive. It' s making me sick of you."

His words were meant to cut, to remind me of my supposed powerlessness.

"You want a divorce? Fine," he spat, his patience finally snapping. "You' ll get it."

He grabbed a pen from my counter and scribbled his signature on the divorce papers with a furious flourish. Then, he crumpled the document and threw it at my face.

"There. Are you happy now?"

He watched me, his eyes gleaming with malicious anticipation. He expected me to break, to cry, to beg.

I calmly bent down and picked up the crumpled papers, smoothing them out on the counter. My hands were steady. My face was a placid mask.

I looked up at him, my eyes cold and dead. "Get out of my apartment."

His jaw clenched. My lack of a reaction infuriated him. He had lost control of the narrative, and he couldn' t stand it.

"You' ll regret this, Alicia," he threatened, his voice a low growl. "You' ll come crawling back, and I won' t be here to pick you up."

He turned to leave. As his hand touched the doorknob, I spoke.

"Angel."

He paused, a smug look spreading across his face. He thought I was caving. He turned back, his expression a mixture of triumph and pity.

"We need to set a date to go to the courthouse and make it official," I said, my voice perfectly level.

The smugness vanished, replaced by a flash of pure rage. He slammed the door behind him without another word.

Not ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from Instagram. Faith had updated her feed.

It was a picture of her and Angel, taken just moments ago in his car. Her head was on his shoulder, his arm around her. The caption read: "Some people just don' t know when to let go. So happy to be with the man who truly loves me. #unbothered #realove"

I felt a surge of disgust. This woman, this pathetic creature Angel used as both a weapon and an excuse. I' d started calling her "The Ghoul" in my head. She wasn' t just depressed; she was a void, constantly needing to feed on other people' s drama to feel alive.

Then, a private message from her popped up.

It was a picture of her neck, covered in fresh, angry-looking hickeys.

A second message followed. "Just wanted to make sure you saw how much Angel missed me. He was so rough tonight. I don' t think I' ll be able to walk tomorrow. ;)"

Then another. "Are you okay, Alicia? I' m so worried about you, all alone in that sad little apartment."

The sheer audacity of it was almost comical.

My fingers flew across the screen before I could stop myself.

"Don' t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Anorexia is a serious condition. You should probably see a doctor about being so thin. I' m surprised Angel didn' t break your bird-like bones with his 'rough' night."

I hit send.