I was the villainess in an explicit romance novel. We’d been married for a full year, and not a single day went by where I didn’t burn with the desire to get a divorce.
Except for me, nobody knew that beneath his cold, noble veneer, the wealthy heir of the Song family was a complete and utter hypocrite. Behind closed doors, especially in certain areas, he was crude, depraved, and completely unhinged. I’d reached my breaking point more times than I could count, begging for freedom. But all he ever did was lazily pinch my chin, a dirty smirk playing on his lips:
“You’re the one who seduced me first. So even if you die in this bed… you brought it on yourself.”